My Tall Mom And Me

First and foremost, I want to clarify one thing: my mom is not a giantess, and I am certainly not a pipsqueak. If I had to guess, I and my mom are almost the same height.

Now, on the surface, this may seem like a mundane setup, but bear with me; it gets a bit interesting.

My dad is around 5’8 tall, and I had hoped to surpass his height, but fate had other plans for me.

My mom and I have always had a good relationship, but when we stood together in the kitchen, there was always a problem. You see, our kitchen floor often bore the remnants of her vegetable washing and sorting escapades, making it a less-than-ideal place to walk. You’d feel bits sticking to your feet, which was rather annoying.

So, I mustered up the courage to ask my mom to wear slippers while in the kitchen. However, to my disappointment, she chose a pair of slippers with unusually thick soles.

I knew she had a penchant for larger shoes, but I never anticipated she’d wear them around the house on a daily basis. These shoes added a significant 2 inches to her height. Needless to say, I made it a point to avoid standing next to her at all costs. If we had to interact, it was either when we were both sitting or when I ensured that I remained seated.

I even avoided standing next to her when she was seated. What if she suddenly decided to stand up and looked down at me? It would be incredibly embarrassing. After all, sons are supposed to be taller than their moms, right?

This ongoing cat-and-mouse game continued for nearly two years, and I remained the same height throughout, even at the age of 20.

My mom and I were close in height, but we had never officially measured it. One day, as I was getting ready to go out with some friends, I decided to wear my newest shirt, one that I thought looked great on me. I also put on a pair of shoes with an inch and a half of extra height to appear taller.

Just as I was leaving, my mom happened to stroll down the hallway and approached me. She smiled brightly and said, “Look at you, all tall and handsome today.”

I thought she was teasing me, especially with the ‘tall’ part, which annoyed me a bit. She was barefoot, and I was wearing shoes, but the height difference wasn’t substantial enough for someone to call me “tall.” I chose to ignore her and continued on my way.

“Going out with your friends?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied and left.

I had developed a sensitivity to discussions about height, largely due to my mom’s teasing. After that incident, I became extra cautious about standing next to people, especially girls. I dreaded being called “short” and took every precaution to avoid it.

Once, we attended a party, and my mom wore heels. Everyone was complimenting her, not just for her attire but also for her height. She was one of the few in our family who could gracefully walk in heels with more than 2 inches in height. That evening, her heels appeared to be around 3 inches or even slightly more.

As expected, I found myself sitting away from the group. By this point in my life, I had developed an acute sensitivity to words like ‘tall,’ ‘height,’ or any reference to stature. Those words seemed to reach my ears with alarming precision.

“…How TALL is he?” one of my relatives inquired about me. I was sitting about ten feet away, pretending to be engrossed in my phone, all the while eavesdropping on their conversation.

“My son?” my mom replied.

“Yes.”

“Let’s see! I’m about 5’6 tall, so he must be around 5’7 or 5’8, or maybe a bit more.”

I was utterly stunned. How did she come to the conclusion that I was 5’8? Did she genuinely believe I was taller than her? My emotions were a mixed bag. On one hand, I felt flattered because my mom seemed to hold a higher opinion of my height. But on the other, I didn’t want false reassurance.

Once I returned home, I felt compelled to verify my height against the wall. As I suspected, it measured exactly 5 feet 6 inches.

“Why did she say that?” I wondered. It was strange that my mom estimated my height at 5’9. Perhaps she was doing what she did when I was a child — exaggerating my height to make me feel good. I sighed, contemplating the possibility that she still saw me as her little kid.

The next day, after lunch, I went to her room, which was the only time she was out of her slippers. This time I was the one wearing slippers to appear taller. I sat down next to her and initiated a conversation, cautiously approaching the topic of height.

“You looked really tall at the party. How tall are you?” I asked.

“I’m about 5 foot 6. Give or take,” she replied.

Then, my mom examined me from head to toe, clearly estimating my height.

She eventually said, “You’re about 5’8??”

I responded, “I’m not sure; I haven’t measured myself in a while.” It was peculiar that my mom still estimated my height at 5’8 even though I was looking straight at her.

After a moment of silence, I said something I never thought I would utter to my mother: “Could you put on those heels again?”

Mom smiled and agreed, while I continued contemplating my choice of words. I resolved not to get up from my seat and to keep it as simple as that.

Mom put on those heels and stood up. I could hardly believe my eyes. She stood next to the table lamp, which was near the mirror. The table lamp, which was exactly my height, only reached up to the tip of my mom’s nose.

I was left in awe. “H…How tall are those heels?” I asked, still struggling to find the right words.

“The box says around 5 inches!!!” she replied.

