QUICKIE: MOTHER'S MILK

It was all laughter and tears of joy when my mom, three months after my father's passing, discovered Dad had left samples of his sperm at a fertility clinic before his vasectomy many years ago.

"I regretted it so much in the years after I made him do it," she sobbed. "Now, I'm so happy!" Bursting, she leaped at me.

I caught her, asking, "But, why does it matter, Mom?"

"Because now," she cried, squeezing me tightly, "now I can have another one of his babies."

***

Never had there been a more joyful mother-to-be. Mom glowed for nine months. She walked on air despite the taxing discomfort that accompanies pregnancy. When she wasn't keeping house or making meals, she was reading books about giving birth, nursing, and infants.

When I asked her about it, she said, "It's been eighteen years since you were born, Ty. Things change. My body has changed, and there's a lot about being pregnant that I just don't remember."

This first-hand experience in having a pregnant mother taught me that there are women out there who totally immerse themselves in all of the experiences of motherhood. My mom was one of them. It wasn't just intellectual curiosity, I soon realized. This was different. This seemed like a hormonal calling.

While Mom never neglected me, it seemed like she turned inward and grew infatuated with her own body. She cradled her growing tummy almost constantly. She absentmindedly massaged her breasts--in front of me sometimes.

Nursing was a huge deal to my mom--both before and after Anna was born. I suppose I always viewed breastfeeding in utilitarian terms--feed the hungry baby. Check. Mom saw it as this once-in-a-lifetime, pivotal epoch between mother and child. The feeding aspect seemed secondary to the emotional-physical bonding.

My gosh, the nursing classes, videos, and books! The way these lactation consultants or "doulas" talked about breastfeeding! You would think that the success or failure to properly nurse the baby would be the difference between Harvard Law and a federal penitentiary.

Incidentally, "doula"? That's a fucking weird word. "I'm a doula." Sounds like you're a piece of medical equipment--you're something that goes up a ferret's asshole.

"This poor fella has a digestive tract infection, doctor."

"Very well. Hand me that fucking doula."

I hate to admit it, but I was off-put by it all. When Anna came along, I tried to be helpful. I volunteered to change diapers and so on--play with and read to my tiny sister to give Mom a break. But I stayed away from the breastfeeding. Anna's cries in the night usually awakened me, and I would cover my ears with a pillow. During the day, I left the room whenever Mom broke out the spit-up towels and got comfortable on the couch.

I wouldn't have admitted it, but I think I was jealous.

***

The first time, it was a joke.

Mom was sitting at the end of the big couch in our family room. Anna was resting in a bouncy chair at her feet. Across from Mom in the two recliners were her new maternity friends, Mrs. Bowman and Mrs. Yopp. The three women had met in a post-natal nursing support group, and they enjoyed each other's company enough to set up a weekly nursing get-together. On that day, it happened to be at our house.

The three ladies had been nursing their newborns and chatting when I got home from basketball practice. I wasn't surprised to find them sitting there when I came in the front door.

They were in the midst of conversation when, spent from practice, I shuffled to the threshold of the family room. Mrs. Bowman glanced at me and smiled. I smiled back weakly. Mrs. Yopp's baby girl slept comfortably in her mother's lap. My mom nodded at something Mrs. Yopp had said as she adjusted the blankets covering Anna.

Sitting back, Mom saw me, grinned in her shy way around company, and said, "Welcome home, Ty." The other women offered similar sentiments, and I acknowledged them with a wave. Mom's eyes scanned me and offered me a compassionate expression. "You must be exhausted from practice. Is there anything you need?"

The idea just kind of jumped into my brain. Without a word, I went over to the couch and laid across it, putting my head in Mom's lap as if waiting for my turn at the breast. All three women erupted in surprised laughter.

"Ty!" Mom cried, turning pink and grinning with surprise and shock. "I think you're a bit too old for that!"

Smiling, I rose, kissed Mom's cheek, and left for the kitchen. Meanwhile, the mirth from the family room subsided, and Mrs. Bowman speculated as to how old was too old for breastfeeding. A new conversation began.

***

The second time I laid in Mom's lap on the couch was no joke.

