Lactating Sister, Mom's Help

~~~ Present Day 2018 ~~~

This is the story of the supernatural, breasts that go beyond what nature had intended, and incest between loving sisters. This also serves as the basis for a potential memoir, which I'll publish under a pseudonym for reasons that will soon become clear.

My name is Dr. Hartford and I'm the mother of two wonderful daughters. I'm also a medical researcher. I'm an endocrinologist, which means I diagnose and treat disorders relating to hormones. The exact details of that aren't important, but it's relevant to my story.

Below are my journal entries that I'd written at night after important events had happened. I write in present tense because it gives a sense of immediacy. It also helps me relive my memories. As you'll soon understand, we were once a normal, everyday American family. None of this was ever planned. None of this was ever my intention. Had I known this would happen, I would have pursued a different career.

~~~ 1992 ~~~

My youngest daughter is waiting for me when I arrive home. I put my things down on the counter, my stack of folders and a handbag. I'm a research professor and Valerie plans on following my footsteps. At 18 she's like a younger version of myself, academic-minded and curious about life. She has an adorable look, with rounded facial features, a feminine style, and bangs with shoulder length hair.

It always touches my heart whenever she waits for me, which she often does, because I admire her innocence. Today she isn't smiling as she guides me to the dining room, where her bra is placed on the table for some inexplicable reason.

"Can we talk?" she asks.

"Sure, of course."

We sit across from each other, her face looking melancholy, confused, and she doesn't mention why her bra is there. She takes a moment to think, always the thoughtful girl, always precise with her words.

"I went into your room last week, maybe two weeks ago. On your glass-door cabinet you have this rock labeled, 'The Island' and it intrigued me. So I opened the case and looked at the rock. And this morning..."

"You had milk?"

She nods. "How did you know?"

Right away I understand what's happening. In truth, the rock never should have been there. It should be in a laboratory for further research, or perhaps a museum, but not in my home. It's my fault. I should have known a girl like Valerie would look through my things whenever she's bored. My work fascinates her.

I hold her hand. "This stays between us, okay?"

"Yes, okay."

With my daughter's full attention, I start to explain everything.

-- In the summer of 1976 a meteor crashed within Colombia's island territory. Weeks later, many of the adult women began to lactate, even the ones who'd never given birth before.

-- The government sought help from American researchers and the university where I worked expressed interest in the matter. I was an assistant to Dr. Patel and was thrilled to follow her anywhere. We traveled to the island and spent a week collecting samples. Dr. Patel's main focus was the meteorite pieces, while I was in charge of the breast milk samples.

-- Officially the results were inconclusive. It was never solved.

-- What I don't tell my daughter, however, was that many of the women were secretly nursing each other. Younger women sucked on the breasts of older women as a sign of respect. It gave them immense sexual pleasure, to suck, to be sucked, and to share their newfound milk. They saw it as a gift from the fertility gods.

-- I also neglect to mention that Dr. Patel had experienced the same mysterious condition. Dr. Patel wasn't scared of it. It intrigued her. She had even joined the local women in their nursing relationships.

-- At one point Dr. Patel offered her dark nipples to me. I declined. To this day, I sometimes think about what would have happened if I had accepted. If I had the courage to nurse.

-- That was why the report was never finished or made public, because Dr. Patel refused to have endless tests performed on her breasts. And she felt a sacred obligation to protect those women. I'd since lost contact with Dr. Patel after I transferred to another university to pursue my current teaching job.

After giving the sanitized version of the story, my daughter sits there in wonder.

"You think that's happening with me?" she asks.

"It's impossible to say without further testing. We haven't established that it's even milk. It could be discharge of some kind."

"Believe me, it's milk."

"How are you sure?"

"The color," she says. "The taste. Texture. It has all the qualities of breast milk."

Valerie is smart and sophisticated for her age. She also used to be a sitter for her cousins, so she has a baseline experience with breast milk after learning how to use a milk bottle. I inspect the bra on the table, there are wet spots around the front of the cups.

"May I see it?"

