Quickie: Mother's Milk

I nodded. "And you can clean up or--you know--do your thing."

"I'd so appreciate that. Thank you."

Mom handed me a burp towel, and about five minutes later, she passed Anna to me. During the transfer, Anna opened her eyes. My baby sister looked so sated and tired that I laughed. I turned her little body and showed Mom.

"Aw," she said, joining me in mirth. "Isn't she adorable?"

I nodded.

I held my baby sister with her head over my shoulder. Mom cleaned up while I walked around, bouncing lightly and patting Anna's back. Looking on proudly, Mom said, "Such a good brother." After a few spit-ups, Mom asked if Anna was sleeping.

I checked and nodded.

"Go ahead and put her in the baby nook, then."

After I did, Mom was waiting for me on the couch with a tired smile. She patted the cushion beside her. I went to her and settled with my head in her lap. "My Ty, my guy," she whispered, and she began rubbing my head.

Her big eyes watched mine. She seemed content. Happy even. I tried not to, but I couldn't help glancing at her breasts in the nursing bra.

I needed to start something. It was shocking and wonderful at the same time. I hated myself for it. I secretly celebrated it. I felt the trembling energy of adrenaline begin to sweep through my body. This was like before the tip-off of a big game. My heart began to race. My throat dried up.

I shouldn't, I told myself. Then, swallowing, I said, "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

I couldn't tell if I was still breathing. Plunging ahead, I asked, "Does Anna drink all of your milk?"

"Not in the afternoons usually. Other times, yes."

"So--so there's some left?"

Mom's eyes! She knew. Her lips parted and came together. Her tongue peeked out and wet her thick bottom lip. Finally, she said, "Yes, there's some."

"Would you maybe--" I started, and I was so nervous I had to gulp before I could finish the question. "--maybe let me taste some?"

Mom's eyes never left mine. It seemed like she wasn't breathing either. Blinking twice, she uttered, "You want to taste my breastmilk?"

I nodded. "I mean, since I never got to--you know--before."

She didn't say anything, but her eyebrows pitched upward and drew together in a look of motherly sympathy. I had seen it scores of times since Anna had been born.

"Please?" I added.

She nodded--all tenderness and motherly love. "Close your eyes," she whispered, "and open your mouth."

I did.

I heard the soft rip of velcro separating. The cup landed over my eye, and Mom tucked it between my head and her tummy. I felt Mom's body move to line up the breast with my mouth. For a fleeting moment, the smooth, downy underside dabbed my cheek. Mom's hand cradled my jaw, and she turned me toward her. "Wider," she murmured.

I gaped my mouth.

Mom adjusted herself again, and then her hand left my face. I sensed it collecting up the heavy flesh of the breast just inches from my lips. Without further warning, specks of warm fluid dotted the back of my throat, running down and coalescing into a pool on my tongue. The hint of honey wafted into my nose as a fresh jet tickled the roof of my mouth.

The flow ceased, and I closed my lips. There couldn't have been more than half of a teaspoon, and its warmth so closely matched my own that I could barely tell it was there. Gathering it, I swallowed the milk down.

Honey, I realized. It was actually there.

This was good. This was like--like a honeyed nog, but not eggy. Not thick. Rich, yes. Not salty. Only sweet. And when I swallowed, there was an almost cucumber-like aftertaste that left my mouth unsatisfied, needing more.

"Do you like it?" Mom asked.

I opened my eyes, and she didn't flinch or hide; I never looked at her nipple, but I sensed its nearness to my lips. Staring straight up at her, I nodded and opened my mouth again.

Mom smiled, and her fingers expressed. Her left hand caressed my hair as she fed further bursts of her breastmilk into my mouth. When the next stream ended, I swallowed and licked my lips.

Her grin brightened further when she saw my expression. "Is it that good to you?"

"It's amazing."

"Well, that's enough for now," she said, digging the cup from between us and covering the exposed breast. "Will you let me snuggle into your lap and tell me about it?"

"Yeah," I said, ignoring how the aftertaste lingered in a way that left me unquenched. "Yeah, okay."

As strange as it is for me to say, I wasn't hard. I ought to have been. The simple fact is I had been so nervous leading up to the moment of asking Mom that my cock had gone into a kind of war mode. It hunkered down. Then, once I began tasting her breastmilk, I was so astonished by the flavor that sexual thoughts never had the time to arouse me.

So, Mom slid into my lap, and I didn't have to tuck anything away out of guilt or shame. I stroked her head and described what I tasted.

