Love Potion #9

"Yeah," I answered, slowly. There was bewilderment in my voice. I hadn't expected that response from her.

"It's my milk. You tasted my breastmilk." She was beaming at me, cutely.

All I could think was what. the. fuck.

It took me a second to form words. I felt off-balance. "I don't get it. So—you have a baby?"

Molly laughed at that. "No, no, god, no," she said, giggles in her throaty voice. "I've never even been pregnant. Thank god."

"But—really, I thought I—and you said—"

I could see thoughts forming as her expression changed. Her eyebrows furrowed. "Oh my god," she said. "You don't know. No one told you."

"No one told me what?"

She was looking down. "How am I going to explain this?" she mumbled. She looked up at me. "OK, well, look, I have to tell you about something. About Watley." She took a breath. "Women in Watley—this whole area—we bring in our milk, our breastmilk." She paused, apparently to let it sink in.

But the words barely made any sense to me. My head felt light and dizzy, and there was a strange buzzing sound in my ears. "Like, when they have babies?"

"No, no," she said. "Way before that. Like when they're starting to become women, you know? Once the boobs start growing."

I was shaking my head. I did not understand what she was trying to say. "You need to have a baby to get milk," I said.

Molly was smiling gently. "No, you don't. Any girl can do it, once she starts becoming a woman. And we all do it, here. We all bring our milk in."

I needed a second to get my mind steady; I was feeling woozy, dazed. "Why?"

"Well," she started, "mainly it's so we can wet nurse. That's part of the culture here, just something we girls do, you know? We all take care of the children, and wet nursing is part of taking care of the children. Dry nursing, even, when you're working on bringing your milk in."

I was shaking my head. "I don't know what that means. Any of that."

"We bring in our milk so we can breastfeed babies."

"Other people's?!"

"Yeah."

I was staring at her lovely face, trying to make sense of what she was telling me. "Don't they mind? Don't the moms mind?"

There was laughter in her voice. "Nope, they love it. The moms love getting a break. And besides, it's healthier for the kids. All the extra antibodies and nutrients and stuff."

"I'm—I'm really having trouble under—"

Molly smiled kindly and interrupted me. "Breastmilk has antibodies, right? And female antibodies, obviously, so they're extra-specially good. And it has vitamins and minerals and all these other nutrients, good stuff. It's super-healthy. Right?"

"OK."

"It is. And so when a baby gets all that from a bunch of sources, a bunch of different women, it makes them healthier. They're not just getting one woman's version of it all. They're getting this big variety, and it protects them. Babies are super-healthy here."

I just sat there, absorbing. I honestly had no idea it was even possible for a girl to just "bring in" milk without a baby, and I'd never heard of a woman breastfeeding someone else's child, so this was all really blowing my mind. I felt punch-drunk.

"So—you do this?" I asked.

She nodded. "All the time. I did it this morning, in fact." Her voice sounded flat, dispassionate.

"You breastfed a baby."

"A few of them, yeah."

"And you've never had a baby."

"Nope."

"Wow," I said.

I had to admit to myself: I was impressed by this. Stunned, sure, but still impressed that she could do something like that with her body, simply because she'd decided to. It seemed so grown up and womanly—and powerful. "That's, um, I guess that's sort of amazing."

"Isn't it?" She was grinning at me. "Superpowers." She put her hands under her breasts and cupped them for a second, as if to show them off, and then giggled in spite of herself.

"I just had no idea." I sat there, thinking. "So I guess that means I should probably stay away from—there." I glanced down at her naked breasts.

Molly looked dispirited. "No, why would you do that?"

"Well, if you need milk for babies—you don't want to, you know, accidentally waste it."

She leaned in and kissed me for a second. Then, she whispered, "No, it's for you, too."

"Your milk?"

"Yeah. That's the other reason we bring it in. It's a way of being close to someone, you know?"

"Like, uh, you mean, like—feeding them?" I said.

She nodded. "It's so intimate. And, well, this is something we do here. When you're together, when things start getting kind of passionate, a girl gives a guy her milk. It's beautiful." Molly kissed me. "Wanna taste it again?" she whispered.

I was still dazed and lightheaded, and there was still a buzzing in my ears. I felt like I was acting on pure impulse. I heard my voice shaking slightly as I said, "Yeah. OK."