Her eyes widen, then she calms down. I'd seen glimpses of her breasts before during fittings. The most recent time was helping with her prom dress.

"Okay, sure."

She pulls her tshirt overhead to reveal her soft white body. Her bra is white, breasts a medium size. Her face has an even expression as she prepares to reveal herself to me. She's always been an even-minded girl, she only ever gets loose when she's around her older sister, who has a rebellious heart.

When she reaches back to unclasp her bra, the bare breasts are exposed. They're soft, round globes, and they hang almost like small balloons. Not as perky as other girls her age. Most noticeably, one breast is naturally larger than the other, which has always been the case. The nipples themselves are tiny but the areolas are wide. Bright pink. Some of the pinkest nipples I've ever seen. Valerie sits there with her chest pushed forward. She isn't the least bit embarrassed about her breasts, it's the milk that's the issue.

I get up and stand beside her, wanting to hug her, but there's work to be done. I cup the bottom of her right breast with my gentle touch. Her breast is so soft, so round, so warm, it fits right in my palm. Then I squeeze. She doesn't flinch, then I squeeze again like a pump, and milk shoots from her nipple and lands across the table.

Tasting my daughter's breast milk isn't something I thought I'd ever do, but I bring my wet hand to my mouth and lick, tasting her natural fluid. The taste is so familiar and it makes my heart sink.

"You're right. It's milk."

"Oh god," she says.

"Don't be afraid. It's harmless."

"So everything about that island was true? How long will this last?"

"Unfortunately I don't know how long this will last. And yes, the story about the island really happened."

"What should we do?"

Valerie sits there topless, so innocent and pure. She's always looked to me for guidance and this is the most consequential thing she's ever faced.

"I'm going to give you a choice. We can go to the hospital, in which case you'll be carefully studied. Or we can keep this a secret. Then you can live a normal life."

She squeezes her eyes shut. "Oh god."

"It's okay, it's okay. Take your time thinking about this. The choice is yours."

Valerie gives me a tight hug as she sits there, her face buried in my stomach as tears fall, her bare breasts pressing against my thighs. My instinct as a mother is to apologize profusely for leaving a piece of that meteorite in our home, but I stop myself, because another part of me is curious how the science will unfold.

***

At night I call Dr. Patel after tracking down her phone number from colleagues. It's my first time talking to her in years. I'm sitting in my bedroom and I explain everything, with no detail left unturned, and Dr. Patel listens to every word. She tends to get quiet when something truly piques her interest, then after she gathers enough information she goes on the hunt.

"Who else knows?" she asks.

"Just you. I was hoping you knew of a solution."

The line goes silent for a moment.

"I think what's happening to your daughter is further proof that the meteorite has properties beyond our comprehension."

"That's the same conclusion I had earlier today."

"I need to clarify once again," she says. "Your daughter physically touched the meteorite? And she developed breast milk?"

"Valerie told me she touched the rock, but I hadn't seen that. And I did actually milk her breast today. It went across the dining table."

"Have you checked if she's pregnant?"

"She's a virgin. We tell each other everything."

Dr. Patel thinks for a moment. "There's no known cure for this. Believe me, I've tried everything. I've also remained in contact with the women of the island. They still have the same issues. The good news is, we've all learned to live with it."

I know that tone in her voice, that double meaning. Mentally, it takes me back to that island all those years ago, seeing Dr. Patel sucking the nipples and milk of local Colombian women. Then her offering her nipples to me. Some things never change and she'll always be a highly respected, adventurous researcher with an intense sexual side.

"Have you ever told anyone about your predicament?" I ask.

"No way. The same reason your daughter won't. I refuse to be a laboratory rat. Besides, it's easily the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"The answer seems clear," she says. "But I think you already know."

"If I knew the answer, I wouldn't have called you."

"Valerie has an older sister. There's your answer."

It takes me a second to realize what Dr. Patel is implying and it's something only she would suggest. I'm so caught by surprise that I actually gasp.

"You can't be serious."