She sighed, and though she wasn't smiling, I knew Mom was pleased. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes, hummed, and whispered, "Oh, how I need this." Her eyes went to mine, and she thanked me.

I lifted her to my face and bent down. Petting her hair, I said, "I love you, Mom." Then, I kissed her cheek.

Mom grinned, and to my surprise, she snuggled into my chest. The gesture was childlike, and before I could react, she sighed and asked, "Will you hold me like this, please?"

Cradling her upper body in my arms, I held her close to me. Her face was just underneath my own. It was a bit like she was my baby. I even said so.

She smiled, and she looked so comfortably peaceful that I adjusted my grip to free my right arm. Supporting her with my left, I curled my index finger and slid the back of it over her cheek and along her jaw to her chin. Back and forth, I caressed her face. She murmured, "I need to feel like someone's baby sometimes."

Mom adjusted herself. Still in my arms, she spun her body towards me. Once settled, she sighed, and I watched Mom lick her lips. Then, she planted three soft kisses on my chest through my shirt.

From the other room, Anna's plaintive cry yanked us out of the moment. "Duty calls," she sighed, rising. When she bent to kiss my lips, I didn't wait and accept it as I always had, I met her lips with mine. It was short, as always, but by joining her in the act, I felt and tasted her lips for the first time.

Such softness there. Warm, but not hot. My mind drank in the taste of her lips. Honey--from the breastmilk that she, no doubt, self-nursed--and though I cannot say for certain, the floral fragrance around her face seemed to imbue her flavor with something almost like an herbal tea.

Mom thanked me and left. Guilt, like a cold shadow, returned.

***

I did not skip out of basketball practice early the next day. In fact, I stayed late, shooting free throws until I could hit twenty in a row. Never did make it to twenty. Coach finally ordered me to leave so he could lock up the school.

I found Anna in her kitchen crib when I got home. She was surrounded by soft blocks, pawing and kicking at them with something resembling concentration on her little face.

Mom called out to me from the family room. As simply and naturally as I could, I said, "Hi, Mom!" and passed through the kitchen, turned down the hall, and rounded to the foot of the stairs.

"Wait," she said as I began to bound up the steps.

I stopped. "What's up?" I called back.

"Come back, please."

I spun and returned to the landing.

Smiling from across the room, she said, "Come here and tell me about your day, Ty." She patted her lap.

Damn. I had been hoping to avoid her, avoid temptation.

Mom was in a set of plaid, flannel pajama pants. On top, she wore one of her grey, tank-top-style nursing shirts. No sleeves, of course, the arm holes were more like cut-outs, stretching down to her waist so that she could easily sweep the fabric aside and expose a breast. I saw the side of a white nursing bra as I climbed onto the couch and put my head on her lap.

"There's my Ty, my guy," she cooed.

Instantly, her fingers found my hair, and I didn't care about anything but her touch anymore. Adjusting herself underneath me, I felt her left breast alight against my temple.

"What was your hurry upstairs all about?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"I only ask because I look forward to these times, comforting one another and hearing about your day."

"Yeah," I said. "Me, too."

"I'm glad."

In the silence that followed, I could not ignore the breast I felt against my head. I made the smallest, slightest turn toward it. Mom didn't notice. In agonizingly slow increments, I was able to eventually feel it against my nose. Then, I opened my eyes and looked at the other one.

It looked very, very full--not at all like the one she probably used to nurse Anna, the one I put my nose against. Like a tap on the shoulder, some instinct told me I had been discovered looking. I bent my eyes up and found Mom's there, watching me. Neither angry nor joyful, her expression seemed curious, maybe even nervous, if had to describe it.

"Would you like--," she began hesitantly, "--like to taste some again?" Before I could muster a reply, she added, "Anna didn't take it all."

I was nodding because I could not have said a word.

Mom didn't smile or react to my decision. I felt her right hand slide near, and I saw it push her shirt aside, exposing the jutting mass of her bra. I heard the velcro seam of the cup tear open, and I didn't look. Couldn't, though I wanted to. I closed my eyes to keep myself from stealing a glance.

Mom shifted her body and mine. I helped, and I felt the exposed nipple kiss my chin as we rearranged ourselves. Mom's fingers brushed against my jaw as she took up the hefty tit. I opened my mouth wide and waited.

She--it--felt closer than last time, as if I could close my lips and find the nub right there waiting for me. The feel of her fingers expressing so near my face confirmed this suspicion. The jet was thin and strong, pelting the back of my throat like the discharge of a tiny water pistol.