Mom continued, “I might be as tall as you with them on, maybe even a little taller.”

I couldn’t discern whether this was a jest or if my mom genuinely believed it.

“Let’s see!!” she suggested.

At that moment, it felt as though I had no control over my actions. Slowly, I stood up from my place. Even from a distance, the height difference was staggering.

“See. I feel like you are the same height,” my mom said.

It felt strange, and I didn’t want her to pamper me just to make me feel better. I moved closer to her and stood directly in front of her.

“N.. NO, MOM, you are way taller.”

“Well, just a little,” she replied.

“No,” I countered, grabbing her and attempting to turn her toward the mirror behind us, but her strong, imposing frame remained unmoved.

As we faced the mirror, it was evident. I was barely as tall as my mom’s nose.

“It’s not that big. Come on!!” my mom insisted.

“I’m at your nose level. How can you even say that?”

“Ummm… Maybe,” my mom finally admitted, still appearing perplexed.

Needless to say, I was getting really aroused at this point. I felt a weird sensation in my belly. My heartbeat was starting to rise. I was breathing heavily. I even felt my cock harden up a little.

“Maybe it’s because of these enormous heels I’m wearing. You are still taller than me when I remove these.”

“Let’s measure ourselves”, I said.

I couldn’t fathom why I had spoken those words. I was undeniably 5’6; why in the world would I willingly subject myself to the humiliation of revealing that I was just as tall as my mom? I questioned my own motivation but found no answers.

“Yeah, let’s see,” she replied, evidently intrigued by the proposal.

With a hint of excitement, my mom seated herself and gracefully removed those towering high heels. She then stood up again, giving a small hop that caused her boobs and belly to sway ever so slightly.

“This feels much more lively, don’t you think?” I ventured.

“Yeah, I’m happier this way. To look up at you.”

It still baffled me to think she thought she looked up at me even though from my perspective, we have been looking straight at each other for like 4 years.

We proceeded to the wall where, as a child, my mom would measure my height. I suggested, “You go first.”

“Okay,” she replied, and positioned herself against the wall, directly in front of me. She held a pencil above her head, and I strained on my tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the top of her head to draw the line more accurately. However, my balancing act didn’t last long.

Mom had an idea. “Why don’t you fetch a chair?” she suggested.

I retrieved a chair and stepped up on it, which allowed me to draw the line on the top of her head more precisely. Then, I took out the measuring tape and confirmed her height as 5’6½.

 “Wow, I’m about half an inch taller than I thought,” my mom remarked, clearly intrigued by the revelation.

It was my turn now. I stood next to the wall; mom got on her toes to measure me.

“You can also take a chair mom”, I said but mom paid no heed as she marked my height.

I looked back to see the mark she had drawn and was relieved that it was a little higher than where I had marked mom.

“I was able to see your head so I just marked”, mom said.

“How is that possible. I wasn’t able to see your top of your head?”, I said.

“Maybe I have bigger feet” mom said winking at me as we shared a laugh as our gaze went down a little towards her feet and then mine.

And it was as if we noticed the same thing at the same time.

“You are wearing slippers”, mom said.

We were both shocked.

“Let’s do this again”, mom said.

I reluctantly removed my slippers and stood against the wall.

As mom came close to me, I could feel myself looking up ever so slightly at her. To add to that her huge body, it was intimidating.

Mom stood on her toes. I watched at her in awe as her nose went past my eye level easily. She even held her position there for around 6-7 seconds before returning to her height.

I started to get hard-on. I didn’t know why? I was just going to lose to my mom in height. What was so hot about that? I was clearly shorter than mom?

“There”, mom said.

I turned back to look at the mark. The mark was clearly below the mark I had made to measure mom’s height.

My heart started to beat faster. It was as if I felt it was hot that mom was taller than me.

Mom then took the measuring tape and measured me at 5’6.

Mom smiled down at me cunningly as I looked up at her. My heartbeat starting to rise and I also felt a weird sensation in my stomach getting stronger.

“W…wow”, I said.

“I… I’ll be back.”

I excused myself and went to the bathroom.

I removed my pants and there it was. My fully erect boner. It was probably one of the hardest I had ever gotten.

I held it with my hands and began stroking. I thought of how she looked down at me.

I thought how she was so big that I couldn’t even move her an inch, how I lost to her in height, how I would always remain shorter than her despite being her son, how I had to look up to look into her eyes.

And there it was!! I let out one of the biggest load of my life as soon as I admitted my defeat to mom.

After that day I would always find ways to stand behind her when she was in those thick slippers admiring her superior height. When she is in those slippers, I am only as tall as her eyes. I have to look slightly upwards to look into her eyes.

Needless to say, now I admire her and follow her all day.