Travelogue

Then, Lila put her hand under her left breast and pinched and rolled her nipple. "Poor thing is so cold!" she said.

I breathed on it, trying to help it warm up. It actually helped a little; I could see her areola unshrinking.

"OK," she said, "I think that's good."

She cupped her breast and held it out to me. Her other arm reached behind my head and pulled my head even closer. Lila aimed her boob with one hand and pulled my head with the other, and we made the connection. I closed my mouth around her breast skin as I felt the nipple sliding to the back of my mouth.

I started to suck, and felt hyper-aware of every sensation. There was the smooth, wet feeling of my lips on her breast skin, the rubbery bumpiness of her areola across the flat of my tongue, and, most excitingly, the hard length of her nipple brushing at the roof of my mouth and around the back of my tongue. Lila was sighing, and I could feel her breathing increase. She was pulling me even closer to her, as if to close any remaining gap between us. I could smell the lake on her skin, and the pleasant scent of her breath as she sighed.

Her chest vibrated softly as she purred to me. "It feels so good," she was saying to my ear.

It seemed suddenly obvious to me that this was natural; she was about to share her body with me. Simple and natural—it was as if this had never seemed strange to me at all. It was fun, and she was delicious.

I was tasting the milk now. She was playing with my hair, almost as if to signal that she knew the flow had started. It felt surreal, almost as if I had to keep reminding myself of what the two of us were doing. This was, in a way, more intimate than fucking. It was a steady flow, and my awareness that Lila had made food in her body and was now giving it to me—in such an intimate way—was amazing and even thrilling. I could feel my heart beating a little harder, and my cock swelled nearly to the point of agony. I desperately wanted to fuck her. Still, having this tight connection with her body was satisfying in its own way, enough so that I could stave off the urge to climb on top of her and push inside.

Lila clearly felt a similar way: obviously aroused. She was shifting around and breathing harder, and when I glanced up toward her face, I could see that her eyes were shut tight. This was pleasurable for her, no doubt. Later, she made it clear to me later that having me suckling on her wasn't really anything like having a child do it. "For one thing," she told me, days afterward, "your mouth is way bigger so it feels really different on me. And I guess another thing is, I'm just caring for them, where with you, it's not like that. You know, I might hold Joshua's hand if I'm taking him somewhere for Judith, but when I hold hands with you, it's not the same thing at all."

About five minutes or so after her milk started flowing, Lila's hand made its way down into the water and between her legs. It did brush my cock, but she paid no attention. Her hand started wiggling, splashing a tiny bit as she did it. Her deep breathing quickened until her mouth opened and she started almost panting. Her other hand was still holding the back of my head, pressing me to her. I'd put my hand on the breast I was working at, holding it firmly to my mouth.

We went on for a few minutes like this. It was pleasurable for me because of the very fact of what we were doing together, as well as the delightful taste of her milk, and it was pleasurable for Lila because of the suction on her engorged nipple, the sensation of secreting milk (which she says feels quite good), and not least because of her fingers rubbing around her clit. It wasn't intercourse, but it was a nice second-best. I thought of putting my hand down there to help, maybe to try and initiate sex. It was a smoldering urge, but I loved what we were doing together already, and I didn't want to ruin it. She wasn't ready for more than this. And I could force myself to wait, however difficult it might be.

Suddenly, Lila's back arched with a jerk. Her breathing stopped for a second, and I felt like the flow of milk into my mouth had gotten stronger. I heard a slow yelp building from her open mouth, and it grew into a near-scream and then devolved to a long moan.

I didn't stop suckling. The hand between her legs froze while she was coming, but it started again several seconds after she collapsed back to the ground with a small splash. She started slowly, but her speed soon increased, and after a couple of minutes, her back arched up again and she let out another loud, long moan. I felt like I sucked a lot of milk from her during those orgasms.

When she started coming that second time, I felt as though I was going to climb out of my skull. I had the sense that my cock was throbbing, and a prickly tingling was spreading in light waves in my stomach and lower body. I sucked her with more force then, feeling her big nipple draw to the very back of my mouth. I was so turned on that I felt like I was leaving the planet.

And then, I did. I came.