I opened my eyes as the fluid formed a tiny pool in my throat.

Mom's eyes regarded me, and my heart soared because of the adoration I saw there. I was her baby, too. Mom was absolutely radiant. Beautiful.

The jet stopped, and I felt Mom adjust her fingers to begin squeezing a fresh helping. I swallowed what she'd given me, and when the next stream began, I could not stop myself. I closed my lips over her nipple and began to suck.

Mom's breath caught, and I prepared myself to be scolded. A beat passed with nothing, and then Mom sighed. It was a sound filled with comfort--like she had settled into a hot tub after a long day of physical labor. I felt her expressing hand slip away, and a moment later, it caressed my jaw.

I could draw more milk being latched to her this way, but it was not a significant difference. It would take a long, long time to breastfeed an eighteen-year-old boy to satisfaction. I swallowed it by the teaspoon, and it took a while to draw that amount from her.

As before, I loved the taste. It wasn't liquefied wedding cake, but it was creamy and just sweet enough to both quench my thirst and fuel it all the more. What made it perfect, though, was that it was her. Maybe my young mind grew carried away by the thrill of the moment, but I felt as though everything about my mother--from the smell of her hair to the way she walked--had been distilled into its purest essence, and she was letting me swallow it down.

The total silence of the act surprised me. I expected to hear wet sloshes and bursts of airy suction. I heard almost nothing. The more I considered it, the sooner I recalled that Anna's nursing had never been a noisy affair.

I'm not sure I have ever grown so rapidly and tautly erect, and I didn't care. I knew my cock would be obvious under my sweatpants, but the knowledge that I was sucking Mom's nipple and feeding from her plump breast thrilled me like nothing before.

I glanced at Mom's face again, seeking her reaction to this moment in hopes that it might justify my own. I did not expect what I saw.

She struggled. Her eyes were pinched tightly shut. Her mouth hung open, and she drew swift, deep draughts of air while trying to remain silent about it. Then, her lips shut. She licked them and seemed to bite down as if smothering some feverish utterance. If my initial latching had provided some relief for her, I realized, then my nursing agitated her deeply.

Or was it satisfaction? It might have been.

Stirred by this thought into a frenzy of excitement, I reached across my body and tentatively, lightly, caressed the side of her exposed breast. Mom didn't discourage it. So, I petted the downy flesh again, adding fingers. There was no objection, so I gripped it lightly in my fingers while I sucked.

If I could have cursed, I would have. This was a stunningly full breast. My gentle squeeze expressed more of her milk into my mouth. I swallowed it down while I massaged her. The flesh warmed my fingers.

I drew off and, finally, dared to look, still lightly clasping the breast. The creamy skin around her nipple caught and reflected the light. It was bulbous in a way that seemed to broadcast its brimming fullness with sweet milk. Confirming the idea, I watched a white bead of the fluid leak from her nipple.

It was spectacular. I licked it off, relishing in the rigid, puckered texture my tongue encountered there. The nipple and areola, together, looked like a thing meant to be kissed--almost luridly pink. It was generously wide and sparsely dotted with tiny raised bumps, capped by a wrinkled, pouting nub. I was mesmerized, and I resumed nursing on it.

My cock throbbed. It felt impossibly hard down there. Powerful and energized. The prospect of Mom seeing it and ending this moment struck at me, so I opened my eyes and glanced at my crotch.

Holy shit. My sweatpants were a cotton canvas stretched tautly over a launching rocket. My eyes darted to Mom.

She was staring at it. Blinking, an airy hum slipped from her mouth. Just then, she turned back to my face. I snapped my eyes shut and continued sucking and squeezing her breast, and I awaited her judgment.

My actions could no longer be interpreted as simple curiosity or natural mother-son intimacy. The throbbing violence of that hard-on would obliterate such delusions.

Anna saved me.

From the kitchen there arose a cry, not of desperation but delight--a lilting yowl of joy. Mom and I parted instantly, both turning toward the source. I sat up. Mom covered her exposed breast and went to my sister. I hid my erection under my shirt and followed.

Mom was bent over the crib, grinning. "Look," she whispered.

I did.

Anna was bright-eyed and alert. On her back, she had grabbed her feet and seemed tickled by the accomplishment.

"Good job, sweetheart!" Mom cooed. "You got your toes!"

