“I’m gonna be your new daddy.”
“Bullshit. You’re just gonna be the asshole that comes between me and my mom,” I thought to myself.
I was thirteen when my mom remarried. A difficult age under any circumstance. I had handled things pretty well, all things considered, after that drunk driver took the life of my dad and older brother. At least I thought I had. But when Mom remarried, I kind of went off the deep end. I guess it dredged back up a lot of shit for me. Now my mom had someone new. What about me?
I went into a real dark place. My mom tried what she could, but insurance didn’t provide much coverage for mental health. A few visits with an overworked specialist who only had time to prescribe drugs was the best she could do, so I became a science experiment. Prozac was always there, but the therapist continually tried other drugs in combination until they decided my behavior was normal. Who knew that all my problems were actually related to a congenital deficiency of Prozac and other strong pharmaceuticals?
It helped somewhat. I no longer threw big tantrums and my grades returned to normal. I still had little interest in any organized activities at school. I guess I was a bit of a loner. Since the PE coaches in junior school pressured everyone into some sort of athletics, I chose track. The PE coaches didn’t really consider track and field to be a real sport; it was more of a pastime between football season and spring football seasons. But I was uninterested in team sports and running, especially cross country, allowed me to think. Practice consisted mostly of running on my own. There was very little else to it, especially in junior school.
My mom worried about me and Dan, my step dad, hated me. I was just the excess baggage that came along with his new wife. Fortunately, he was out of town on business trips about half the time. I spent most of my time at home shut up in my room anyway.
When I woke up in the morning I was lethargic until I took my meds. It was all I could do to force myself to eat something before the drugs kicked in. Once they did, I wouldn’t have any appetite until they wore off, late in the evening. Once the drugs kicked in fully, I was able to concentrate enough on my classes to get by. After school I ran. Any homework I didn’t finish during study hall had to be completed as soon as I got home, before the meds started wearing off.
The meds started wearing off around seven or so. At that point I would become lethargic, then ravenously hungry, then totally exhausted. After a huge supper I would crash hard, sometimes barely able to make it to my room. My life became a routine, dictated by my meds. Any deviation from my routine, any unexpected interference caused me to miss my evening meal or become agitated. Dan learned not to include me in evening plans if he wanted to take mom out to dinner or to the movies.
My mom was coping with her loss much better, but she also had been prescribed anti-depressants since the wreck. Dan couldn’t understand why she still needed to take them, when she had him to ease the pain. He resented her need to take the pills, assuming it meant she still ached for her dead husband. Truth is, she still did feel the pain of loss every day, but she did a good job of being a dutiful wife and mother, never talking about her own needs.
By the time I joined the varsity track team, in my sophomore year, I was one of the top cross country runners my district. I was skinny as a rail, but I could run. My dosage of meds had stabilized and I had adapted fairly well.
Then, without warning, another change came. I didn’t do well with change in those days. My mother became pregnant with Dan’s child. At sixteen, I was going to become a big brother. My mother was over forty. I couldn’t believe it. It was as though my mother had gone all the way to Dan’s side, and against me.
As her stomach grew, it embarrassed me to see her. She had always been thin, and now she was becoming rounded, with soft curves where she had once been angular. She stopped taking her anti-depressants, not wanting to expose the baby to them as long as she was pregnant or breast feeding, even though her doctor said it would be okay. She didn’t want to take the chance. It became difficult for her to work without her meds and with the added dose of hormones that pregnancy caused. Finally, she stopped working and stayed at home. She sometimes didn’t even find the energy to dress, spending the whole day in her bathrobe, her belly jutting out.
I avoided the baby totally. My mother seemed to understand. We didn’t say a lot to each other, but she always understood me. She was the only person who seemed to be okay with who I was. Everybody else seemed to expect more, and they seemed disappointed; Dan, my therapist, the people at school. I didn’t hate the baby; I just didn’t see it as having anything to do with me or Mom.
I came home one day after practice and showered, then did my homework. It was almost seven by the time I was finished, and I was starting to become tired. Dan was out of town on a trip, and I hadn’t seen my mom since I got home, so I went to her bedroom and looked in. She was lying in bed with the baby, still in her nightgown. The baby was lying over her arm, sucking at her breast. My mother looked totally drained.
I started to turn and leave, but she saw me and said, “Hello, sweetie. Come on in here.”
“Aw, it’s all right, I was just checking to see where you were.”
“Please. Come on in. I want to see you.”
I came in and stood awkwardly, looking at the baby.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to find the energy to get up today. I haven’t cooked any dinner for you, but as soon as the baby’s done I’ll go get something.”