It started when a wave of burning pleasure swept through me unexpectedly, followed by the usual sensation of my balls tightening and the rush in my cock, and then I could feel myself ejaculating into the lake, near Lila's bush, and floods of warmth were spreading through me. My lips left Lila's breast so that I could breathe.

Afterwards, while she caught her breath, Lila apologized. "This must be such an awful tease," she said. "I'm sorry. I've been kind of excited. Maybe we can find a way—"

"I came," I told her. "It's OK."

She looked at me like she didn't comprehend the words. "Wait, you came?"

"Yeah," I said, grinning, a little embarrassed. "While you were coming. Your, uh, ... I think your second one."

"But I didn't see you—I mean, you weren't, you know, messing with yourself."

"I wasn't."

Lila was looking at me, kind of wide-eyed. "I didn't think that was possible."

I shrugged. "Never happened before. Well, I guess wet dreams."

"Ohhh," she said. "Right. Wow. OK, well, now I don't feel bad at all."

I chuckled. "You still had one more than I did."

"That's what you get for being a boy," she said, and stuck out her tongue at me, cutely.

I leaned over to her face and took that tongue into my mouth, and we were kissing again.

After the kiss was over, she said, "You know, I do want to get to know your thang. Not yet. But someday." And I saw her trying to steal a glance at it. It had wilted, so I was glad that it was hidden beneath the dark lake water.

—

She had said "no looking!" but I sneaked a peek anyway. Lila had slid back into the water and had swam to the waterfall, and now she was bathing herself by standing under it. She'd ordered me not to look, on pain of death ("you'll see my naked body soon enough, Billy McGowen, but not today, so don't try it"), but I found a way to keep my head pointed mostly a different direction while sneaking looks out of the corner of my eye. The waterfall was a good 50 feet from the shore where we'd made love—where I still was—so she couldn't tell where I was looking unless I turned my head and she happened to notice. So I got away with it.

She fit perfectly under that waterfall. It's not huge—the water dropped a little over five feet, so I'd have to crouch if I stood there—but she was just the right height for it. Lila is not a tall girl, but standing in the waterfall, she looked positively statuesque. Her body, seen naked and at a distance, was mesmerizing, graceful: she was all delicious curves and lithe limbs and smooth skin. (The sight of her was making me horny—and this was right after orgasm!) I could just make out the dark, thick-looking bush a few inches below her belly; the hair looked almost black to me, but this was from far away, and she was soaking wet. She was rinsing herself off completely, scrubbing under her arms, rinsing between her legs, and running her hands across her plump breasts and flat belly.

All this peeking made me long to see her naked, up-close, and to explore her body unfettered. Would I ever be able to? It certainly seemed like it would be forever until I could, and I felt frustrated. Having access to her breasts, however intimate, was not going to be enough, at least not eventually. Yes, I now knew the scent of her skin, and I knew what her hair smelled like, I knew the feel of her nipples, and certainly, I knew her mouth. I knew the taste of her milk. But it was difficult to hold back the desire to know all of her by sight, smell, touch. I wanted to explore every intimate part of her, to know the location of hidden freckles, the see the creases on her inner thighs, and know the details of her bellybutton. I wanted full carnal knowledge of Lila, to know every hair on her body, every fold of her vulva, the taste of her vagina, even to know what the pucker of her asshole looked like. More than anything, I wanted to know what it would feel like to put my cock inside her.

Instead, I stole glances while pretending to look the other way.

—

We swam together for a while, and then eventually started the walk back (she swam to the far shore to find her clothes and her tote bag, while I was again forced not to look). Sexually frustrated or not, it felt euphoric just to be with her. As we walked, our fingers had locked themselves together casually, and we were silent for the first few minutes. It wasn't an awkward silence; there was sort of an air of easy, unspoken intimacy between us. It was enough for us simply to be together. Mostly enough.

She asked, in off-hand way, "So—what do you think of how I taste?"

I'm slow sometimes, and it took me a second to realize she was asking how I liked her breastmilk.

"Um," I started. Then I looked at her: "It's kind of like the nectar of the gods."

Lila laughed. "What is that?"

"I mean it tastes—you taste—delicious. Almost sort of supernatural, in a way."

She glanced at me, raising one eyebrow.

I continued, "It's like—I guess I'd say it tastes like honey, but not exactly, but really it's even better than honey. Honey and coconut." I added: "And magic."

