Mother's Milk

As a breastfeeding counsellor, I always tell the women in my groups, 'there are two types of men: those who love mother's milk and those who hate it.' That may seem a rather broad and sweeping statement, but having breastfed six children over three decades and five cultures my personal experience and stories of others bear it out. Perhaps it is because of the sexualization that our cultures place on the female breasts or perhaps it is the almost magical and mythical act itself, but whatever the cause there seems to be no middle ground on this one.

Personally, I have experienced both extremes. From the time I was seven months pregnant until the day we split two years later, my former partner could not get enough of our son's milk. We could not have sex without including his nursing as I rode him. Even if sex was not on the agenda, he would often beg to nurse while he masturbated.

My husband though is the exact opposite. From the moment he accidentally tasted the yellowish colostrum when I was pregnant until the day our daughter was weaned, he did not touch my breasts. He made no bones about his feelings either. My breasts were our daughter's alone. I have always been one of those radicals, who nursed their toddlers until three or even four years old. But from the moment of our daughter's second birthday, when I could no longer quote the World Health Organization on the benefits of breastfeeding, he was complaining that he wanted his tits back.

But this story is about neither of them. It is about the unique gift I gave to a one-night stand: the fulfilment of his fantasy to drink mother's milk. It began as most of my encounters did during that time between relationships: in a chat room. I was not looking for anything more than sex so dating, dinners, movies and especially conversation were time wasters. As a single mother, it was simpler for me to hook up on-line. I could pop into chat rooms after my kids were asleep, chat with a couple of guys and perhaps even engage in a little phone sex before falling to sleep. After a few such conversations, if I felt comfortable with someone then we could meet for coffee and sex on those nights when the children were with their dad and I could be a woman instead of just mom.

So it was that this night after dropping my three year old for the night with his father that I was driving across the San Fernando Valley to have coffee with a man almost a decade younger than my thirty-nine years. Although meeting new people is never easy, I had long ago adopted the attitude that there are plenty of fish in the sea. If I did not appeal to one person, there would be others that would enjoy an adventurous, mature, thick woman. So I was quite relaxed about the whole thing; one way or another. After all, the only thing I had to loose was a couple of hours and the cost of gasoline (this was back before it reached the outrageous prices that might have made me a tad more selective).

Since my three year old was still nursing, I always found it necessary to warn my lovers. Most of them had fallen into the category of hating it and avoided my breasts. A couple had been mildly curious. But I knew from our chats that this young man was most definitely turned on by the prospect. When I had as usually casually mentioned that I was lactating, he had quizzed me extensively about how often my son nursed, how much milk I produced and what I did on the nights when he was with his dad. He admitted with a flaming cheeked smiley face that indicated embarrassment in the cyber world that he had always fantasized about tasting mother's milk.

So as I often did with my lover's I played into his fantasies. This night I wore a low-cut, white top over my best push-up bra. Against my California tanned skin, the outfit made my 38D assets seem even more spectacular. I was more than a little confident that this night I would not be wasting time or gasoline.

We had, of course, exchanged photos; so I was only a tad shocked at the very tall, light skinned young man that greeted me with a damp handshake and nervous smile. It was not that he was uglier than his picture; just that he appeared much younger. At that time, I was much less comfortable with my attraction to younger men and tended to avoid them.

But Mark was very nice and after a cup of coffee seemed even more nervous than when I had first arrived. From the stares that he kept giving my breasts that were barely concealed within the tight top, I knew he was very much interested in fulfilling his fantasy with me. Thankfully, I was a confident woman so I was happy to take the lead and suggested I follow him back to his apartment. He blushed and nodded as he stood up and ushered me from the coffee shop with a gentlemanly hand at the small of my back.

His apartment was only a few blocks away. From the outside, it was pretty standard fare for middle-class Southern California. I pulled into a parking space next to his newish compact and turned off my engine. After a brief check in my mirror and the little chat in my mind about nothing to loose, I stepped from my car and followed him to his door.

