Roommates, Professor & Breast Milk

I'll always be amazed that Leighton is my university roommate. I knew her in high school, she was a leader, I was not. Leighton was always the kind of girl whose messy, shoulder-length blonde hair is somehow always perfect. Smart girls considered it an honor to have Leighton copy their homework. Boys would stumble over their words talking to her, especially boys on the debate team.

Before this semester started, I was curious who my roommate would be, and when she entered the room and tossed her things on the bed, I was floored. She introduced herself with a handshake and smile, not knowing we went to the same high school. She laughed when I told her. We became quasi-friends ever since.

This isn't one of those universities where students party and get drunk and hook-up. This is, shall we say, a more religious place. It's the kind of academic institution where reputation is everything. The campus is large and modern. The surrounding area is quiet. Apparently it gets blazing hot in the summer and icy cold in the winter.

Leighton stands in front of me while I'm sitting at the desk with my laptop open. Right away I know that I've done something to annoy her.

"You're human, right?" she asks.

"Last time I checked. Why?"

"Here's the thing. May I be honest?"

"Sure."

"We're stuck with each other for the foreseeable future," she says. "Before this, I had my own bedroom and a nice house with my family. Dorm life has so many perks and freedoms, sure, but the thing is, you literally never leave this dorm. You're here all the time. Do you get what I'm hinting at?"

Unlike most students, I already have a job lined up post-graduation, courtesy of my uncle. All I have to do is maintain stellar grades and earn the right distinctions. The problem is that I'm a biology major. As a result, I'm in the dorm all the freaking time studying -- just like Leighton said.

So yeah, she has a point. And I've never felt so small.

"What can I say? I'm not as popular as you. I also have a massive amount of coursework."

"Need me to spell it out?" she asks.

"Go ahead."

Leighton rolls her eyes. "Masturbating in the public shower is disgusting and heinous. I can literally feel pressure in my lower pubic region whenever I sit. I figured it would be easy in the dorm, but you're always here. Got it?"

This isn't a joke. Leighton glares at me with the eyes of a wolf pack leader. In my circle of friends, dating is a topic, but sex and masturbation are not. Leighton is a different breed though. A former sports star on the track and field who maintains her figure at the campus gym. Her hormones are leaps and bounds above mine.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Be reasonable. I was hoping you would masturbate in your bed first, but I guess not. That's why I had to ask."

"We can work something out, a schedule of sorts. I could go to the library when you need me out."

She sighs. "You truly are a robot. The human body doesn't work that way. These feelings lose their magic when it goes by schedule."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Be open, be spontaneous, be... I don't know... normal."

"You can be yourself around me," I say. "Really, it's cool."

"Are you sure? I'll hold you to that."

"Positive."

Leighton gives a slow nod. "Thanks for being a friend."

I play it cool, but being called her 'friend' is the equivalent of scoring the winning touchdown in a sports game. It's the validation I've always wanted. But now I'm stepping into a world I may not be ready for, because girls like Leighton soar at different heights than people like me.

So it turns out that my roommate is a prolific masturbator. Nothing malicious. It's spontaneous with high energy. I discovered this soon after that important conversation we had. Usually it happens early in the morning and most times it seems like her body is on autopilot. Sometimes her eyes would be closed like she's in deep sleep, while her hand moves beneath the blanket around her crotch area, then her breathing would go up, then her breathing returns to normal. It's quite bewildering, I'll admit.

Other times it's more overt, where she'll roll around after waking up, tossing and turning. Then she faces the other direction so she doesn't disturb me, before slipping her hand down below. She makes these cute panting noises when she approaches her climax and she tries to keep it hushed. When she finishes, she'll reach for tissue to dry herself. Sometimes she'll go back to sleep, other times she'll get up and head to the bathroom, tissue in hand with a messy head of hair.

At night it's more calculated. She'd whisper in a low voice, 'You awake?' and I'll pretend I'm sleeping and listen to her masturbate. For those types of sessions, Leighton uncovers herself and I can hear the squishy sounds her fingers make when going inside. Sometimes she'll finish and use the bathroom. Other times she'll be nasty and just cover herself with the blanket and go to sleep.