She giggled at that: "Magic, huh?"

I grinned at her sincerely. "Pretty much."

"So you like it?" she asked.

I was looking her straight in the eyes. "Yeah, I love it." I felt flush and tingly as I said that.

"Really, you're not just being nice?"

"No, hell no. It's actually, um, ..." I paused to find the right words. "I think it's actually kind of addicting."

"Holy shit," she said, raising her eyebrow at me again. "Well, good, I'm glad it's addicting, I want you addicted to me." She let out a little giggle. Then: "You know, any time you think you want any, I mean, just let me know. If we can find a place, I'm all yours. Whenever."

"You wouldn't mind it?"

She shook her head, amused. "No. No way," she said. "It feels really nice. I like feeding you."

"But—" I faltered. "I mean, what if we use it all up? What if you need it for kids and stuff?"

"Oh, no," she told me. "It doesn't work like that. I'll just keep making more; I never really run out. Well, I did one time when Shirley was little 'cause she wanted to keep nursing for like 45 minutes or something. And I was sore after that for like a week. But that was a couple years ago, anyway. I have more milk than that now. I don't think I'd run out, not for very long. Esther says she never runs out, ever, even for her boyfriends."

"Wow, OK, I had no idea."

She smiled up at me. "You got a lot to learn, Billy," she said in a silly voice, socking me on the arm.

I held my shoulder, mocking pain.

"You know," she said, "I might even start making even more, like, in general. It's pretty much on-demand. The more you give, the more you make. You should see Esther and Eliza, they're like fountains. Judy, too. I don't really want to be that full, but you know, if we were together a lot and you were drinking from me, I think my flow would probably get stronger, you know? And I'd probably start making a bigger supply. It'd be nice."

I stopped her and kissed her.

"My boobs would probably get a little bigger," she said at my lips, smiling. "I'm sure you'd like that."

I shrugged. "I like them a lot now."

I kissed her again, and then we started walking.

—

A few days later, before Lila walked me to the gate to say goodnight, Mrs. Summerall called my name from the kitchen. Lila and I had been in her room, whispering and kissing, and so I was a little afraid we were being busted.

Not at all. "Billy," Mrs. Summerall said to me, "do you think you'd like to come over for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Sure I would," I answered, not even stopping to think. I felt Lila poking me in the side, and turned to see her grinning at me.

"Well, there's just one warning," said Mrs. Summerall. "We have breakfast at 6:30 sharp before Paul and the men start the workday." (Paul was Mr. Summerall.) "You think you can make it over here by 6:30?" She was smiling at me warmly.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, smiling back. "Definitely."

After Lila kissed me goodnight at the front gate, I started my walk home and wondered how I was going to get up that early without waking up my parents. I really hadn't told them anything about where I'd been spending all this time—I didn't feel like it was any of their business—and so I didn't want a bunch of questions because of an alarm clock going off. Hell, I didn't even know where my stupid old-fashioned clock-radio was, maybe still in a moving box or something.

I kicked a dirt clod along the road and thought. What else did I have that could be an alarm? I couldn't just try to stay up all night; that would be a disaster. Then, I realized it so suddenly that I stopped walking for a second: my Nexus, the ex-cell-phone. It still worked fine for everything else. And, it had an alarm app. A-ha.

By the time I got to my house, I'd thought of sticking it under my pillow and putting the phone on "vibrate" so that it might wake me up silently. And, that's precisely what I did, after I put on my sweats and brushed my teeth.

—

When I awoke, my pillow was buzzing my head repeatedly, and I remembered, quickly, why. I hazily pulled the phone out and shut off the alarm, and checked the time: 5:50AM. I had a moment of regret (this was too damned early), but it dissipated.

My morning hard-on felt thick and hot, potent. I reached down to touch it, letting images of Lila—naked, half-naked, and clothed—roll through my head.

Wait, images. I fumbled with the Nexus; I'd taken a picture of Lila the day before, posing in her skirt and blouse. I found it, expanded it so that she filled the screen, and then propped it up next to my pillow. Then, I pulled down my comforter and my sweats and let my dick stand up. I put my hand around it and started fapping, looking at her, imagining the rest. I came in about a minute.