I felt myself being moved back to her chest—her hands were on my shoulders, pushing and holding me down—and there was her nipple, hard and ripe. Her areola was really puffed up now. It looked like a tall pink crown on top of her breast, with a thick nipple erupting out of it. It was so enticing.

Molly cupped her breast and held it, and she put her other arm around me, her hand firmly behind my head. She pulled me in. My mouth opened, instinctively, and I felt the warmth of her swollen areola slide between my lips. I could feel my cock enlarging.

She let out a soft sigh.

I was suckling. It was all reflex: sucking and releasing, massaging her breast with my mouth and my lips, maintaining a tight seal. She kept her hold on the breast, cupping it, stroking and squeezing it rhythmically, and keeping it pressed to my lips.

"God, this feels so good," she breathed in my ear. "Give it a sec. Keep going."

And then I really tasted it—there was warm, sweet liquid drizzling all over my tongue. I swallowed. As more seeped into my mouth, I began to get a real sense of her flavor; she tasted kind of like honey, and a little bit like the milk left over in a bowl of sugary cereal, but no, wait, the flavors were more complex than that. There were herbal notes and a hint of grassiness, and I even detected a tiny bit of coconut. It was warm and really good, like, the most delicious thing I had ever imagined. And it was coming from Molly, from her body! This was amazing. Like, where had this been, my whole life?

I could feel her breathing faster. "It's nice," she was whispering. "It's so nice. You're making me feel really good inside." She took a breath. "I've never done this with a guy before, and I really love it. I love how you feel."

She was pulling me to her chest, very firmly; I had to move my head slightly so I could still breathe through my nose. I could feel her other hand, still cupping her breast, holding it to my mouth, still squeezing and massaging. The scent of her skin floated around me, fragrant and pleasant. She told me later that she made her own skin lotion with various flowers she picked ("Mostly lavender oil that I make, and beeswax from Mavis Beale's beehives.") But I was convinced that the scent I was breathing was Molly herself, her own natural essence.

I never wanted it to stop. Every gulp I took made me more infatuated with the flavor, with the sensation of the liquid slipping across my tongue and running down my throat, with the feeling of sucking on her meaty nipple and big, puffed-up areola. My cock was growing harder. Meanwhile, the world around us had gone dead silent, leaving us with only the wet sounds of my suckling and swallowing, and of Molly's gentle, pleasant sighs. The odd buzzing in my ears was still with me. All of this was so unreal, so unexpected, and so mind-bending and amazing and wonderful. It felt like I had entered another world.

I got very comfortable laying against her, feeding. I noticed that her breast had started to feel a little softer. The more I fed, the better I got at drawing milk out of her nipple; it was exciting to feel the strong flow.

When she pushed my head away, I was surprised and disappointed.

"It's time to switch up," she explained. She leaned down to kiss me for a second. Then, she cupped her other breast and guided my mouth to it. I sealed my lips around the inflamed areola. This nipple wasn't quite as hard and fat as her other one, I noticed—not yet. It only took a few seconds of work until I felt her milk running across my tongue. This breast felt very firm against my lips.

I gulped, and I heard her giggle a little.

"I can hear that," she said. "I love hearing you swallow me."

I fed eagerly, enjoying the taste and the sensation—and, as Molly had mentioned, how close I now felt to her. I was fully cognizant of the fact that I was ingesting something that came directly from inside her body; it felt almost like this was a supernatural act she was performing, feeding me. And, it made me feel warm and intimate with her, and satisfied. My stomach was starting to feel cozy and full, and her breast was starting to feel softer.

"Oh, we have to stop," I heard her say, her voice crackling slightly. Even though I understood immediately, I felt a wave of disappointment. I withdrew from her breast; this nipple was now as swollen as the other, and her areola had gotten really inflamed, swollen into a big crown.

"I'm getting really turned on," she was saying, "and—well, this is a first date. You know?"

I nodded. I did not feel ready to verbalize. That was OK: she was kissing me again, slipping her tongue between my lips.

"Hmm-hmm, I can taste myself in your mouth," she whispered, and then kissed me again. "Yummy, huh?"

I nodded vigorously, still feeling tongue-tied.

"Oh, gosh, are you milk-drunk?" She was grinning at me, clearly amused.