It was like a knife in the heart, looking at Mom bent over the crib and smiling with such affection and joy. Rising quickly, she turned to me, and her grin vanished. Her eyebrows came together and rose. "Would you soothe me now, Ty?" she asked.

I nodded. She took my hand with a smile and led me back to the family room couch.

When I sat down, Mom said, "Do you mind taking off your tee shirt? Skin on skin is so much more comforting."

I could not refuse her request, but I knew it meant I would have to reveal my enduring hard-on. Without a word, I rose and pulled off my shirt.

Mom saw my erection. I struggled to find words.

She gently shushed me two times. Three. Drawing near, she murmured, "It's okay, Ty--my Ty, my guy. I won't mind it." Taking my hips, she invited me to sit, and then she crawled onto the couch beside me, placing her head in my lap.

"Oh," she huffed when the back of her head came to rest on the impossibly rigid shaft. "Goodness," she added, scooting a few inches toward my knees to grant room for my cock. She adjusted herself again. Then, she said, "Maybe--Ty, will you lift and hold me like you did yesterday?"

Clearing my throat, I nodded. Wrapping my arms around her--one under her back and one cradling her head--I raised her from my crotch and held her against my bare chest.

She sighed and closed her eyes. I petted her hair softly. Swallowing a gulp, I murmured, "So beautiful, Mom."

She snuggled into my arms, and she turned and kissed my chest.

Again.

Another.

She rolled her hips toward me, and as I adjusted my grip to account for her new position, she raised her chin, parted her lips, and closed them over my left nipple with a light hum.

I couldn't move. I drew a long, silent breath when I felt the gentle suction. She nursed on me for a few seconds before drawing back. She opened her eyes, found mine, and said, "Let me be your baby for a little bit, please?"

I nodded.

She resumed.

The feeling of her lips swept me away. I'm not sure how I could have remained silent, but I don't recall hearing anything more than Mom's soft hums and the gentle undulations of her throat when she swallowed. She latched to me tenderly and lovingly--as if a stronger pull on my nipple might injure me. Her lips drew slowly, and the act felt more like a long, affectionate kiss than anything else.

But, it looked like she was nursing from me. Her head and jaw undulated to a tempo as relaxing as a gentle lullaby. Her eyes were shut, and she looked as though she might be sleeping.

I ran my fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. She sighed at this, and I felt the warm air from her nostrils blanket my chest.

The soft tension on my nipple gave way, and I heard a wet kiss as she released me. Mom looked into my eyes, and she murmured, "I don't mind that you can't give milk, Ty. It comforts me to do this, makes me feel special and loved."

I swallowed and nodded.

She kissed the nipple and covered it with her mouth.

Barely able to speak, I asked if she wished that I made milk for her.

She never stopped nursing when she replied, "Uhm-hmm."

My every sense was suddenly alive as if to mortal peril. Adrenaline pumped through my body, igniting my heart and preparing me for what I knew to be a colossal risk. The next words almost stuck in my throat. I had to swallow twice to provide enough lubrication for my tongue to move. Finally, I muttered, "I do have milk for you--sort of."

Mom drew away from my chest. Her face turned toward mine. She blinked slowly, like a sleepy house cat, while her eyes searched mine. I waited for her reply, but she didn't give me one.

I'd never felt more excited or more nervous. When she didn't speak, when her eyes continued reading mine, I plunged ahead, daring fate to reward or destroy me. Clearing my throat, I murmured, "My body makes something that's--something kind of like milk. I could nurse you--sort of."

Blinking again, Mom sounded almost childlike when she replied, "Could you?"

I nodded.

"You would let me have your milk?"

"Yeah," I said, and my voice sounded far away.

Mom's eyes moved over mine. She licked her lips and murmured, "Will you tell me?"

My mouth hung open; dry air wafted back and forth. I could not hear my breath. I knew what she was asking, but I couldn't bring myself to say the actual words to her. In my desperation, I began, "I would hold you. I would cradle you and caress you like you do for Anna."

"You would?"

I nodded. "I would hold you close and whisper--." I hesitated. "Sweet" was not a word I often used, but it was the right one. I surged ahead. "I would whisper sweet things to you."

"While I nursed on you?"

Gulping, I nodded yet again. "Yeah, and--."

"--And you would feed me?"

I nodded.

Mom didn't speak for a moment. Then, drawing a shallow breath, she murmured, "I would like that very much."

Amazed at what was about to transpire, I wasn't quite sure how to proceed. Should I move or--?