"That's the only advice I can give. In my personal and professional opinion, it makes the most sense. Think about it. Valerie's breasts will demand constant stimulation. Who is she going to trust? A romantic partner? How long are those relationships going to last? A friend? Then you have to consider gossip. If you take my advice, everything will stay in the family, the secret will be secure. You know I'm right."

I refuse to admit it, but her logic is airtight. Having seen firsthand how the Colombian women reacted to the unknown stimulus, it's inevitable that the same thing will happen with Valerie, especially given her youthfulness. I wonder if this is Dr. Patel leading me down a path of depravity, or if she's giving the best advice possible.

The purity of my daughters means everything to me. I've raised them with all the love and affection I could give. The thought of Valerie having to endure this experience twists my stomach into knots, but adding my other daughter into the mix, I don't know how to feel. This is uncharted territory for any parent.

Above all else, I know Dr. Patel is right. It's the best option, for better or worse.

~~~ 1996 ~~~

It's winter and my daughters are home. Valerie will be finishing college in a few months and she potentially has a job lined up in the city after graduation. She'd been hustling with different internships and that's boosted her resume, with the breast milk situation fueling the fires of her interests in medical research.

My eldest daughter is named Sienna and she lives in the city where she works as a dental assistant. She comes to visit whenever she can. The sisters have always been very close, even though their personalities seem worlds apart. Valerie is the sweet, booksmart girl. Sienna has always been the rebellious one with body piercings and a bohemian style with constantly messy hair.

I love them both equally, but they love each other more.

When evening approaches I start preparing a roast chicken dinner with herbs and butter sauce. Christmas is days away and the doorbell rings; Dr. Patel has arrived and she's brought some wine and gifts. She's older now, with streaks of gray in her long black hair. She'll only be staying for dinner and after that she'll leave to be with her family. Her visit has become a new holiday tradition ever since I called her years ago.

It's partly a social visit, but it's mainly Dr. Patel's curiosity about my daughters, wanting to know how things are progressing. They're upstairs while we linger in the kitchen.

Even during the holidays, her buttoned-up persona remains firm, but with a flare for adventure with her hiking boots, which she removed at the door. Being around her is always comforting because we match intellects. The downside, of course, is knowing her sexual side, which has always made me uncomfortable. To this day I remain surprised that no one truly knows about her deviancies and her reputation isn't sullied.

I'm preparing a salad, chopping the vegetables and making a vinaigrette, when Dr. Patel reaches into her pocket and unfolds a piece of paper.

"Have a look at this," she says. "Something I've been tinkering with for the last few months. A few colleagues helped me with this, but they don't know what it's for. It's a synthetic compound, designed around samples of my breast milk. Have a look at these formulas."

"A cure?"

"Potentially. It's in the early stages and it shows some promise."

"Have you tried it on yourself?"

She lifts an eyebrow. "It's not for me. Possibly for the women of the island if they want it. Possibly for your daughter... if she wants it..."

"What makes you think they wouldn't want it?"

"You don't know the power it possesses. The islanders were right when they called it a blessing."

"Some things never change."

I meant that as an off-hand comment but it came off more hostile than intended. She takes it in stride, and despite our professional admiration for each other, she knows how I feel about certain things. The friction between us will always exist.

"So, can I see them?" she asks.

"They're busy doing what they normally do before dinner."

"I know, that's why I'm asking."

"They usually keep the door closed when they do this. You could try knocking and asking them. Sienna is open to being watched, but Valerie is still shy."

"Ah, the duality of sisters."

Dr. Patel gives an embarrassed smile as she pushes the paper in my direction and heads up the stairs to visit my daughters. I take a glance at the paper while I finish the salad. My mind is so preoccupied with making a holiday dinner for us, along with what's going on upstairs, that I don't want to focus on formulas.

I take the chicken out of the oven and let it rest, then I start working on the herb sauce. The fact that Dr. Patel hasn't returned means she's with my daughters. The thought makes me cringe. Am I a bad mother? A horrible one? The question has plagued me for the last four years since this all started.