It had been a bad day. I played poorly in our game the previous evening, and at practice, the coach announced changes to the starting lineup that put me on the bench. That was in addition to another thing that sucked. Hurt a bit, actually.

For some time, I had my eyes on one of my fellow seniors, a girl named Roe. Cute. Fun. Anyway, that day I gave my friend the go-ahead to talk to one of Roe's friends. You know how it is--put out the feelers, see what's up. Anyway, after school and before practice, my friend came up to me with the report. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Sorry, man. The word is 'no chance.'"

Fuck.

When I trudged inside through the garage, I found Mom alone in the family room, resting on the couch. Anna was asleep in the second crib that Mom had me put up in what she called the "Baby Nook" of our kitchen. Mom was surrounded by nursing gear. She didn't open her eyes when she spoke. "Welcome home, Ty," she sighed.

I didn't say a word. I dropped my things on the floor, padded across the carpet, and put my head in her lap as I climbed onto the couch. She looked down at me. "Aw," she cooed, petting my head. "There's my Ty, my guy."

I sighed and closed my eyes. Her gentle touches slowly changed into a rub. Words fail to describe how deeply her fingers soothed me. My entire body relaxed. My head thrummed with buzzing warmth.

"Thanks, Mom," I whispered, opening my eyes.

She looked down at me between her breasts, and her eyes sent a message of love and sympathy.

"You're so beautiful, Mom," I murmured.

She was. Long white-blonde hair that was so perfectly brushed that it looked like a frozen glacial waterfall. Warm brown eyes. A dainty, pointy nose. Cheeks like little, silky pillows of soft goose-down. Her full lips parted to reveal an appreciative smile.

One of her breasts grazed my temple. Under normal circumstances, such contact would feel weird--probably to both of us. That day, I didn't mind the touch, and I suppose she didn't either.

Mom's breasts were large, slumping things, depleted at that moment from having just finished nursing Anna. Since Mom made me do laundry every other week, I knew her breasts had grown significantly with Anna's arrival. I also knew that nursing changed them from swollen, bulbous orbs to pendulous, cozy cushions.

I noticed something else, something I hadn't picked up the first time I put myself in Mom's lap: the scent of breastmilk.

I let the fragrance fill my nose as I lay there under her loving care. It was somehow fresh, yet organic and human just the same. Something in the aroma made me think of warm honey. Underlying all of these was a scent that was fundamentally, perfectly feminine and alluring.

"You smell good, too," I whispered.

Mom smiled. "That's the smell of babies. There's nothing else like it in the world."

I shook my head slowly. "I know how Anna smells. I'm talking about you."

Mom inhaled and considered what she took in for a moment. Then, she looked at me and shrugged. When she did, her left breast lifted from my head and returned like a second kiss. "Maybe it's my breastmilk," she offered.

Again, I should have been embarrassed by this--talk of breastmilk and a hefty Mom-tit resting against my head. I wasn't. I closed my eyes and enjoyed, never wanting her touches to end. But eventually, Mom's hand stopped, and when I looked up at her, there were tears in her eyes.

"Mom?" I said, rising.

"I'm sorry, Ty," she whispered, wiping the tears away.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She shook her head, and then she hesitated as if ashamed. Forlorn and hopeless, she looked at me and asked, "Would you do for me what I'm doing for you?"

I drew back and gestured to my lap. "You mean--?"

She nodded.

"Yeah, okay," I replied, positioning myself on the other end of the couch and finding Mom's head sliding into my lap as I settled in.

This was different. Nothing like this had ever happened in my life. I had never been her comforter until that moment. When I tentatively ran my fingers over her hair, she sighed and thanked me.

And she cried some more in silence.

I tried to do the things she would do for me. I gently shushed her and stroked her cool, smooth hair. I murmured that I loved her and told her things would be okay.

She didn't say a word, she let tears dribble out of her closed eyelids and let me gently rub her head. After ten minutes, the tears quit flowing. After twenty, she sat up.

"Thank you for comforting me," she quietly uttered.

I shrugged and smiled.

Mom drew close, cradled my face in her hands, and kissed me on the lips. Such a kiss wasn't unheard of, but it was rare.

***

The next day when I got home, Mom waved me into the family room. She pointed to the kitchen and whispered, "Anna's asleep." Then, she patted the sofa and opened her hand over her lap.