—

This was the first time I'd approached the Summerall ranch house when there weren't scads of people out front. I got there at 6:25 AM, according to my phone, so I stood outside; the air was cool, but not cold. It was quiet and peaceful out in front. I waited for about five minutes and then sauntered up to the front door and knocked politely.

I could hear noise inside—bustling, voices—so I was pretty sure I wasn't waking anyone up. When the door opened (Shirley), I felt ridiculous: the entire house was up, and Eliza and her husband were already there (hence Shirley). I'd noticed various pickups out front, but hadn't yet connected trucks with people, and didn't know (for instance) that the '49 Ford belonged to Sam Arbuckle, Eliza's husband. Who knew which trucks belonged to the ranch? Anyway, Shirley was displaying her petite version of Southern hospitality ("come on iiin"), and I stepped into the fray.

Most of the action was around the huge kitchen table, and so I headed that way. Big discussions were underway—I didn't follow any of them, especially—but I managed to find a seat and sort of settle in. Mrs. Summerall spied me from across the kitchen and winked at me, smiling, and I felt a little more comfortable.

Where was Lila? Maybe not up yet?

It took me more than five minutes of sitting there, quietly trying to fit in, before I realized that the busy figure in the apron working at the stove was actually her—Lila was the cook! And no wonder I hadn't noticed her: she had her head down, busy with a whole array of huge cast-iron skillets, a giant pot of coffee, and plates and plates of food. Mrs. Summerall and Judith started bringing the serving plates to the main table, and the eating began: you'd have thought the men hadn't eaten in days. Piles of bacon disappeared, hash browns were scooped away, stacks of huge pancakes were torn down. I managed to get some of it onto my plate before it was too late, and did get the tail end of the huge platter of scrambled eggs. The amount of food on my plate paled in comparison to what some of these guys were packing away.

Every bite seemed like a revelation. The bacon was like nothing I'd ever tasted—soft and juicy, rather than over-crisp like my mom's—and delectable. I've never been a hash browns guy, but I ate my entire portion (and not because I was being polite). The pancakes, which were my favorite, were soft, light, flavorful, amazing. I really didn't think it needed syrup, but Elijah (Judith's husband) practically poured it for me, as if it was sacrilege to have "battercakes" (his word) without it. The thought actually entered my mind: whoever this cook is, wow, amazing job. And then, half a second later, I remembered: it was my new girlfriend.

Lila was still working away at the stove, while we ate. She was really, really cute in her full apron, almost like she had a little costume for cooking. I sat there and just watched her, after I finished. One thing that surprised me: she would occasionally open a door on the oven and push in some pine logs—it was a wood stove! This was strange; for one thing, it was the 21st century. Also, it's not like the house didn't have electricity; Mr. Summerall even had satellite TV, which (I was told) was mainly used during football season. But the stove was just a big, old-fashioned, wood-fired stove. I boggled at how hard it must've been to get the temperature right. And Lila's cooking was amazingly good, even if she had been piloting a modern gas cooktop.

"It's the stove that makes the food taste so good," Lila told me, after we'd cleaned up. She smelled a little like bacon grease. "You can't get taste like that from some modern contraption. And also, you know, the eggs are super-fresh 'cause they came from our chickens."

"I don't think that was it," I said, insistent. "No way. That was skill. I was—I am—amazed. I mean ... listen, it's not cool to admit that anyone can cook better than your own mother, but—"

"Stop, Billy."

"I mean it. I've never eaten like that before."

She looked like a little girl, staring up at me. "Really?"

I nodded, sincere. "Yup. I'd invite myself over every day if I knew you were cooking."

Lila smiled and let out a tiny giggle. "Well, two or three times a week whether I want to or not. Mostly I want to, though."

"Well, I'm not really inviting myself over, but I'd like to have you cook for me like that again." I sighed. "God, I wish I had my own place."

Lila just nodded. "I know what you mean."

We just kind of smiled at each other for a moment.

Then, she asked, "You really liked it that much?"

"I've never tasted anything that good in my whole life." I paused and then smiled. "Well, except maybe one thing." I raised an eyebrow at her.

A dark cloud crossed over her face for a second, and then she snorted.

"Dork," she grinned.

—

The next day, I was over early again—breakfast by Esther (nowhere near as good, really!). Lila was assisting, mainly helping set places and then serving the big plates of food.