Yesterday she surprised me with a box of chocolates, telling me what a great friend I am. Then she had some guy from another dorm come over to assemble a clothing rack for her. She told me the rack is for drying her hand washed panties. She invited me to use the same rack. I politely declined, of course.

This morning was the most offensive of them all. She woke up around seven and we gossiped from our beds, both of us still groggy. When I turned to look at her, Leighton's eyes were closed and I noticed she was topless beneath her blanket. Her bare shoulders were visible. Her blonde hair splayed across the pillow.

"Do you mind?" she asked.

I said, "No," even though I wasn't sure what she was talking about, but I had an idea. Knowing her, and seeing her in that state, it was most likely something sexual. My suspicion was confirmed. Leighton slipped her hand down while she laid on her back. The blanket shifted downward and her upper chest was showing, her nipples threatening to expose. She did nothing to stop that. I closed my eyes, then pulled my blanket overhead pretending I went back to sleep.

After her orgasm and mumblings, I laid beneath my blanket so Leighton had time to compose herself and perhaps put on a top. It was the courteous thing to do with a roommate. I heard the sound of her ruffling around in bed.

When the time felt right -- actually I needed to pee -- I pulled my blanket off and turned to Leighton, seeing her topless, laying to the side and facing my direction. Her breasts are surprisingly small and I wondered if she uses bra pads. Her nipples are pink and delicate. Her blue eyes were piercing in my direction.

"Sorry if that was loud," she said.

Leighton pulled off her blanket. She's thin, more on the skinny side, and I think she lost much of the muscles she had when running track in high school. She got up and walked ass naked to the bathroom. Her blonde hair was a dazzling mess and she closed the door, while I had to remain in bed, holding my pee.

So now I'm sitting in class wondering, if that happened this morning, what other tricks does Leighton have for the rest of the semester? My instincts tell me that she's only getting started.

It's late afternoon when I get to the dorm after the gym and shower. I'm towel-drying my hair when the door opens and Leighton arrives with icy flakes of snow on her clothes. She's typically groggy from late-afternoon slumps, but this time she looks refreshed, like she's had a strong cappuccino, and there's almost this glow around her.

"You seem chirpy today," I say.

After I finish drying my hair with the towel, I place it on the same rack next to her panties. That's how close we've become with sharing our personal belongings.

"I've become an unofficial Teacher's Assistant."

"Really? How does that happen?"

"Professor Nanda needed my help."

"That's so cool. I'll have her class next semester. How is she?"

"Strict, no-nonsense," Leighton says. "Kind of sexy, in an unorthodox way."

"Interesting response."

Leighton lifts an eyebrow. "Do you want to help, you know, assisting her? It's always good to make connections with a professor. Especially with your biology major."

"Really?"

"Hang on, let me use the bathroom first."

When she darts to the bathroom, I get on my laptop and look at Professor Nanda's online faculty profile. She's a Burmese/Indian woman, born in Yangon, but educated in England and she's highly respected in the field of medical science.

Finding pictures of her online is easy. She's academic looking. Early 40's. Glasses. Each image shows her with a straight face, she's tall, almost statuesque. Taller than most Asian women and her Indian genes seem more prominent than her Burmese genes. I can see why my roommate thinks the professor is sexy.

I'm listening to the sound of Leighton pissing in the toilet as the bathroom door is wide open -- one of her newer habits. After she flushes and washes her hands, she comes back and sits on her bed. I sit on my bed and we're facing each other. She seems eager to delve into this.

"So what kind of stuff are you doing?" I ask.

"First, you have to swear to keep this a secret. I mean it. Secret."

"Yeah, of course, I'm assuming you're helping with grades or test information."

"No, I'm helping with her breasts."

"Excuse me?"

Leighton composes her thoughts. "I went to the professor's office two weeks ago to offer my assistance. Basically I knew she had discomfort in her chest area, I could tell from looking at her giving lectures. She'd recently given birth and it was like her bra was messing with her. I used to work at Victoria's Secret, so I know these things. Anyway, I offered help, she was intrigued. We talked for a while.