"Okay."

I took up my position, and Mom began rubbing my hair. "There's my Ty, my guy," she whispered.

"That feel's so incredibly good," I replied.

When her left breast touched my temple, I flinched, blinking open my eyes. Something was damp. Mom said, "Oh! Forgive me, Ty. There's just a little bit of breastmilk that seeped through my bra. Does it bother you?"

I wasn't sure. It was strange, I knew that much. But, I didn't want to upset Mom, so I shook my head.

"Good," she murmured, continuing with the massage.

"Did you breastfeed me, Mom?"

She quit rubbing and looked down. All sorrow in her eyes, she said, "It is a long story, but the quick version is I tried to make it work but couldn't. You were bottle-fed."

"Baby formula, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Oh," I muttered. "What happened?"

She sighed. "It's one of my biggest regrets, Ty, so please forgive me, but we just couldn't make a bond, you and I. I was so young and you--you just wouldn't latch onto me properly. I was scared. You were hungry. Neither of us was getting any sleep, and I just gave up."

I nodded.

"Are you upset with me?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"Why not, Ty? Please tell me."

I shrugged. "I know breastfeeding is important for bonding or whatever, but I've never felt like we weren't close or you never loved me. Plus, I know how young you were when you and Dad had me. I get it, and I don't mind."

Mom resumed stroking my head. "That is so generous of you," she cooed, smiling down at me. "And I agree: it doesn't change how much I love you, but I admit it is a terrible regret, especially since Anna has been so easy to nurse. If I could do it all over again, I would never have quit so easily."

"I know," I said, once again noticing the damp spot against my head where her breast nestled. Curious, but not daring to offend her, I tilted my head slightly toward the wetness and as silently as I could, took in the aroma.

The fragrance was like Mom's massage--gentle and comfortingly sweet. I wanted another whiff, and as I bent toward the breast, I stopped.

Mom had noticed. "Does my milk interest you?" she asked.

"Yeah--the smell, I mean."

"Tell me about it," she said. "I'm surrounded by it all the time, so it's lost on me."

I told her my observations.

"That's very kind of you to say," she replied. Then, I felt her hand leave my crown and slide underneath the wet breast. I watched her lift it and crane her face toward the dampness. My gosh, it was big--bigger than I thought. Mom whiffed a few times before letting the breast sag against my head again. "Nothing," she said, shrugging.

I moved before I had any chance to reconsider. I turned toward Mom's breast, letting my nose touch the wetness. Mom watched me with interest.

Drawing a long breath through my nostrils, I nodded, murmuring, "Yeah, it's really nice." Then I resumed my spot, feeling blood rush to my face.

After a beat, Mom bent down and wrapped her arms around me, squeezing. "You're so good to me, Ty," she sighed, and her breasts cuddled my head. Releasing me, she sat up and resumed the rub.

It was all a bit embarrassing, but her massage relaxed me, and in that soothing place, I wondered if I could further explore this new openness and intimacy between us. I had questions, but the last thing I wanted was to offend her.

My curiosity outweighed my doubts. "Have you tasted it, Mom?"

She laughed airily, saying, "Hard not to when there's so much of it, leaking and squirting and--."

"It squirts?"

"Oh my, yes."

"Even when you're not even trying to make it come out?"

"'Expressing,' that's called, and yes, even without expressing, they can squirt when they're full."

"Like a lot?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "The streams are very thin."

"Streams? Plural?"

"Yes," she said, laughing again. "It can come out in two or even three jets, going all sorts of directions."

"Far?" I asked. "Do they shoot far?"

More giggling. "I don't know what constitutes 'far' to a young man who can probably put out a fire from fifteen feet with his penis, but my milk can go a few feet."

It was kind of amazing to imagine. I shook my head, so awed by the image of squirting nipples that I barely registered how she'd brought up my dick.

Mom said, "Anyways, you asked about the taste, and what I meant to tell you was yes. Many nursing mothers not only taste their own breastmilk through incidental contact but some regularly sample it."

I blinked, staring up at her.

"Have you ever heard," she asked, "of the let-down reflex?"

I shook my head.

