My Mother Fixed a Problem with My Penis

Copyright 2021, Jeremy J. Watson

Adult male with phimosis and shaved pubic area

At thirteen years old, I was starting to realize that our family was somewhat different than most others. My mom and dad were fun-loving people. Oh, they could be strict if needed, but they gave us kids a lot of freedom. Even the freedom to be naked at home if we wanted.

You see, my dad was kind of a green freak, he didn’t like doing things like driving unnecessarily, or running the air conditioning unless it was really hot. So, on hot summer days, my two sisters and I would often be naked at home. Sometimes, my parents would be naked too. To you, that may seem strange, but to us, it was perfectly normal.

One time, while laying on my back on the floor, while watching TV, I had grown an erection which I didn’t really notice. It certainly wasn’t the first time I had been seen erect in the family. No big deal. Except my mother dropped what she was doing and came over to me with a concerned look.

She knelt down and took a quick look at my erection. I was like, “Mom!”

She asked, “Can you pull your foreskin back?”

“Whaaa?”

“I mean, can you show the head of your penis?”

Even for my mom, that was really weird. I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t even know what she meant. Like, why would I want to do that? I had never done such a thing, and didn’t even know it was possible.

Totally violating my space as mothers will do, she reached out, putting her fingers on my penis, which felt surprisingly nice – for a moment. She then tried pulling my foreskin back.

“Ouch!” I yelled.

She let go immediately, as if she had been bit by a snake.

“Sorry,” she said.

That was the last of that. I went back to watching TV with my sisters. I noticed that my older sister had been watching the whole thing with a twinkle in her eye. For some reason, she was rubbing a finger against her vagina. Weird, eh?

I found out the next day that I had a doctor appointment after school. That was annoying, because I had planned to play soccer with the other kids as I did most afternoons when the weather was good enough. I had no idea why I needed to see the doctor. I had been given a physical only a couple of months ago.

My dad took me. We got there, and the nurse did the usual things. She had me strip to my underpants, weighed me, took my blood pressure, looked in my ears and throat.

Then the doctor came in saying “Hi,” to my dad and to me. He was our regular family physician, an older guy, maybe 50 years old, a bit heavyset with gray hair but a friendly manner. Turning to my father, he said, “I understand you suspect phimosis.”

My dad was like, ‘huh?’ so the doctor explained, “Tight foreskin.”

Being thirteen, I hadn’t yet learned the term foreskin, but figured it had something to do with ‘skin.’ Suddenly, I put it together with my mom’s painful little test the day before. My heart skipped a beat. Was there something wrong with me? And worse, would this doctor be doing something to my prick?

Before I could do anything, the doctor said, “Please remove your underwear.” Suddenly, in addition to fear, terror almost, I was also embarrassed. It was one thing for my family to see my penis. That was normal, but for a stranger, the doctor to see it…

On my previous examinations, he had never seen it. He’d put his hand down into my underwear, feel around for a second, then got on to the rest of the exam. That was kind of creepy in itself, but now, he wanted to see it.

What could I do? With my dad sitting there staring sternly at me, I did what I had to do, and pulled down my underpants. The doctor had me sit on his exam table with my legs dangling off the side. He pulled over a rolling lamp, and a stool. He sat in front of me, pushing my legs further apart, and put his fingers on my penis.

He turned to my father, and said, We’ll need an erection for this, do I have your permission?”

My dad nodded, looking intently at the doctor’s hands on my prick.

The doctor started softly, gently stroking the sides of my penis, and I did in fact become erect. Even though I was dealing with fear and embarrassment, I noticed it felt rather nice. It was something I had never really felt before. Maybe something sort of like that when I occasionally played with my own erection, but I had never been touched in that way by anyone else. Then, he pulled the foreskin back a bit, and it hurt. I didn’t yell out, but I winced pretty good. He let go immediately.

To my father he said, “Yes, the boy does have a pretty severe case of phimosis,” causing another shot of adrenaline and wave of terror to run through me. Doctor McAndrew must have seen the look on my face, because turning back to me, looking me directly in the eye, he said, “Oh, I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s a common condition, and easily fixed.”

