tagExhibitionist & VoyeurMeet Mr. Handsome

Meet Mr. Handsome


I go to the park one day with Wyatt, a baby I am cross-nursing for a friend. I am lactating, and I have a very healthy milk supply. I wear a bikini to the park, because there is a lake there, where I will take Wyatt and let him wade in the shallow part. My breasts are so full and heavy that the triangle top no longer fits well; it's tight, and I'm bulging and spilling from it.

Now, I have always been an exhibitionist, especially when it comes to my nipples, which are very large, very pink and very sensitive. Lactation is an excellent way to satisfy this longing I have to expose my breasts to unsuspecting men. It gives me the excuse to bare them in public. After all, it's legal in all 50 states, and it's necessary, if you're feeding a baby. I could perhaps be more modest about it, but either way, no one can arrest me for not using a nursing blanket, or for giving a man a lengthy show before allowing the baby to latch on.

I recently happened to spy a very handsome Englishman who frequents this park, and I already have very specific plans for him. He doesn't know it yet, but today is his lucky day.

Now it's time for Wyatt's lunch. He's hungry, and I am engorged. I tie a sarong around my waist and put Wyatt in his stroller, and take him over to a park bench.

There is no one anywhere near this park bench....except for Mr. Handsome. Mr. Handsome is sitting on another park bench...directly across from where I intend to sit. He is reading a newspaper. He looks up briefly from his paper, and notices me. He no doubt notices that my breasts are full and swollen, and spilling out of my triangle top...the kind of top on which the cups slide back and forth on a cord, so I can just move one of them over to expose my breast for feeding. One of my breasts is leaking.

I lift Wyatt out of his stroller. He is a big boy, 10 months-old, and he can point to things to let you know what he wants. He's pointing at my breast. He can also grasp things now and pull them, and that's exactly what he does...to my bikini top. As soon as I sit down and park him on my lap, he grabs the cup of my bikini top and pulls it to one side, and my engorged left breast springs forth, completely exposed, the nipple wet and glistening with milk.

Mr. Handsome gets a good gander at it. It takes a full 5 seconds for Wyatt to latch on to it and begin noisily sucking. I look up and see Mr. Handsome staring at my nipple, which is far too large for Wyatt to fit entirely into his little mouth, but God bless him, he gives it the old college try. "Mmmmm", says Wyatt, his mouth full. I smile at Mr. Handsome and shrug, as if to say, "Kids! What can I say? My milk really IS yummy."

But Mr. Handsome has sadly been rendered completely stupid. He's TRYING not to stare, but he's not used to this. In Britain, not so many women breastfeed in public, and when they do, they try to be more discreet, maybe use a nursing blanket. He's not used to such brazen behavior; it's a shock to his refined sensibilities. He is staring with his mouth slightly open.

I smile at Mr. Handsome. "Beautiful day; isn't it?"

There is a long pause before Mr. Handsome responds. "I'm sorry...did you say something?"

"I just commented on the weather", I say with a knowing smile. "It's such a beautiful day."

"Oh...yes! Quite, quite. Beautiful....um...your son is very handsome. How old is he?"

"Oh, he's 10 months, but he's not mine." An eyebrow is arched. "He belongs to a friend of mine. I'm cross-nursing."

"Really?" Mr. Handsome is all astonishment. Not only is baby Wyatt making fast and free with my bare breast, but he's not even my boy! Mr. Handsome rises from his bench and walks over, presumably to get a better look at young Wyatt, who is still noisily sucking, his hand resting on my other breast. Wyatt is a big, husky boy with blonde hair and blue eyes that are now fixed on Mr. Handsome. Mr. Handsome sees his chance. He makes funny faces at Wyatt, and Wyatt smiles and begins to giggle. To smile, he must release my nipple, and once again, it is bared to Mr. Handsome's gaze. Now, it is red, wet and elongated from Wyatt's lusty sucking. I smile up at Mr. Handsome knowingly and say, "That's very clever of you, making him laugh."

Now it's Mr. Handsome's turn to shrug. "I'm a clever guy." But his gaze is fixed on my breast, and his face is now serious. He licks his lips.

"You know", I say in a bedroom voice, "you look awfully...thirsty. Are you thirsty?"

"I confess, I am....parched... of a sudden", replies Mr. H.

I pat the bench next to me. "Why don't you sit down?"

Mr. H. hesitates. This is all very strange. Mr. H. feels he has entered the Twilight Zone. He is half expecting someone to jump out of the hedges, yelling "Smile! You're on Candid Camera!"

He looks nervously around, but sees no one close-by, so he sits. He is now mere inches from me; I can smell his aftershave. It smells wonderful. He's blushing, and trying not to stare at my nipple that Wyatt has resumed hungrily sucking. He can see the areola, because Wyatt's mouth does not conceal it. He hopes he doesn't need to stand again, because he can feel his throbbing erection rapidly growing.

Wyatt's sucking slows; he's falling asleep. His eyes close, and he releases my nipple, and once again, Mr. Handsome is getting a free show. I am smiling up at his face, because he is much taller than I. I know what he wants. "Would you care for some milk?"

"Wha...? Oh, um..."

I rise to put Wyatt back in his stroller, leaving my bare breast exposed. After all, he's already seen it. I reach into an insulated diaper bag, and remove a glass jar of my chilled breast milk and hand it to him. I then remove a jar of cream from another compartment.

Mr. H. looks at the milk jar. "Is this...yours?"

"It is. Have you ever had breast milk?"

"I've not...that is, not in my memory." Mr. H. unscrews the cap.

"It's much healthier than cow's milk", I inform him. "Most people are allergic to cow's milk and don't realize it."

"So I've heard", says Mr. H., as he sips the milk. "It's sweet."

"Do you mind if I apply nipple cream?"

Mr. H. nearly chokes on his milk. "No! No, not at all." Poor man looks as if his head might explode. He is no doubt thinking, "Dear Penthouse Forum: I never thought this could happen to me...." He watches intently as I very slowly rub cream on my left nipple, all the while looking at his face.

When I finish, I slowly replace my bikini top and introduce myself. "I'm Dixie", I say, holding out my hand.

Mr. H. grasps my hand and shakes it, causing my breasts to jiggle a bit. He swallows. "Ian", he says.

"Ian....do you come here daily?"

"No, but perhaps I should. Do you?"

"Weather permitting", I reply. I pause. "You like to watch; don't you, Ian?"

Ian blushes, but nods. "Yes", he admits softly.

"It's OK; I know", patting his hand. "You can come here tomorrow and watch again, if you like."

Ian looks me directly in the eyes, his jaw flexing. "I'd like that very much", he said quietly.

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