Mom explained, "It's what causes the milk to begin flowing. So, some nursing mothers--particularly ones with high-demand babies and large breasts--induce the let-down reflex by self-nursing. With smaller breasts, a pump or a generous massage will accomplish the same thing."

"Self-nursing?" I asked, already knowing full well what she meant; I just wanted her to say the words.

Mom nodded, "When engorged breasts are large enough, the mother can draw the nipple to her own lips and trigger the let-down."

"And you can--you do that?"

She nodded.

"And you taste it?"

"Yes."

"And swallow it down?"

"Mm-hmm," she said. "I don't mind it. It lets me know how I taste. It's perfectly natural, and the let-down reflex is tingly. It's quite pleasant."

The image of my mom with one cup of her nursing bra open, raising her own heavy breast to her lips and drawing upon the nipple, stirred me in a way I couldn't have anticipated. The gentle flow of her fingertips over my head added to this new awakening.

I swallowed nervously; I was beginning to grow hard. Clearing my throat, I pushed myself up. "Thanks, Mom."

"Of course, Ty," she replied. "Now, would you mind comforting me again?"

I hesitated, but not for long. "Sure," I said, wondering how to hide the burgeoning erection in my sweatpants.

Mom did not give me time to adjust. The second I settled in, her head fell in my lap. Fortunately for me, I was nowhere near fully hard. Thickened, I was. Sturdier. Moving quickly to draw any attention away from what she may have felt on the back of her head, I stroked and petted her hair.

Mom's nipples were obvious even through her bra and shirt, especially under the cup of the left breast--the one that had absorbed her milky leaks. I needed a redirect. I needed a diversion.

"Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"Why were you so sad yesterday?"

She sighed. "Maybe it's something I shouldn't discuss with you."

I nodded and began kneading her scalp through her hair with my fingertips. It was a sufficient distraction; my cock began returning to normal.

Mom hummed sweetly. "That feels heavenly."

I didn't speak. I focused all of my concentration on making her feel relaxed and comfortable.

Five minutes into the rub, Mom broke the silence, saying, "Please don't misunderstand me. I wouldn't trade Anna for all the world, but it may have been foolish--forgivable, but foolish--for me to have a new baby without a husband."

"Why do you say that?"

"Oh, I was so caught up in grieving for your father that when I found out I could bring another one of his children into the world, I wasn't thinking it through completely. I wasn't remembering how challenging it can be to raise a child with a partner, much less doing it alone."

"If I'm not helping enough--," I began.

"Oh, Ty, no," she insisted. Then more calmly, she continued, "No. You've been wonderful. I couldn't ask for a better helper. It's just--I'm so angry that your father's gone sometimes. And so sad other times. Mostly, I'm lonely--without my husband to share our new baby together." The words brought sudden tears to Mom's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I said.

"I need to be someone's baby, too," she burst, now sobbing. "I've--I've only got so much love to give without getting anything back."

I raised her body into my arms and hugged her. She cried into my chest, and I rubbed her back. It took a minute or so before she'd let it all out.

Her voice cracking, she uttered, "I'm sorry, Ty. I should never have said a word about it."

"No," I said, putting her in my lap again. "Mom, no. I'm glad you told me." I caressed her head soothingly, adding, "I want to know what's going on. And you're my Mom, and I love you."

Sniffling, she nodded and whispered, "And I love you, too, my Ty, my guy."

That afternoon, I caressed her for a long time before Anna stirred and began crying out for attention. When Mom sat up, she smiled, curled her fingers behind my head, and kissed my lips for the second time in as many days. Then, she rested her forehead against mine for a few seconds. She murmured her gratitude and left for Anna.

That night, I was ashamed of myself.

If you've ever been lured into doing something extremely risky or illegal for the first time, then you'll know how I felt that night in bed as I pondered the possibility of being sexually attracted to my own mother. You'll know how hard my heart thudded against what felt like an empty ribcage, how my nervous system seemed wired to a low-voltage electrical current, and how my mind struggled with shame. Though my body had done nothing wrong, my mind had already found it guilty.

***

The next day, I cut out of basketball practice thirty minutes early, telling coach I felt sick. I showered, threw on my sweats, and went home. Guilt tore at me because I wasn't sick at all; I just wanted to be near Mom.