The night began to go down hill for me the moment he opened the door. Now I do not want to seem a snob or some Martha Stewart decorator want-to-be; but guys, boxes of books, CDs and stuff lined against the walls do not set the mood. I think what bothered me the most about it was that his décor was simply another indicator of the different stages at which we found our lives.

I must say though that he was a good enough host to offer me a glass of wine. The dim lighting and comfortable plush couch did help a bit to offset the disarray around us. And when he began to nibble at my lips and neck, it was enough to make me forget the boxes all together. He was most definitely a cuddler as my best friend Joy would call them. We stayed on that couch kissing and caressing far longer than was necessary for me at least.

When we did finally move into his bedroom, I admit I noted the unmade bed and more boxes strewn about the room; but no for long as he joined me on the bed. I smiled into the dark as I heard the soft moan escape his lips as he finally found the courage to touch what had fascinated since our earlier chats; my breasts. I will not say that he was particularly gifted as he seemed to tentatively maul my tits through the layers of my clothes.

Thankfully, he did not seem to have a great deal of patience for the long games of foreplay now that I was in his bed and his fantasy was so close. After a quick couple of feels, he pulled my top over my head and tossed it across the room. He paused only briefly as if to take in the sight of his fantasy before unsnapping my bra and tossing it away as well. I never did find my favorite bra in that mess. Even in the dim light drifting from the living room, I could tell it was like a little boy unwrapping a much asked for toy on Christmas morning. As a giving lover, that was the best part of the night for me: his expression at that moment.

His hands once more returned to my now bare breasts to knead them. He was not to be disappointed either as within a minute thin white liquid began to dribble slowly from my nipples and run down the sides of my pale breasts. I wondered for a moment if he had perhaps changed his mind about actually tasting mother's milk. Now I realize that it was fascination that caused him to delay and wasted the first few drops of the liquid gold. But he quickly realized his mistake and his lips and tongue covered my nipples; drawing deeply as he continued to knead my flesh. Within seconds, I felt the tingling that I knew from experience preceded the let-down of my milk. I actually heard him growl around my nipple as the first full blast of my milk hit his tongue.

From experience, I know that sometimes reality does not live up to our fantasies. I have often indulged lovers fetishes only to watch that faint veil of disappointment spread across their faces as if to say...'this is it?' But not this night. My young lover met the challenging flow of my breasts that were full with milk since early that morning. I knew from past experience that I could express as much as ten or twelve ounces on such occasions. Yet he drank with an enthusiasm and thirst that even my greediest child had not managed to surpass.

I admit that I began to feel a tad disappointed as he seemed to forget the shaved pussy inside my matching thong underwear. Everything was about my breasts. Finally in desperation, I pushed him onto his back and tugged his track bottoms down. His cock was alright, but I had definitely seen better. It was a good seven and a half to eight inches, but like him, too thin for my tastes.

This did not stop me from my own version of nursing; wrapping my lips around a hard black cock is one of my favorite things to do after all. But I could tell from the change in his breathing and the pre-occupation of his fingers as they continued to tweak and pull at my nipples that it was not my cock sucking skills that excited him.

So I decided to compromise so that we could both have what we wanted. I mounted his cock then and bent forward offering him my now less than full breasts for further milking. This proved a winning combination for him as he thrust upwards with his hard cock and continued to knead and suck at my tits. Unfortunately, I am not sure if it was the result of having his fantasy fulfilled or just him, but the term two minute wonder comes to mind.

Mind you, I can cum quickly and often so I had managed to achieve a couple of mildly satisfying orgasms even in that brief time. But I was far from done as he emptied himself into the condom that I had slipped onto his cock before mounting him. I was quickly ready for another round and given his continued enthusiastic slurping at my breasts I thought one was certainly in the offing. But I was disappointed that like a baby he was soon snoring away at my bosom.

After that night I received several messages and phone calls from him begging for another chance, but I had moved on to a man more my own age, who although not appreciative of mother's milk could take better care of my needs as a woman. Do I regret the experience? Not at all. In fact, I remember it rather fondly as the rare opportunity to make another person's wildest fantasy a reality. Such opportunities are a rare karmic gift in life and should never be missed.