“That’s okay, mom, I understand,” I said, though I didn’t really. At sixteen, it was all about me. How could she lay around all day and not give a shit about dinner for me, when I was starting to become famished.
“No, I’ll get up. The baby’s done.”
“Have you ever seen anything that looked so truly and completely satisfied?” she asked, nodding toward the infant. “There’s nothing that anybody can do to make the baby more happy. He doesn’t demand anything more than I can give, and wouldn’t want it anyway. I’m very happy when I’m able to please him this way. It’s a very special thing. I had that same feeling with you, when you were a baby.”
I looked at the baby again. His eyes were closed and his lips barely moved. He was full, only keeping his hold on my mom’s breast because he enjoyed the security of having it in his mouth. A little milk dribbled out of his mouth.
“Yea, he seems pretty happy. Enjoy it while you can, little fella.”
My mom didn’t say anything to that, but I know she understood exactly how I felt. She asked me to take the baby to its crib in the nursery. I carefully took the infant, supporting its neck. My mother laid still, her bare breast exposed. The baby securely tucked away, I came back in mom’s room and stood in the doorway. I was really hungry, but mom looked worn out.
“Come lay down for a minute, baby,” she said. “I’ll get up soon, I promise. Just a minute.”
I laid down next to her. Her breast was still exposed, the nipple long and erect.
“What’s it taste like?” I asked.
My mom seemed to be startled awake by my question.
“Huh?”
“What’s it taste like? The milk? Is it like cow milk?”
My mom laughed and said, “I don’t know.”
We lay quietly for a while longer. My mother showed no signs of getting up to get something for me to eat.
“I guess I’m gonna get up,” I said.
She put her hand on my arm and said, “No, honey, don’t get up. Just a bit longer.”
She obviously didn’t feel like getting up. I was quickly losing my motivation to get up as well. Sometimes, tired trumped hungry.
After a few more minutes, she said, “Why don’t you try it?”
“Try what?”
“Why don’t you try my breast milk? You used to love it,” she said, with a bit of a giggle.
I couldn’t believe what she was suggesting, and I began to feel a bit guilty that I had made her feel bad about not getting dinner for me. After all, I was old enough to open the fridge and take out food; I just seem to lack the energy to do so. I was starving, but so damned tired.
She removed the nightgown’s strap from her left shoulder, baring her other breast.
“Try it,” she urged.
Her upper body was now fully exposed.
When I hesitated, she added, “Go ahead. Let me know what it tastes like.”
I still couldn’t believe this was my mother offering her breast, but I decided to go for it. I grabbed her breast with one hand and licked the nipple.
“Put it in your mouth,” she said. “Not just the nipple, as much as you can. Be careful with your teeth, it’s sensitive.”
I put her breast in my mouth and started sucking, tentatively at first. As some of the sweet liquid began to flow into my mouth, I started sucking harder.
“Ooch, not too hard,” she said.
I eased up, and found a level at which the milk flowed but it didn’t seem to cause pain. My mom put her hand on the back of my head and caressed my hair as I filled up on her milk. Soon after I started, the liquid became thicker and creamier. It was warm and very satisfying, slightly sweet yet nutty tasting.
I took her breast in both hands and kneaded it as I sucked. One of my hands drifted down to her soft belly. Most of her belly fat had disappeared since her pregnancy, but it was still soft and warm through the thin fabric of her nightgown. I slipped my hand under the gown and rubbed her bare belly as I sucked her milk. My entire body began to feel warm, and I was getting very drowsy.
I was incredibly aroused, more than I had ever been. My eyes were closed, but I could still envision her bare breast, with its huge, erect nipple as I rubbed her belly. I moved toward her, nestling my body against hers as closely as I could. I wrapped my legs around her as I continued feeding.
I entered that place where my mind isn’t aware of being awake. I don’t know for sure that I was awake. I felt warm and aroused, safe and protected, connected with my mother as closely as two people can be connected.
Seconds before my orgasm, I knew I was going to cum. The realization registered in my brain, but there was absolutely no corresponding thought of stopping, no thought of embarrassment, and no thought that it might be wrong to cum on top of my mom.
My hips bucked as I spurted my sperm in my underwear. A warm feeling of total bliss enveloped my body. I continued sucking my mother’s milk as my milk flowed from my dick, soaking through my underwear and causing a stain on my gym shorts.
The next morning, when I awoke, I was alone in my mother’s bed. My mother had breakfast ready for me. I hurriedly ate, showered, and got ready for school. My mother made no mention of the night before. It was clear that it was our secret. I wouldn’t have had the urge to talk to Dan anyway. But it was also clear that there was no shame. My mom was great that way. I loved my mom.