When I saw her on the couch, she smiled and welcomed me. Anna was there, nursing underneath a blanket. "You're home early," Mom remarked.

"Yeah," I muttered, "basketball ended early."

"I'd invite you to join me on the couch, but I'm a little bit busy with Anna right now."

"It's okay, Mom."

"Well, come sit down and tell me about your day."

I set down my things and plopped into the recliner across from her. We chatted about my day and hers.

"How is Anna doing?" I asked, nodding at the lump of her tiny body under the baby blanket.

Mom glanced down, grinning. "She's a hungry little one."

"What does she do--while she's nursing, I mean."

"Not much," Mom replied. "She usually holds the breast in one or both hands, closes her eyes, and goes for it."

"Want me to burp her when she's finished?" I asked.

"Oh, would you, Ty?"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--?"Sometimes," Mom said, seeing my indecision, "I nurse Anna on my side so that I can relax."

Seeing what she meant, I said, "Yeah."

Mom rose from the couch, and I laid across it on my left side. Settling in, I glanced at Mom. She nodded, taking off her shirt and bra, letting them fall to the floor. I gulped, taking in the full glory of her breasts. Not for long. She drew an ottoman over and climbed onto both it and the couch at my knees. Curling herself into a fetal ball there, she glanced up at me, waiting.

My mind was too chaotic to proceed, but her voice cut through. Very shyly, she offered, "I--I expose a breast for Anna once I'm comfortable."

Taking her meaning, I tugged the waistband of my sweatpants over my hard-on and down to my hips. My cock looked angry--a veiny, pinkish-purple club leaping from my crotch.

Mom didn't look at it; I hesitated again, unsure of what else she needed from me to begin. My cock was right there--not four inches from her face.

Then, I remembered.

I reached down and caressed her head. I ran my knuckles softly along her cheek and her chin. I told her that she was my baby.

Then, she smiled and turned her attention to my cock. "Oh, my," she whispered. She glanced at me again with eagerness and excitement. "It looks so full and ready."

I cradled her head and massaged her there. When her fingers touched the shaft and directed the knob toward her mouth, my jaw fell open. I closed my eyes, ordering myself to remain in control, to avoid giving voice to my pleasure.

The effort and willpower it took to remain silent as my mother's wet lips closed over the head of my cock still amazes me. Every muscle in my core seemed to go rigid. My teeth clenched, and I held my breath. I fought back a grunt. Then, a groan. Swears formed on my tongue, and I bit them back. Too electrified even to trust myself to sigh without a note of pleasure, I pursed my lips and blew out a breath as quietly as I could manage.

Her mouth enveloped the tip in perfect warmth. I felt her saliva glaze the area with slickness. While her lips encircled the shaft tightly, Mom's tongue gently coaxed against the underside. The suction she offered came in soft pulses.

There was very little bobbing on the shaft. Her lips did not slide back and forth but remained mostly just behind the tip. Mom made no slurping sounds. She made those airy hums, and I heard a faint cluck whenever she swallowed. It did not feel like a blowjob; it truly felt like the knob of my cock was an enormous nipple upon which she nursed.

Mom's tongue seemed to be doing the most work. It nudged and fondled just under the tip of my cock as she soothingly sucked and swallowed. It felt tranquil and relaxing from the start, but as she continued, I realized that the gentle licks would sweep me to a sudden climax.

I mentally battled against the imminent orgasm. I sucked in a breath and held it. Just as the onset loomed, she drew off. My cock throbbed fiercely, and the waves diminished, but not before I felt a single pulse drive semen up the shaft. It happened sometimes when I was on the edge.

I peered down. My cock was almost red in Mom's fist, and she gazed at the tip. When it next throbbed, the slit parted before her eyes, and thick white fluid filled the gap, oozing forth. Mom gasped. She covered the knob with her mouth and sucked. Her tongue swept up the underside, tempting the semen free. She hummed sweetly, and then I felt her swallow it down.

I couldn't help but groan.

She drew off and looked at me. Her lips glistened before parting and curling into a grin. "I got some," she murmured.

I nodded, caressing her face and letting her know there was more.

