Her son, Jonathan

"I can tell you've got a lot of problems to fix, Catherine." I said, wagging a finger at the matron. She shrugged her shoulders. "They don't seem so bad to me."

"What about your son Jonathan?" Jonathan shifted uncomfortably as I motioned to him.

"Well, as much as I preach against toxic masculinity, I can't help but stare at my son and how impressive he is. I don't know what genes my wimp of a husband passed on to him. He's always helping me when we need a big, strong, man around the house."

Jonathan's bloodflow did a 180 and drained from his brain and right into his cock, which could be seen growing down his pant leg. He looked up, brain pathways re-arranging as he spoke, "Aw mom, shucks," his voice deepening and slowing, "I like to help. I like to help my mom." The words were so slow that it seemed like he struggled to get them out. His jeans and t-shirt melted into black sweatpants and a wife-beater.

His cock continued to grow until it was a full 8 inches long and once erect, would be an inch and a half in diameter. His pants filled out at the crotch until it looked like he had a pair of baseballs in there, ready to burst. Muscles rippled down his arms and chest.