tagCelebrities & Fan FictionWhat Lips My Lips Have Kissed

What Lips My Lips Have Kissed


This is a continuation of The Wet Nurse (Fetish), my tale of the Stearns family


On a clear autumn day in 1901, a man and his son walked through a dense forest. With each gust of wind, leaves showered down and settled on the trail: a kaleidoscope of yellow, bright orange, and deep red. The man, Edwin Stearns, carried a small single-shot rifle with which he had bagged two squirrels that were now in his haversack. His wife Annie would make squirrel gravy for their breakfast in the morning.

Like his father, eight-year-old Edwin Stearns Junior was clad in a hunting cap, wool coat and pants, with canvas leggings. He walked quietly; his father sensed that the boy was deep in thought.

"What's on your mind, son?"

After a long pause the boy spoke. "Henry and Carl, my classmates, have been teasing me. They say because my skin is darker and my hair black, that I'm not really your son. That I must be an adopted orphan; maybe even a Red Indian."

The boy looked hesitantly at his father. Edwin paused and in a quiet voice said, "Let's sit on that log over there and rest awhile."

After the two were seated, Edwin took from an inner pocket a wallet. From a hidden recess in it he drew a small photograph whose sepia tones showed a well-dressed man and woman. He handed the picture to Edwin Junior.

"Do you recognize me?"

"Yes sir. You were younger than now."

"Yes. And that woman was my wife. Edwin, I am your father, and she is the woman who gave birth to you. Her name was Helena Goodwin Stearns."

The child's dark eyes gleamed. As if unsure that he wanted to hear the answer, he asked, "What happened to her?"

Edwin took a deep breath. "Son, childbirth is an awful time for a woman. Your mother died giving you life. The doctors did everything they could, but it wasn't enough. It was just God's will that it be that way, I guess."

He held an arm around the boy's shoulders, awaiting a reply. Instead came a long silence followed by quiet sobs that continued for many moments. Somewhere far away Edwin could hear a bubbling brook, and then a squirrel barking.

After a while the boy spoke. "But who is Mother? Annie, I mean?"

"We hired her as a wet nurse when you came home from the hospital. She nursed you when you were an infant. And I fell in love with Annie. I married her a year after you were born. We'd been living in New York at the time, and moved up here to Stony Point."

The child sighed, gazing deep into the forest. "It's not easy for a little boy to hear what you just told me, Father."

"No it isn't. But you must know that Annie, the woman you call Mother, loves you so much. Two years ago, when you had that fever, she stayed with you day and night, kept you cool with wet towels until it broke. And she cried so, saying she didn't know if she could go on living if the fever took you."

"Do my sisters ... do Emma and Sarah know that Annie is not my mother?"

"No, but it's time that we tell them too."

The man rose and stood before his son. "A boy must know who he is. Can you take it?"

"Yes sir."

"Then we'd better head back toward Oakdale. Your mother and sisters will be wondering where we are."

The child stood and took his father's hand. As they began to walk, he said, "Father, please tell me about Helena. I'd like to know about her."

The man began to speak as the two figures disappeared into the swirling autumn leaves.


Why does a man long for something he can never have? Edwin Stearns Junior grew up in a close-knit family, nourished by the love of his stepmother Annie. Yet a small part of him felt an outsider. He treasured the photograph his father had given him on that autumn day. Often he would take it out and gaze at Helena, who, like him, had raven black hair. Whose blood flowed in his veins.

His few attempts to know the Goodwin family, and to meet his cousins, were a disaster. The Goodwins had been outraged by Edwin's renunciation of New York society and by his marriage to the lowly maidservant Annie. The fact that the two remained perfectly happy only added to their irritation. Blood kin he may have been, but to them Edwin Junior was no better than his father.

The child would have found it ironic to know that his father had felt the same longing for a long-lost mother, and that he satisfied that need by suckling at his wife's ripe breasts. But for Edwin Junior there was no succor.

And so he grew up introspective, at ease in his own company. He became what was called a rambler. Often, when work and school permitted, he roamed the New York countryside for days on end with nothing but a knapsack and bedroll as companion.

In early September 1911, just before starting college, Edwin embarked on such a ramble, by rail and then on foot. He did not stop until he reached Maine. Near Camden he spent the night along the Megunticook River. After a morning hike, he returned to his camp for a lunch of bread and cheese. The day being warm, he rested against a birch tree and soon fell asleep.