She resumed, sucking on the knob as if it were some fruit that rewarded only the patient and gentle with its precious nectar.

I stroked her head. She hummed gratefully at my touch.

My heart began racing again. Through clenched teeth, I grunted, "Mom."

She stretched out her lips and gathered more cock into her warm, wet mouth.

Any semblance of control over the situation was lost. I was making sounds--many of them--and I could not hold them back. Her mouth swept me into a cyclone of excruciating satisfaction. My last coherent thought was that I was going to cum harder than ever before. The sensation was a bit like falling in the dark.

Suddenly, my cock began convulsing wildly in her mouth. Mom moaned. I felt streaming jets erupt from me. Mom's lips held me tight. She sucked, and I gasped. I felt her tongue collecting and whisking my semen to the back of her throat. I heard her muffled gulps and groaned. More she drew from me. More. I didn't know it was possible to cum with such power, such reckless fervor. And Mom, full of slow greed, welcomed all of it.

Practically wheezing, I slackened beside her as the contractions faded. Mom's tongue dragged forcefully against the underside, swallowing whatever final dregs she collected. When my cock grew still, she peeled her lips free with a gasping sigh. Neither of us moved for the next minute as the sound of our combined panting filled the room. It had to have been, I decided, as intense for her as it had been for me.

I wanted to tell her how good it had been, how my entire body, now buzzing warmly, had been super-sensitized to the point of delirium at the end. I reached down and tugged on her, inviting her to move up closer to me on the couch.

She did--a little bit. When her head was level with my tummy, she wrapped me in a hug. I did the same. I threw a leg over her hip and drew us together. Mom sighed as I rubbed her back.

Her voice was barely more than a whisper when she spoke. "My Ty, my guy."

"My baby," I replied. "My mom."

She kissed my belly button and snuggled against me. "It was so generous of you to share your milk with me."

Swallowing, I asked if she liked it as much as I liked hers.

"It was wonderful, Ty."

The hushed enthusiasm in her voice was an unexpected thrill. I couldn't find any words.

Mom nodded. "It's true," she explained. Then, I listened in frozen astonishment as she described the event from her point of view with that same fervor. Using our words--milk, nipple, and so on--she told me about sucking my cock. When she got to a part of her story she found particularly satisfying, she would quit speaking and plant soft, adoring kisses on my bare tummy before continuing.

She said that, when she saw how thick it was, her mouth began watering for it.

She told me she liked how her own saliva tasted after she'd drenched the knob in it.

She described her excitement at being able to watch my cock spill those first "thick drops of hot milk."

She declared that, when she finally got to taste my semen, she felt all tingly inside.

Her favorite part, she told me between kisses on my stomach, was listening to my pleasure while she "swallowed and swallowed and swallowed."

Then, she whispered that she could still feel it--my "milk"--in her tummy and that it made her body feel warm and dreamy to know it was all down there.

Needless to say, I remained paralyzed with amazement throughout her story, but my cock did not. It sprang back to throbbing, adamantine life, nestling between her tits. Mom felt this growth while she told her tale, but she didn't look or appear to let its rigid presence change how she told her story.

Until she finished divulging it.

It was then that Mom, at last, glanced down. She stared at my cock before whispering, "There's my Ty, my guy" and then she kissed the tip. Her eyes returned to mine, and she glided against me, back and forth, letting my cock ride the passage through her soft cleavage. "He's got so much more milk he wants to give me, doesn't he?" she murmured.

I nodded, swallowing in a newly dry throat.

"And you'll let me?" she asked, still gliding against me. "You'll give your hungry baby her nourishment?"

I nodded.

Her hand alighted on my upper hip and urged it back. I took the signal to mean "lay on your back." I did, and Mom slid on top of me. She kissed my balls. She kissed the shaft. She kept climbing until I felt one of her rigid nipples cuddle up to my scrotum.

I watched her, on fire with anticipation.

Using me as a body pillow, I watched Mom scoop a breast and draw it to her lips. Her tongue traced circles around the nipple, and then she latched to it, sucking. When her throat undulated and I heard her gulp, she hummed a note of sensual relief. She sucked her nipple and swallowed again before letting it free.

It was one of the sexiest, most exciting things I had ever seen.

