Nourishment

The Neighborhood Preschool in Silverlake is a collection of low-slung buildings on the south end of the reservoir. I was running late, as usual, with traffic in the southland being what it is and working in the Industry with its long hours. Note the capital I in Industry – although I would claim otherwise to relatives from the East, I love the affectation. To me, the Industry-capital-I is the real Hollywood. It's the polar opposite of what you see at the travesty of tourism and tawdriness that is the Hollywood and Highland Center. The real Industry is people like me – middle-aged, with a family and a mortgage, politically liberal despite the Ranger Rover, showing up late to my son's kindergarten orientation.

There were about 45 parents in the room when I took my seat next to my wife. I knew most of them from the playground and the potlucks and the pick-ups and drop-offs that are a part of life when you're the parent of a preschooler. The principle of the school where most of our kids would be attending school next year as kindergarteners was droning on about the state of California and requirements for immunizations and birth certificates. Honestly, it's not my fault I couldn't pay attention. I looked around the room and Karen was breastfeeding her baby Zoe.

In retrospect, I will admit that what happened next was my fault. I stared. Pathetic, isn't it?

Thankfully, women using their breasts for what nature intended is a pretty common thing in Southern California – while we may be the world capital for boob jobs, we're also pretty high up there for La Leche League attendance. But I wasn't thinking about the many benefits of breastfeeding when I was taking in Karen's left boob, admiring the soft and gentle curve of the underside, desperately wishing to glimpse a brown nipple as Zoe pulled away. Even at the time, I felt some remorse. Not because what they were doing was an inherently private act, but because I was turning it into a sexual one – at least for me. Maybe it was an occupational hazard – too many years working in a town that seemed dedicated to little beyond celebrating a hyper-sexualized version of womanhood. But I'm rationalizing. Karen looked up and caught my eye. As she pulled down her shirt, I quickly turned my attention back to the principle.

Later, after the bit about Diphtheria, Measles and Mumps, we were all mingling and eating whole-wheat crackers with dried out jack cheese when Karen came up to me.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute? In private?"

She must have given Zoe to her husband, for the baby was nowhere in sight.

"Uhh...Sure. "

She led me out of the room in to the adjoining kitchen and closed the door.

She flipped on the light and turned to look at me.

"I noticed you...umm...looking rather intently at me when I was feeding Zoe. What was that about?"

"I...ummm....nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"No. I'm not. Not sure that is. I mean it was more than nothing." I took a breath. "I was trying to get a look at your breast."

"At this?" Her hand brushed over the top of her shirt. "It's not very sexy at the moment."

"I know. I don't know what I was doing or thinking, I was....I was just doing. I'm sorry."

She considered me for a moment, looking up and down, "Are you?"

I nodded.

"Do you want to feel better about it?"

Another nod.

"OK. Stay there"

She went over to the sink, rummaged around under the sink and came back wearing a pair of yellow rubber gloves. "Pull down your pants."

I hesitated from both surprise and mortification.

"Go ahead. Do it. "

My hands began unbuttoning my jeans and then stopped.

"NOW," This last one was a mother's voice talking. "Underpants, too."

Karen held out her gloved hands. "Spit."

I spat.

"Again."

She then reached down, grabbed my penis and began to jack me off. Sexy you think? No. She was methodical. She was emotionless. She could have been washing dishes with those gloves. It was that businesslike.

As she pulled up and down she explained. "You will be punished."

"Huh?"

"I'm going to spank you. I've found with my husband that when it comes to something like this - if it's not some erotic thing - that if it's for real correction, it's usually more effective – and painful – after he's ejaculated. The message just kind of sinks in."

"What...what..."I was breathing hard, "what if they hear us out there...?"

She looked up a the door. "Shhh....Come on. Let's go into the next room." And so penis in yellow, rubber gloved hand, she led me further into the school.

"You and your husband..."

"That's something you don't need to know any more about." She began stroking again. Faster.

Heavy breathing was my only response. I was on the edge.

A few more strokes and

Uhh...UHH...

As semen erupted from my cock, she let go. Big deal you say? Try it sometime with your lover. Sometime when you're really pissed at him. I thrust my hips in frustration. Absent the continued stimulation of her hand, my climax was staggeringly unsatisfying. In fact, it was downright horrible.

She came back with a several rough paper towels. "Clean up your mess."

She pointed to the teacher's desk, "Bend over that."

I later learned it was a ruler. The first slap took me by surprise. It hurt. A lot. It did not get better from there. Between the stinging blows she lectured me:

"They're not there for your enjoyment. (SLAP, SLAP, SLAP) They're not even for my husband to enjoy these days. (SLAP, SLAP, SLAP) They're there (SLAP) for one (SLAP) reason (SLAP, SLAP!) Can you guess what that reason is?"

She paused spanking. "Answer me."

"To feed your baby."

"That's right. To feed my baby."

She then resumed the spanking with increased ferocity. After ten minutes or so, I was having a very, very hard time staying still. She stopped spanking and leaned into me, resting her body upon mine.

Breathing hard from her exertions, she whispered into my ear, "Repeat after me: the breasts are there to nourish."

"The breasts are there to nourish."

She brought the ruler down again. "Again."

"The breasts are there to nourish."

SLAP!

"Again."

"The breasts are there to nourish."

SLAP!

"Again."

"The breasts are there to nourish."

SLAP!

"Again."

"The breasts are there to nourish."

SLAP!

"Again."

"The breasts are there to nourish." SLAP!

"Again."

"The breasts are there to nourish."

I hadn't even realized she had stopped and had put the ruler back down on the desk.

"The breasts are there to nourish. The breasts are there to nourish. The breasts are there to nourish."

She smiled. "Very good. You may stand up. I think you'll feel better."

And I did. "I'm sorry, Karen."

"I know you are. You're a good man." She then lifted her shirt and opened her nursing bra. "Now kiss my breast and thank me."