Edwin had awakened and was splashing cool river water on his face when her heard a faint splash downstream. Curious, he walked among the pines and birches lining the stream until he came to a charming sight: a young woman bathing in the river.

Edwin would never forget the scene: the deep green pool, above and below which were lively cascades; the girl's rich red hair, glowing in the afternoon sun; her lithe body gliding through water so clear that he could plainly see the tantalizing dark triangle covering her pubic mound.

The young woman was pretty, she was naked, and she was alone.

Spellbound by what he saw, Edwin stepped forward into view. His smile was one of fascination, not lasciviousness. The girl, treading water near the center of the pool, saw him. Instead of becoming angry or panicked, she merely watched for a few seconds.

"Hello!" Edwin spoke.

"Hello yourself. I don't recognize you."

"My name is Edwin Stearns. I'm from New York, up here on a camping trip."

"Are you alone?"


What happened then foretold what would come later. The girl casually swam to the river's edge near Edwin. She rose up and sat on a rock that was submerged in the pool, so that water flowed around her waist. Sitting with her legs together, the dark triangle still visible, she continued to regard Edwin.

The girl's luxuriant hair, which she had taken care not to get wet, was pulled back in a bun. His first impression was that the girl was put together from mismatched parts: she was short and slim, almost frail, yet possessed of a long graceful neck and an unexpectedly mellow voice. She was more striking than beautiful, with expressive green eyes and a prominent nose.

Her ample breasts, neither petite nor oversized, were set low on her torso, glowing in the sun. Rivulets of water flowed down her bosom and dripped from pink nipples that were little more than buds.

The girl spoke. "You strike me as someone who enjoys Walt Whitman."

"The poet?"

"Who else?"

"I do, but Thomas Hardy more. And Poe of course."

"Recite some Poe for me," she ordered, a teasing look on her face.

Edwin paused for a second, then began,

"Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow – "

"Oh I love that poem!" the girl whispered, now smiling in delight. And with that one smile Edwin was lost; was swept away. He did not know her name, only that he loved her. Over the next few decades that smile would charm two continents, but today it was Edwin's alone to enjoy.

She joined his recital; Edwin and the bare Nereid spoke together, finishing with,

"Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?"

When they finished, both smiled warmly as the seconds passed. Somewhere a blue jay called.

"Come swim," she murmured, beckoning to him.

Edwin quickly undressed and waded into the pool. "Oh, you are a handsome boy," she said in approval. He swam across the pool, then returned to where the girl was sitting.

"What's your name?" Edwin asked.

"Vincent ... Vincent Millay."

The girl awaited his response, and when he made none, said, "Aren't you going to ask me why I have a man's name?"

Edwin shrugged. "I'm sure you didn't choose it."

"But I did! My first name is Edna. Edna St. Vincent Millay. But Edna is such an ugly name, don't you think? Edna is a woman who slops the pigs or pounds the carpet clean. I'm not an Edna."

"No, you aren't." By now Edwin could not take his eyes off this beguiling creature. When she rose slightly and launched herself into the water, he gazed admiringly at her firm round derriere, convinced that he had in these Maine woods stumbled upon feminine perfection.

Vincent returned to where Edwin sat. "So you're camping here?"

"Yes, just upriver."

"Do you have anything to eat?"

"Of course. Bread and cheese and some fruit."

The girl got up and walked onto the bank near her clothes. "Swimming always makes me ravenous." She began to pick up stones and skip them across the pool as the sun dried her naked body. Edwin joined her.

After a while Vincent bent down and drew on her petticoat; she then put on a thin camisole through which could be seen her nipples. Last, she stepped into a knee-length muslin dress. It would be another decade before women's bodies would be squeezed into bras and panties. This girl's clothing was loose and comfortable, serving only to cover her.

But everything this day seemed opposite from what it should have been. As she dressed, Edwin reflected that the nude girl was so natural and graceful that sin lay not in her nakedness, but in concealing it with cotton.

Edwin put on his clothes and soon was sharing with Vincent his store of food. He placed a blanket on a chestnut log and each sat astride it, looking at the other. The girl finished her meal with raspberries that Edwin had picked that morning.

She ate languorously, eyes half closed. The dark red juice stained her lips and ran down her chin. A shaft of sunlight illuminated the woman and her gaudy red lips. Edwin watched, scarcely daring to breathe. He had never seen anything so erotic. His pants bulged as his manhood swelled.