When enough time has passed I start carving the chicken. Dr. Patel comes down the stairs, which is both a relief and a knot in my stomach. At the very least, her lips are dry, which means she hadn't done the unthinkable with my daughter. But there's a wry expression on her face, a sense of tension, it's the same expression she had on the island all those years ago.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, everything's fine. They're washing up for dinner. It smells gorgeous in here."

"Family recipe."

A silence lingers between us when she stands near me in the kitchen. I'm cutting the chicken instead of talking to her, at least it's less awkward, but some things can't be ignored. All I think about is what Dr. Patel must have seen in that room.

"It doesn't have to be this way," she says.

Her tone is comforting, almost sympathetic. I ignore that she steps closer to me and I focus on carving the breast bone and splitting the legs. The juices run along my fingers.

"Of course it does," I say.

"Why?"

"Because none of this is normal. Because we never should have gone to that island."

"No, this might be one of the greatest discoveries in human history."

"I disagree. Now you're opening the wrong doors."

"Should all doors remain closed?" she asks. "Should we keep a closed mind on everything, forever?"

Dr. Patel looks at me while unbuttoning her blouse. She's not trying to make her movements sexy, there's nothing on her face that's seductive. It's a simple act of undoing her top and she's so casual about it. Her body is dark and she's wearing a white bra.

She lifts her bra and the breasts drop from the cup. It's been many years since she last tried to offer them to me, they've aged, they hang a bit more. But they still entice me the same way. The nipples are exactly the same. Black nipples that protrude. Nipples begging to be sucked.

Years ago, when she first tried offering them to me, I had nothing to gain. There was nothing of interest to me besides hedonistic sensations. I was never promiscuous, I never engaged in casual sex. I've always found that to be crude and pointless, as sex should be something saved between lovers.

As she stands inches away from me, my heart changes, and now she has everything to offer me. Looking at her nipples, I think of my daughters and what they do in the bedroom. I feel an overwhelming urge to try and understand Valerie and what Sienna does for her.

I bend down and take Dr. Patel's black nipple into my mouth. I'm careful with my hands as they're covered in chicken juices. The nipple is stiff and her flesh is warm, it's my first time doing this with another woman. The fullness of her breast is pressed against my face and I embrace it.

Her nipple shoots milk into my mouth after several sucks and now I understand what it's like to taste another woman's fluids. I've only ever tasted my own. Now I know what Sienna has felt these last four years. Tasting another woman's milk from the source is an intimate act. It's love and sex combined. It's wildly erotic and there's no escaping that.

It's sweet and creamy and I gulp it down to avoid a mess. I keep sucking and she moans out loud without trying to hide it, which disturbs me, but it also arouses me. She runs her fingers through my hair and pulls me tighter onto her breast.

Footsteps are coming from upstairs, then I hear the sound of Valerie and Sienna talking as they come down for dinner. I spit the nipple out and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, clearing the evidence, and I swallow what's in my mouth. Dr. Patel does her part and pulls her bra down, even with the excess milk leaking. Then she buttons her blouse, turns around and smiles at my approaching daughters as if nothing just happened.

My daughters are a bundle of joy and they're exuberant, and while they're still having a lively conversation about something, they start grabbing plates and utensils and prepare the dining table. Valerie is always relaxed after those private sessions with her sister. It takes the edge off, it takes the anxiety away.

When everything is ready the four of us sit down to eat. The sisters have pleasant expressions on their faces after what they'd done in the bedroom. It always makes them smile and puts them at ease. Dr. Patel has a similar expression knowing that she turned me into the thing I'd always criticized her for.

I force myself to smile, to be a good host, to guide the conversation at the table since I'm the head of the household. Everyone is in a great mood but I wish I could have some time alone. I cut into the chicken with sauce and take a bite. The flavor is excellent, but it's not quite right. The flavor is tainted with the lingering essence of Dr. Patel's breast milk in my mouth.

~~~ 2007 ~~~

Retirement has given me time to write the books I've always wanted to write, but I miss my students, I miss interacting with fellow faculty members on campus. I've become one of those overbearing older mothers who constantly pries into the lives of her daughters. They enjoy the attention, they think it's amusing, but I'm certain they're a little annoyed since they have their own careers.