"Huh?"

"I think you're milk-drunk. You got kind of 'drunk' on my milk. I've heard that it happens, usually the first time. Like, you're having trouble talking and thinking straight. Right?"

I nodded again. Could not form words.

"That's so cute. We can wait for a few minutes. It should wear off." Molly started putting her bra together again. I was sorry when she stretched her bra cups back together and hooked the clasp, hiding her breasts away.

Once her dress was buttoned completely up, she pulled me so that I was resting against her. She whispered in my ear, mainly sweet things about how "cute" she thought I was, how much she liked my singing voice and the song, how she loved that we were already this close, stuff along those lines. I mostly understood her words, although sometimes she was hard to follow. It felt like I was translating a foreign language.

I leaned up and kissed the side of her neck. I was still very turned on—I had been in a state of simmering arousal since well before that first swallow—and my cock was a rock hard monster. But I also had a strange sense of well-being, a relaxed, soothing sensation of calm. Closeness, too. It was pleasant, lying against Molly's warm chest, her soft scent still surrounding me. It felt familiar even though it wasn't.

Finally, I felt like I could form a sentence: "When will I see you again?"

She answered casually: "Oh, probably next Sunday at church." Then she looked down at me with a wry grin. "Or maybe sooner, if you ask me out again."

So, I managed to ask her out. Words were coming more easily now, although it was still slow going. There was an ice cream shop I'd heard of in Bakerton—which was like 30 or 40 miles away, the closest next town—and I said we should go there and then maybe take a long walk. Molly thought it was a fabulous idea.

"I had that ice cream once," she said with enthusiasm. "It's the best."

And so it was a date.

---

I had a lot of trouble sleeping that night.

Molly told me, much later, that she'd gone home, pulled out the penis-shaped dildo with suction cup bottom that her "cool" older sister had sent to her, and rode it through 15 minutes of pillow-muffled orgasms before she cleaned up and went to bed. She dropped off to sleep immediately, she said.

I was not that lucky. Sure, I beat off, thinking about her, and when I ejaculated, it felt like a quart of come was spurting out of me. But afterwards, when I usually would get drowsy and doze off, I just lay there awake, replaying everything that had happened.

Milk from a girl. Milk from a girl who had never been pregnant. Milk from a girl who breastfed other women's children. Milk from a girl who said it was also for me, part of being intimate with her.

The crazy thing was, it didn't seem all that crazy. It would have seemed batshit if someone had told me about it even a day before. But at that moment, it seemed somehow normal, even exciting and hot. Well, not the children part—although it was fascinating that Molly had simply made the decision to bring in her milk, and now breastfed other people's kids. Since I hadn't known that was even possible, it seemed impressive.

For a guy to drink a girl's milk, though, that part would probably have seemed like a bizarre kink to me—before that night. Laying there in bed, thinking it all through, this was not a kink, at least not for me. It seemed completely natural, normal. It was a simple thing: her body could make milk because she wanted it to, and she'd shared her milk with someone she liked. She was able to literally put something from her body into mine, something that was meant to be food. (Yeah, OK, a girl might swallow a guy's come, and sperm was technically digestible, but it wasn't really food, and he couldn't keep pumping it out on demand, anyway.)

My stomach still felt kind of full, but in a comfortable way. There was a warm and reassuring sensation deep in my belly. I felt as though part of Molly was down inside my body, just being with me. What kept me awake was that I kept trying to sort through these seemingly conflicting ideas: this wasn't something that was done in the "real," outside world, and yet it seemed like the most obvious, natural thing. All couples should do this, I kept thinking. It was intimate and beautiful. It wasn't exactly sex, but it felt good and gratifying when you were doing it, and it gave you feelings of real closeness.

And I wanted more. That was another crazy thing. I was already craving it. Yeah, sure, I wanted to fuck her, too—badly. I wanted to melt my body into hers, penetrate her, know her, show her how much I liked her in the most primal and explicit way imaginable. I had an equally strong urge to taste her milk again, though. I wanted to taste it and feel myself swallowing it and then feel it down inside me, warm and good.

Was I going crazy?

As it turned out: I was merely adjusting.