Fully aware of the effect she was having on Edwin, the girl smiled as she finished the raspberries, murmuring, "Now kiss it off."

Edwin bent forward and tasted, literally and figuratively, the sweetest lips on earth. He roamed gently over them, then down to her chin, drawing in the juice and savoring her womanly aroma at the same time.

Making matters worse, Vincent drew up her skirt and petticoat, sliding closer to the young man. He was keenly aware that just below the folds of her clothing was her bare sex. He could have reached down and touched it, but dared not.

The girl leaned back, covering her sex by pushing down the dress over her crotch. "Now," she grinned, "you're a visitor from afar, so you must tell me something interesting. Nothing mundane! We've quite enough of that in Camden."

"Well, let's see. How about this: my father likes to suckle at my mother's breast."

Vincent's jaw dropped, and she drew a hand over her open mouth. "Oh that's wonderful!" she cried. "Are you sure? You aren't making it up?"

"No, I once saw them."

Now Vincent drew close again, nearly touching Edwin. "Oh you must tell! I want to hear it all!"

Edwin shrugged. "It happened when I was ten years old. I'd eaten green apples that day and had a bellyache. About ten o'clock I went to my parent's bedroom to see if Mother had some medicine. The door was partly open, and I looked in."

"I could see Mother nursing my younger brother William, who was just an infant. And my father was suckling at the other breast."

Vincent smiled in delight. "Are you sure he was suckling? He wasn't just kissing or fondling her?"

"No, the moon was shining, and I could see that he, well, had her nipple in his mouth. And was ... doing just like a baby, drinking the milk."

"Oh Edwin, a marvelous story, so sweet! Have you ever told your parents what you saw?"

"I would sooner walk across a bed of hot coals."

Vincent sat back and laughed; like everything else about her, the sound was pure enchantment. "I wonder what that feels like." Now eyeing Edwin slyly, she whispered, "You must show me what he was doing."

With that she quickly unbuttoned her dress and undid the camisole, baring her left breast. "Show me," she quietly ordered.

"Do you mean it?"

"Of course! Take my breast. Suckle as if I were your mother."

Thinking that this woman's torment of him would never end, Edwin bent down and began to softly kiss her porcelain smooth breast; then as best he could, drew her small nipple into his mouth and began to suck.

No milk was forthcoming. After a moment Edwin rose up, whispering, "Maybe a woman has to be older to have milk."

"Not to worry," Vincent replied, "it felt nice anyway." A warm rose blush now colored her cheeks. Running her hands through his dark wavy hair, she went on thoughtfully. "You've never touched a woman or been with one, have you, my gentle boy?"

"Why do you call me boy? I'm eighteen. Older than you I'll bet!"

"I'm nineteen. So to me you're a boy. Answer the question."

"No." Edwin confessed, looking down. "I've never known a woman."

He raised his eyes to meet Vincent's. She gazed at him, her eyes preternaturally bright. In a whisper she spoke. "Are you he? Are you the one?"

"The one?"

"The man I have prayed for these past years. The man that I've lit a candle for, and have called out at night to come to me. Are you he?"

Vincent now had an otherworldly glow to her. Edwin said nothing for a while; then, "I don't know."

"Nor do I," she replied in a low voice. "But this is the time and place. Come with me."

Edwin's heart began to pound as the woman's eyes told him what was going to happen. Picking up the blanket, she took the virgin in hand and led him to a level area between two nearby spruce trees where she spread the blanket.

Vincent pushed him down and then sat facing the opposite direction, so that their bodies were close. She pulled her dress and petticoat up until her sex was almost but not quite visible.

Still favoring him with her ethereal gaze, she whispered, "We must always treasure this."

"I know I will," he murmured as they began to gently kiss. But Vincent's kisses quickly became more carnal, more demanding. Edwin had chastely kissed a few girls at dances, but this woman gave all with her kisses. In them was the raspberries; the yearnings she felt, the countless fervent prayers she had uttered.

Soon she undid her dress and camisole and took his hands, inviting him to explore her bosom. When he boldly slid his hand down her impossibly smooth thigh, she did not stop him. He met the soft tuft covering her sex, now wet and fragrant, and drew back as if it were a hot iron.

"My sweet angel," she murmured, her breath now quickening. The day was drawing on; another shaft of light from the lowering sun cast warm pastel pinks and golds that reflected off the girl's face. Edwin had the uncanny feeling that it was all as Poe had said: a dream within a dream.