She continues, "Professor Nanda explained that the cold weather basically constricts her blood vessels, making everything tense. So when she goes to pump in between classes, there's a problem. This part of America is nothing like her upbringing in the heat of Burma, so that was the source of her issue."

"You really believe that?" I ask. "Cold weather doing that to a woman's breasts?"

"Do you know a lot about breast milk?"

"I was a sitter for my cousins before."

"Good to know, and to be honest, it could be a ruse."

"Why would the professor lie?"

"Because we both wanted the same thing. My lips around her nipples."

I gasp. "You can't be serious."

"Swear on everything. No one knows except you."

"You're joking. There's no way a professor of that esteem would risk it all. Plus the part about her breast milk and the weather, that's unheard of. Nice try though."

"Hold still."

Leighton gets up and sits on my bed right next to me. She's sitting with her legs crossed and she's facing my direction, while I turn to her. She puckers her lips and blows her breath in my direction, creating a gentle breeze on my face. It takes a few moments of inhaling to smell the unmistakable aroma of a woman's lactate. My eyes widen. Her eyes narrow.

"Oh my god."

"It's like regular milk, with a more distinct smell," she says.

"Why are you telling me about this, anyway."

"Because the professor mentioned having TA positions that'll be open in the future. And I want you to do well, you know, having that connection with someone like her."

"This is wild. I was just looking at her pictures while you were in the bathroom. She seems intimidating."

"Professor Nanda is definitely an unusual person. Her mind is sharp, her manners are always on-point, she rarely smiles. I think that's what makes her so sexy, in addition to her natural beauty."

"So the professor is open to having another person assisting her?"

"I'll have to ask. I wanted to get your opinion first."

"This is wild. I mean, wow."

"Have you ever touched another girl before?" she asks.

"Not in that way."

"Fantasy?"

"No comment. It's complicated."

"That's a normal response. Trust me, I've been there."

"How does this work with the professor?" I ask. "Did the physical contact start today? An ongoing thing? I have to think it's super risky for someone like her to be doing this on campus."

"Today was the third time. She texts me on really cold days, when it's snowing. Her office is spacious. She locks the door and we sit by the wall to avoid that small window, so no one sees us inside."

"And you just... suck?"

Leighton nods. "The professor likes my hands, first and foremost. She opens her top like nudity is nothing to her. She's a woman of science, after all. The human body and its mechanics are simply another day in the office. When she does this, her nipples always turn erect. She has me start with my hands. She likes when I rub her boobs. There's a particular caress that she taught me, how to stroke and cup her breasts. She complains about the cold weather outside and says my hands are a natural heating system that gets her blood vessels primed.

She continues, "That's when I start to suck. At her command, when she's ready. The milk flows freely after I'd work her boobs. I'll admit, it's an odd feeling drinking that kind of fluid from a woman's tits, but there's a reason I keep going back. And there's a reason she keeps calling."

"Can I ask you a personal question? Well, it's already personal, but this is more personal."

"Sure."

"Is this purely sexual for both of you? That's the vibe I'm getting here. It seems so obvious, but it's like she's somehow using the ruse of the cold weather affecting her lactation."

"All matters of the nipple are inherently sexual," she says. "Are you interested?"

The question hits me like a ton of bricks. The idea of nursing on a woman had never crossed my mind in my entire life. I never saw it as a sexual act before. I never understood why any adult would want to drink the milk of a woman, when pasteurized milk is available in stores. I do, however, understand the appeal of big nipples. Maybe that's what draws Leighton to this fetish, and make no mistake, this is a fetish she's engaged in.

"Can I think about it?"

"I'm not going to pressure you," she says. "It's a friendly offer, besides, the professor would have to approve of it."

"How do you envision this happening? Assuming the professor agrees to me joining."

"You and me. Side by side. Sucking on each of Professor Nanda's big dark nipples."

I gulp. "Why would you want that?"

"You're a friend. I want you to succeed. Having strong connections to faculty is important to academic success, you know."

