“Ronny, stop! You’re making a mistake. And, you’re making a fool of yourself. You’re going to look back on this and be very embarrassed.”
He didn’t stop though. He dropped his sweatpants to the floor and did an exaggerated kick that sent them hard into the far wall. This revealed cables of muscle on his thighs and calves that only came from strenuous exercise.
“See, Mom,” he said while turning around. He only had his briefs on now.
I wanted to appear unflustered and matter of fact: “I’ve seen you run around here in your underwear a thousand times over the years, so you’re just wasting your time in front of your mother. I couldn’t care less.”
“Oh, you’ve seen me before, sure. But I want you to look at me with new eyes. I don’t want my mother’s eyes to be looking. I want a woman to look at me. I want a woman who wants a baby to look at me. I want a woman that knows I can make a baby with her to look at me.”
I should have left the kitchen. I know I should have, but something made me stay. I hoped that something was my plan to reason with Ronny and have him give up his “mission.”
“You’re talking nonsense and you have to come to your senses. What you’re talking about is impossible, and could never happen in a million years.”
“A million years is way too long,” he said as he dropped the only garment he had left, his shorts, to the floor. “It’s a million years minus one day too long. Because tomorrow, the day after today, we have to make a baby.” He pointed a finger at me and then touched his own chest while saying, “You … and me.”
I didn’t know what to say. And the sight of my completely naked son made me mute. I hadn’t seen his naked body since he was nine. Now he was 18. For half his life he had been growing, without his mother’s watchful eye or assistance, what was magnificently situated between his teenaged legs.
I found one word, my son’s name, which I whispered—maybe in shock, or maybe in reverence: “Ronny.”
He was uncircumcised. The foreskin covered all but the tip of his penis. The shaft, even flaccid, was full and firm, hanging and swaying with each of my son’s small movements, light-blue veins crisscrossing it, giving promise of plenty of blood to fuel it when provoked.
My eyes couldn’t leave it.
My son had the biggest penis I had ever seen.
“What do you think, Mom?”
His stepping close broke me from whatever spell of wonder or fascination or curiosity that had held me. “I think you’re disgusting. You think you’re the first man I’ve ever seen naked? You think your little act is going to possibly make any difference?” I put extra emphasis and disdain in my voice.
“I don’t care HOW many men you’ve seen. I only care that you see me. I only care that you see ‘this,'” he took his penis in his hand, “and you know that it has to go there,” he pointed at my crotch, “so we can make a baby tomorrow.”
“You’re so naive!” I said, my voice rising. “You think you can get a woman to agree to having a baby, to have sex, just by parading around like this? This shows how unready you are, how immature you are! And, you’re not even thinking about YOUR part in your little scheme. Nature makes a mother and a son see each other differently than as a man and a woman. There’s no desire there—there’s only love in a family way.”