Now Vincent's kisses became yet more wanton as she unbuttoned Edwin's shirt and eagerly caressed his torso. Edwin could feel the heat from her body, and was aware that he too was burning.

"Take off your pants," Vincent breathed into his ear. Edwin quickly rose and let them fall. The girl pulled down his underpants that extended almost to his knees, then to Edwin's amazement took his stiff manhood in her hand and gave it an affectionate kiss.

"So lovely," she murmured, "a fine cock."

Then she was drawing him down and onto her as with a quick movement she slid her clothing above her waist. Now came the most intense kisses of all as Edwin mounted her.

"Let me guide you, dear," she whispered, and with that took his manhood and led it to the portal of heaven. Edwin instinctively thrust into her, gasping as the heat and wetness of the girl's labia greeted him.

The sensation seemed so carnal, so animal, but was at once delightful in a way that he had never experienced. With another gasp of amazement he thrust, first meeting resistance as the girl cried "Oh! Ooh!" with a sharp intake of breath. But then she yielded and he sank to the hilt in her.

He then withdrew and thrust again. Vincent clutched him as a vine entwines a tree trunk, murmuring, "Easy, my love, easy! Go slow! You're doing so wonderfully, Edwin!"

Edwin fought the animal instinct to just pound until he reached the triumph that his body cried out for. With his last ounce of control he slowed and began to move gently, eliciting from Vincent an, "Oh yes, like that, angel! Like that!"

Time seemed to stand still as the two lovers savored this astonishing carnal pleasure. Finally came an electric feeling that spread like fire throughout Edwin, down to his toes and filling his loins as he reached the pinnacle, culminating in a shocking explosion. The feel of his semen flooding into the woman was so intense that he was unaware that he was nearly crushing her in his arms.

Gasping for breath, Edwin heard the girl's voice again, murmuring, "Don't stop yet, my love! Oh please just a little more!" He continued to drive, until finally the girl closed her eyes and with a long intense shudder softly cried, "Oh at long last! Yes! Oh yes!"

Soon Edwin's senses began to return. He was aware of a thrush singing nearby, of the sheen of sweat covering him, but most of all the delicious musky scent of the creature beneath him. At the river pool he had imagined that he loved her, but that was a child's infatuation compared to the strong masculine emotions now coursing through him.

He rose up on his elbows to look at Vincent, their faces inches apart. The edges of her hair wet with perspiration, she whispered, "Now you're a man, my love."

"Vincent," he whispered between kisses. "I can't believe you're real. God I love you so much!"

"Of course you do, angel," she replied with kisses of her own, "And I love you!"

After a few moments savoring her kisses and her wet sex, Edwin withdrew. Glancing down to his manhood, he saw that it was dark red in color. With a cold shudder her realized that he was covered in virgin's blood.

He looked at the woman, first speechless, then saying, "Vincent ...?"

In a voice that seemed much older than her years, she said, "Yes Edwin. You are a man, and I now a woman."

The weight of what he had done on his shoulders, he took her hands. "Did I hurt you, darling? Please tell me I didn't!"

"Only at first," she smiled wanly. "But after that it was wonderful. Everything I'd imagined." The two looked at each other, in awe of what had happened. Then Vincent whispered, "Let us wash ourselves."

The woman walked into the river. Pulling up her dress and petticoat, she stood in waist-deep water with eyes closed, saying nothing, for long minutes. Edwin quickly rinsed himself, dried off, and put on his clothes.

After Vincent had emerged from the river, she said quietly, "There is a place I want to show you." She took Edwin in hand and began to lead him along a trail that led through the woods and finally to their edge.

Here they entered a cemetery enclosed by a picket fence. In the distance sat a trim white church with steeple. Pointing to a flat mossy gravestone, she said, "Sit."


"Yes. I don't think old Elijah Simmons, who's been gone from us sixty years, will mind two lovers using his gravestone."

Edwin sat on the stone and Vincent got into his lap. "I love it here," she said wistfully, "so calm. Don't you sometimes envy the dead?"

"No, I can't say that I ever have."

"Oh but I do. The travails of life are over for them. Now nothing to do but lie here peacefully, at one with the world. Perhaps their spirit rises from the ground. Sees God as easily as we see this pine tree. Hears His voice as we do the thrush. Do you think so?"

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