He had me dress, then my dad and I found ourselves sitting in front of the doctor’s desk as he explained that there were three things that could be done:

1. The condition wasn’t life threatening, and would not get worse. It could be ignored, but would eventually give me trouble with ‘intercourse’ – whatever that was. I had never heard the term.

2. A circumcision could be performed. It was another term I had never heard, but I got the idea it was nothing good. Maybe some sort of surgery or something.

3. I could start doing stretching exercises. Now, that didn’t sound too bad. He went on to explain how the exercises should be done.

The doctor went on to say some adult stuff to my father which I pretty much tuned out, since my mind was swirling in confusion and fear.

Once back home, joining the soccer game late, I pretty much forgot the whole thing. For the next couple of days, I’d suddenly remember with a pang of fear, then go back to whatever I was doing.

About three days later, my father asked whether I had been doing the exercises. I had to admit that I hadn’t.

The next day, my mother asked me the same thing. I sheepishly told her that I had forgotten to do anything. She told me if I didn’t do them, I’d need a circumcision.

There was that word again. I asked what it meant. She said they’d surgically remove the excess skin on my penis. That was kind of what I thought. But here’s the thing: I didn’t think I had excess skin. I mean, I really didn’t know.

Mom and I had a frank discussion, ending with her bringing her laptop, going to Wikipedia and showing me some pictures of men’s penises, quickly skipping over a looping video of a man with an erection ejaculating. I so completely didn’t understand what that was that I thought the guy was sick or something, maybe having an infection, or somehow throwing up through his penis. I only saw it for a second, and it was too weird. I just did my best to put it out of my mind.

She pointed out how what she called the ‘glans,’ the heads of these pricks were sticking out. Their pricks weren’t at all like mine. First, they were hairy, and much bigger, like my dad’s. But the main thing is that the inner pink tip of their pricks were sticking out in the open, not covered with skin. I had never seen anything like that. How weird! Mom was telling me that’s the way it was supposed to be for most men. Later I found out that my own father was not circumcised, and I had never seen him erect, so I had never seen a glans. They seemed kind of creepy sticking out like that.

Two more days passed, and after dinner, my dad asked again about the exercises. Even though the idea of circumcision frightened me terribly, I, like a typical thirteen-year-old, I suppose, had not even started on these exercises.

Mom turned to Dad and said, with a bit of a laugh, “Frank, you’re going to have to take matters into your own hands.” For some reason, my father turned red in the face and stammered, “But… well… I think you ought to do it.”

“What do I know about cocks?” my mother retorted.

‘Cocks?’ That was a new one on me, but I assumed she meant something having to do with my prick.

Dad kind of laughed, but still obviously embarrassed, and said, “Oh, I think I’ve taught you a thing or two about the subject.”

“OK Buster,” Mom said to me, calling me a name she uses jokingly when she wants me to do something, “Meet me in my bedroom after we get done washing the dishes.”

Then she said to my father, “I think you ought to be there too.”

So, a few minutes later, we were in my parents’ bedroom. We were all naked, of course. It had been another hot day. My two sisters wanted to come in too, but my parents said this was ‘private business’ and kicked them out.

Mom had me lay down on their bed. Dad sat on the edge of the bed, she pulled up the rolling chair from her desk. Reaching forward, she put her fingertips on my prick. That simple touch felt surprisingly nice. I had a twinge of fear about her pulling on my skin and causing some pain, but not very much. I trusted Mom completely. While staring intently at my prick, and turning it this way and that, she said to my father, “I’m going to need his penis erect. How should I do that?”

He lifted his own penis, showing the underside, and said, “Lightly stroke the frenulum like this,” As he ran a forefinger over the underside of his penis, just below the head.

She did that to me, and oh my, did that feel nice! My prick jumped involuntarily every time she did that, and within a minute, it was fully erect. Perhaps, I should have been embarrassed being seen with an erection by both parents like that, but I had been erect many times around the house, so it was no big deal. But there was something special about this time. Her touching my prick like that felt so amazingly nice. My prick had become so hard that I could feel the foreskin straining a bit, and it almost hurt, but in a good, a very good way.

Then, she pulled the foreskin back very lightly. Holding it back with her thumbs and first finger of each hand, she pulled slowly harder saying, “Let me know when it hurts.”

It took only a few seconds to say, “OK, that hurts.”