Nothing about what she'd done with her own breast was businesslike. She cupped and squeezed it tenderly. When she licked her breast and nipple, it wasn't a show for my benefit. In truth, it was like I wasn't even there. It was as if it belonged to another woman, her lover, and she wanted to give pleasure and take enjoyment at the same time.

My gosh, I realized, she really likes her breasts.

Then, still reeling from the beauty of what I'd just witnessed, I watched Mom guide the nipple down. I saw her fingers massage the hefty flesh surrounding it. I blinked as liquid threads of breastmilk dotted and bathed the underside of my cock. Releasing the breast, she bent toward the shaft and unfurled her glistening tongue, dragging it through the milk and slurping the pool that she gathered.

The next ten minutes were an orgy of breastmilk on my cock. She bathed it in milk as if it were her precious baby, and she licked it clean to pamper it. My balls, thighs, and lower abdomen were coated in runoff fluid. I felt it on the couch under my ass. Mom's entire chest glistened. Her face, too.

Before I could utter any words of amazement, she nestled a breast against my balls, and then she closed her lips over the fat head of my cock.

And my cock was no nipple this time; it was a cock. Her lips rose and fell, exploring and savoring its fullness before my eyes. Twice, I watched drooping ropes of saliva sag from her lips. Throughout the event, she made small, childlike whimpers and hums. When I couldn't take any more, when I told her not to stop, her lips went down, unhurriedly gorging the shaft until, to my wonder, she'd made it vanish completely.

I gasped, feeling the thrumming waves commence.

Almost as slowly, Mom's lips towed back to the tip and clasped me there. She watched my face while my cum began to spill onto her soft tongue. The pleasure rose to frenzied exultation; I held her head with both hands and grunted.

Mom closed her eyes. I felt her lips pinch, watched her throat undulate, and heard her swallow my cum. Her face took on an aspect of rapture and she moaned as if she had been gulping ambrosia from the spout of some celestial fountain.

When there was nothing more for her to swallow, she released the knob with a gasp. She took three exhausted breaths and smiled weakly at me. Then, she rested her head on my hip. She kissed my cock and massaged my balls.

I stroked her head, and neither of us spoke. After several perfect minutes of relaxation, she murmured, "I need this."

We turned toward each other. She read the question in my expression.

"I need your milk, Ty," she explained. "My body craves it just like Anna needs a breast."

I swallowed, taking her meaning. "You--you need to be fed, too?"

She nodded, turning from me and staring at my flagging cock. Her hand slid over it, back and forth. Then, she grasped the softening shaft and brought the tip to her lips. Sucking momentarily, she kissed free and said, "It helps me. It gives me strength and lets me know I'm loved."

It sounded backward to me, but I didn't say so because if those were truly Mom's feelings on the matter, then I was one lucky young man. Instead, I said, "I want to help you however I can, Mom."

"Then," she said, "let me be your baby. Hold me and caress me. Soothe me and feed me."

Clearing my throat, I said, "I will."

"Thank you, Ty," she whispered gratefully. Then, she kissed my cock again. Her hand delved under my scrotum, lifting it. Her lips opened and shut over one of my balls. Mom rested her head on my thigh and gently sucked on it.

"Mom?"

"Hmm?" She replied without releasing the testicle.

Nerves stopped me. I cleared my throat again before continuing. "Are there--are there other places where I might be able to give you my milk? Sometimes?"

Her eyes searched mine, and she kept sucking. She gently disgorged the nut into her palm.

Before she could respond, Anna stirred. We quickly covered ourselves. Then together, we went to her. Mom bent over the crib, tickling and caressing her delighted baby.

Out of sight, I slid my hand down Mom's back and let it come to rest on her ass. She didn't object. I squeezed her there. Full. Curvy. Soft.

"How are you, my sweetness?" Mom cooed to her little girl. "Mommy and daddy are here, little Anna." She raised my sister, kissed her cheek, and turned to me, cradling Anna.

Rubbing her tiny head and smiling brightly, Mom said, "I can think of two other places."

I said, "Hmm?"

She explained. "Inside my body--where I would like you to give me your milk."

I suppose my jaw fell open.

Mom laughed, caressing my face. "My Ty, my guy."