Leighton's words and tone don't match. She sounds like she wants to help me as a roommate, as a friend, but her eyes and tone suggest something else. If I had to guess, I'd bet that she's wet between the legs, imagining me joining them. I never thought of her as a lesbian before, just a free spirit. I never wanted to inquire that deeply about her sex life because I'd be opening Pandora's box.

We end the conversation with the offer still intact. I respect that she doesn't push me toward this. And I think she's too embarrassed to press this further. Leighton is a girl who gets whatever she wants and is never shy about asking. This is the first time she's ever shown a glimpse of being timid.

*

At night we lay in bed, I can hear her sleeping, breathing, but I'm still awake with the moonlight shining in our room. Before bed I'd been looking at pictures of the professor on my phone. Leighton hadn't broached the topic again, but it's all I can think about. It's the offer of a lifetime. I think about my willingness to commit a sexual act in the name of gaining favoritism. I think about the ethics of using my mouth. I've never done anything wrong in my life.

My hand slips below while Leighton is sound asleep. Everyone masturbates, Leighton feels comfortable doing it openly, I do not. She's more about rhythm and vibes and being in the moment. I'm more about privacy and neatness. I usually pleasure myself while she's in class, laying in bed with a piece of folded tissue beside me for immediate clean up.

This is the first time I pleasure myself while she's near. Does it turn me on that she's sleeping while I touch myself? No. That isn't my thing. What's turning me on right now is thinking about those pictures of Professor Nanda and imagining what her nipples must look like. And what her milk must taste like.

We're walking outside, Leighton and I, through the quad and past the other students. It's late afternoon, so foot traffic is down, and it's freezing cold. Not snowing, but enough to make you shiver. We're walking at a brisk pace like we're on a mission. Because we are.

Leighton had met with the professor a few more times, but today I have the courage to join. To be super clear, this isn't a quid pro quo. I'm not bargaining for better grades in the future. I'm simply doing the professor a small favor. No unethical agreements (though the ethics of nipple play between professor/student is a different matter altogether).

The only request we've gotten is that our mouths be washed and we wear gloves to keep our hands warm. It makes sense to be clean and I'm assuming the professor expects her breasts to be rubbed.

We enter the science building and it's quiet at this hour. We head to the fourth floor to reach the office. I've laid eyes on Professor Nanda a few times recently from stalking her, but it's different when she looks right at me. I have nervous energy in the pit of my stomach like we're about to have sex, even though it's not technically sex.

The professor looks beautiful with her grace and sense of sophistication. She wears glasses and her black hair is in a bun today. Her wardrobe is reasonably priced. Her office is typical for a professor, books and papers everywhere, but she has pictures of shrines from Burma and other antiques from the South Asian region. For some reason that makes me horny, like we're doing the forbidden with someone who culturally shouldn't be doing this -- on top of her being an educator.

She stops what she's doing and comes over to greet us, forming a rare smile seeing both of us together. It's the first time I've seen her smile and it's a gem.

"This is the friend I've been telling you about," Leighton says.

Professor Nanda extends a handshake. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Leighton tells me you're a wonderful roommate who puts up with her unusual habits."

I shake the professor's hand and introduce myself. Leighton told the professor about her masturbation habits in our dorm? That's the impression I'm getting. Anyway, I tell the professor my name and that I'm a biology major, that we'll be seeing more of each other in the future when I take her advanced courses. The professor nods, delighted by this news.

"That's wonderful to hear," Professor Nanda says. "The biology field is dependent on fresh faces like yours. The courses are challenging, I'll admit, but we'll work through it."

"Hard work doesn't scare me, which you'll probably find out, you know. Well, you know what I'm saying. Can you tell that I'm nervous right now?"

She laughs. "Let's get started. I'm sure you two have other important things you'd rather be doing."

The professor locks the door, then she stands by the table, which is away from the view of the door's small window. Leighton and I remove our jackets and hand gloves. Professor Nanda unbuttons her blouse like she's getting a medical exam, instead of anything sexual. Perhaps I've misread her intentions. Maybe it's a cultural difference and she doesn't view this as being sexual at all?

"The cold weather is like a metaphor for motherhood. It can be harsh and unforgiving, but incredibly rewarding. Challenges give life meaning. And what's life without a little bit of adventure on the side?"