Another reason I was having trouble with sleep, though: it was hot as hell. It was still warm outside at 11 PM—during the day, the air could be downright stifling—and the house my mom had rented did not have A/C. I had a fan, just one fan. It was not enough. The heat at night was a problem in general. That particular night, it was compounded by racing thoughts about my new life situation.

So I just lay there, starting to remember what her tongue felt like in my mouth, how she tasted, how her skin smelled, how supernaturally soft she felt. I relived the moment when she first bared her breasts for me, the thrill of that first sight. And yes, I meditated on the feeling of her breast in my mouth, her nipple and areola pressing against my tongue, the taste and sensation of her breastmilk. It did not seem strange at all, now; the fact that she had breastfed me, this was simply an exciting thing we'd done together. It felt common and conventional, like fucking. In fact, it was almost like she had fucked me with her nipples, in a weird way of looking at it. She put part of her body inside me and squirted fluid into me. I'm not really one for reverse role play, but I had to admit that in a sense, Molly had fucked me on the first date, and I had really enjoyed it. Call me a slut; I wouldn't care. I was ready to own it.

I lay there long enough that my dick started to get hard again; I stroked it and kept thinking about being with her. I remembered how she had kept sighing and saying that it felt "nice," and I wondered how good it actually felt for her. I hoped it felt really good, because I liked suckling. Her sighs and shivers had seemed completely genuine to me.

The thought flashed through my mind: what if she could have an orgasm just from me suckling? How amazing would that be? Thing is, a buddy of mine in Tacoma told me his girlfriend would get off when he sucked her nipples (and they weren't doing anything else at the moment). I always thought that sounded incredible. Maybe I could find a way to make that happen to Molly.

I was instantly way more turned on. I started stroking again, and then suddenly I was coming. I don't know where I'd been storing all of it, but I swear I ejaculated another quart.

After I cleaned up, I finally managed to fall asleep, sweating.

---

A couple days later, in the morning, I discovered a note tucked under the windshield wiper of my car, parked in front of my house.

Dearest Rob,

Please pick me up outside church tonight at 7:30.

I'll be working in the nursery till then.

Don't worry about food because they give us

supper at 4:30 before the service starts.

Can't wait to see you!

Hugs and kisses,

Molly

This was an exciting note. Maybe it doesn't seem exciting, except for the "hugs and kisses" part. But it was a nice surprise, a small thrill. I had no idea how she even knew where I lived. This girl was magical! It was also good to know that she was thinking about me. Even better than good.

---

Molly looked fresh and happy as she burst out of the nursery door and headed toward me. She bounced right up and planted a soft kiss on my lips, no hesitation. I took that as a good sign.

On the way to my car, we were already "talking up a chatstorm" (her words). She was wearing a blue dress ("It's periwinkle," she later corrected me) with white stripes and long sleeves, and a hemline down at her ankles. Her feet were in white cloth sandals ("Espadrilles!" she clarified). She was carrying what I thought, at first, was a kind of clutch purse.

"So how was the nursery?" I was genuinely curious about this; the whole scene was kind of hard for me to imagine, even after our recent experience.

"Oh, not really that busy. About six babies and a couple toddlers. It was me and Sarah and Selah and Eden, and the kids weren't all that hungry, so it was pretty easy."

I nodded. "Do you have to run around a lot? Chase them?"

"Not really. Usually there are one or two younger girls around who help with that stuff. Like, Shirley Arbuckle was there tonight, and she's really good at figuring out which babies are getting hungry, and she'll just bring them to us for feedings. She can run the whole thing solo and manage the toddlers, too. She changes all the diapers and coordinates with all the moms; she's a little dynamo. Thing is"—Molly gave me a meaningful look—"Shirley's kind of growing up. She hasn't even turned 12 yet, but she's already got boobs, so I think pretty soon they'll start her out dry nursing."

"Really, that young? Is that how young you were?"

We had reached my Chevelle. I went to the passenger side and opened the door for her.

"Naw," Molly said, "I got here late. I was still in SoCal when I was that age. I've been here like about seven years. Sarah helped me catch up, though. It all went pretty fast." She sat down and worked the seatbelt while I gently shut her door.

I got in and sat on the driver's side, next to her.

"I was afraid it would take forever or something," she continued, "but it was like about six months, and I'd been doing massage and dry nursing all the time, and then one day my milk started coming in." She looked at me, smiling. "I was so happy."