I expected her to let go, but she just kept pulling on it. “Let me know when it hurts too much.”

“It’s not too much yet,” I answered, wincing.

She just held it like that, pulling a little harder, until I couldn’t take it any more.

“OK” I answered through gritted teeth.

She let go. She then repeated the exercise nine more times.

When it was over, I walked out of the room, my erection waving in front of me, and joined my sisters in front of the TV.

Thinking back on it that night, under the covers, I got an erection, and just kind of fiddled with my prick a few times before going to sleep.

Mom started doing the exercises for me every evening after dinner. Sometimes Dad was there, sometimes not. Every now and then, one of my sisters would burst in the room, asking about where the cat food was, or something silly. They’d see my mom stretching my foreskin on my hard little prick, then walk out. It didn’t seem to affect them very much. It was just part of life in the Watson household.

The first time Dad did the exercise for me, because Mom was at a baby shower or something, I was scared he’d be too rough. Actually, he wasn’t rough enough. He just couldn’t bring himself to hurt me. I did notice that his calloused, rougher hands were, um, interesting. They made me feel very good when he was touching me.

Soon, my older sister got into the act. Now, she was not like Dad at all. She pulled hard, and kept gleefully going a few seconds after I said, “OK, too much!” The funny thing is after she was done, I felt a glow of something… I don’t know what it was exactly, but I rather liked it.

During this whole time, there was some lying going on. It was really one of the few times I had lied in my life, but I maintained the lie day after day. They kept asking me whether I was doing the exercises myself. I said ‘No’ because I didn’t want them to stop doing them for me. Actually, I had played with it a few times before going to sleep, pulling down the skin on my hard prick myself. It felt nice when I did it too, but not like when Mom, or Dad, or Carolyn, my sister, did it.

Things were progressing. Now, when holding down my foreskin, my peehole could be seen at the opening. Sometimes, on a good day, a circle perhaps 5 millimeters in diameter of my glans could be seen.

One day, Mom stopped, and said, “What’s this?” She had found a little curly black hair growing from the place where my prick joins my body. She seemed surprisingly delighted. I wasn’t so sure. I knew someday I’d be a big hairy guy like my dad, and wasn’t sure I wanted that day to come too soon. On the other hand, I was proud. I was becoming a real man.

Not long after that, mean old Carolyn was doing the exercise for me, pulling a little too hard as usual, and for a little too long. Even though she was kind of hurting me, it felt surprisingly good at the same time. Suddenly, I felt something really weird. It wasn’t entirely bad. In fact, it wasn’t bad at all. It was a kind of sweet pulsing feeling. Right afterward, I wanted Carolyn to stop, but she insisted on going for the three remaining cycles of the exercise. Those last three pulls were annoying. I didn’t know at the time what had happened. Obviously, I had a dry orgasm, and then went into that period all guys know so well, where the penis doesn’t want to be touched at all afterward. I don’t think Carolyn had any idea what was going on with me.

It happened a couple of days later when my mom was ‘doing’ me. She must have noticed the pulsing, because she asked, “Did you just have an orgasm?”

“I think so,” was all I could say, hoping she wouldn’t be mad. By then, I had read up not only on my condition, but all things related. I even understand what that video I had seen of ejaculation was all about.

“Cool! My boy is growing up.” was her response.

Time went on. After a while, 10 millimeters of glans could be seen through the opening. My orgasms started happening almost every time. They became wet. First a clear drip of semen came out. Within a couple of months, it was several creamy, white squirts.

Maybe in an ordinary family, without anyone having phimosis, this would all have been considered extremely weird. But for us, it was just normal. It was something we did, like brushing teeth or watching TV. Just ordinary.

About a year later, after Mom did the exercises, fully exposing my glans, and bringing the foreskin back over the top several times, and after I had ejaculated all over her hands, she announced, “OK Buster, we’re done.”

I thought she meant that we were done for the day. But no, we were done forever.

Author’s note: This is the original story. For a while, I had replaced it with Marlene and my Messed Up Cock. That was because some readers may be concerned about a story involving an underage person and his family. However, it’s not sexual, and is informational, hopefully helping people understand phimosis better. The funny thing, is I forgot to change the title, and there’s no reference to ‘mother’ in the other story at all.

Milder phimosis with foreskin retracted