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Milk on Campus

12

My cousin Susan was never completely weaned. What I mean by that is, while dependence on her mother's breastmilk as a primary source of sustenance ended about when you would expect it to, it remained as an additional option amongst more conventional snack foods right up until her high school graduation, and even then, the only reason she was ever likely to finally stop drinking it was because of the distance that college would inevitably put between her and her only two milk providers.

I say two because, to make matters even more startling, her older sister Danica, who was also no stranger to suckling far beyond infancy, had induced lactation in herself and gotten into the habit of breastfeeding Susan whenever she happened to be more readily available than their mother Liz. With two lactating elders in the family, my youngest cousin never had to look far whenever she either craved breastmilk specifically or just found it to be the most convenient way to quickly relieve and/or delay hunger.

Given how fatty the stuff is and how much of it Danica and Susan tend to consume on the average day, I sometimes wonder how easily they might have become overweight. Diminutive stature seems to run in Aunt Liz's branch of the family, probably resulting from the outlier runt of our grandparents' litter marrying a man whose entire family was on the short side. Nevertheless, aside from each of them being about six of her own heads tall rather than the average ratio of seven, all three of my favorite relatives were quite well-proportioned. At worst, Susan and Danica may have been a bit stocky, but given the male and occasional lesbian admiration they seemed to attract, it definitely wasn't in an unattractive way at all.

If anything, their stockiness probably enhanced the contours of their butts and breasts, and their unique mixture of Italian and Latina traits made their faces and skin tones nothing to shrug at either. As for me, I was significantly taller than all of them, but proportional to my height, I had a similarly "sturdy build," as Aunt Liz once put it. The Italian side that I shared with my cousins was complemented in my case with a generous dose of Japanese from my mother's side, giving me an exotic look that I'll admit to being rather proud of. Plus, both relatives and friends have expressed playful jealousy over my curves and complexion, and they did so often enough that I eventually accepted, albeit reluctantly, that I too could turn my fair share of heads.

By the time each sister turned 18, Susan and Danica thoroughly understood that most other people were likely to react with squeamishness at best and disgust at worst if they weren't at least very careful about whom they disclosed their milky habits to. My aunt made sure of that. To this day, the younger one's best friend Nella is the only person outside the family who knows. Nella was predictably shocked and creeped out at first, but within about a month, she got used to it. It probably helped more than anything to hear Susan, Danica, and their mother describe the experience as just a very unusual means of purely familial bonding. Susan's longtime bestie was understandably skeptical at first, but the genuinely innocent contentment in their voices and faces as they described it eventually convinced her. By the time they were beginning to submit college applications, Susan could quite casually mention a nursing session to Nella without evoking any more of a reaction than if she'd mentioned having a granola bar or energy drink instead.

Nevertheless, though Danica and Susan understood the stance of society at large, they sometimes admitted to having difficulty putting themselves completely in an outsider's shoes with respect to their milky habits. To them, feasting at a family member's nipple at any age was just normal. "No, you almost certainly can't live on it past infancy, but most doctors agree that breastmilk still has at least some health benefits no matter how old you are," Susan said once. "For one thing, a lactating woman's body can detect pathogens starting to infect the person she's feeding and put the corresponding antibodies into the milk preemptively. That's probably why I hardly ever get sick and don't stay sick for long whenever I do." I could only giggle at her ability to be so clinical about it, but then again, Susan was about as nerdy as I was, so I guess I should've expected that.

I was always a bit envious of my cousins. My own mother was rather distant and old-fashioned, and although Aunt Liz would've easily qualified as being warmer and more nurturing even if she had totally weaned her daughters, the disparity was never as symbolically obvious as whenever I saw her breastfeeding Danica and/or Susan. It wasn't uncommon for her to nourish one sister from each breast at the same time. It wasn't even unheard of for mother and daughters to engage in what one might call nested nursing.

On at least one occasion that I witnessed just in the last half of our senior year, Susan came to her mother with a milky hankering only to find that Danica apparently had similar ideas. Aunt Liz was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the family room, moaning softly while her firstborn lazily lay with her head in her mother's lap and suckled thirstily at the left nipple. Purring in satisfaction, Danica still apparently managed to hear my aunt inform Susan that the right reservoir had already been drained. Without even pausing her own indulgence, the older sister simply pulled her T-shirt up to offer tasty nourishment to the younger one, who then crouched beside her with a grateful smile, latched on to the nearest areola, and immediately began gorging herself to the point that I even heard her lips smacking against the firm mound from which she drank.

We all lived only a few blocks apart, so I visited these relatives of mine almost every day, and the three of us girls grew very close over the years. My aunt was often more of a mother to me than her sister-in-law, and for my eighteenth birthday, I exercised my new autonomy by mustering up the courage to ask if I could try some breastmilk myself. She was visibly touched as she simply smiled and wordlessly started unbuttoning her shirt. I remember suddenly feeling nervous as she led me to sit down on the couch while she stood between my legs and finally exposed her breasts. I hesitated for just a moment before shyly leaning in and taking a nipple between my lips as I'd seen my cousins do so many times.

As I sucked for the first time, I squeaked as I felt a stream of sweet and warm milk flow into my mouth. I nibbled on the areola and let the milk pool in my mouth before moaning involuntarily as I took my first swallow, barely hearing Aunt Liz's own contented hum as I repeated the process and quickly settled into a suckling rhythm. Between the satisfying taste of the milk itself and the deep feeling of closeness with my aunt, I fully understood the appeal!

That experience was certainly enough to make a very lasting and sublime impression, and although I would feed from Liz only occasionally after that, I was soon snacking on Danica's milk a bit more frequently. The first time was in the family pool. It was towards the end of a mini-reunion of sorts, and the two of us were longing lazily on the steps in the shallow end, arms resting on the pool's edge. I had built up a bit of an appetite playing with some much younger cousins from a different branch of the family who had since left, but I was in no hurry to leave the water's warmth. My gaze fell on Danica, and the solution suddenly occurred to me. I hesitated at first but then shrugged it off, reminding myself that it wouldn't be the first time I partook in that most unusual of snacks. "Hey, cous," I spoke up, only slightly nervous. "I'm getting pretty hungry, but I really don't want to get out just yet. Would you mind if I nursed from you for a bit?"

Her response was to open her dozing eyes and look at me in mild but clearly pleasant surprise. "Of course!" she replied as she casually shed her navy blue bikini top. "Anytime I've got milk, it's yours if you want it." I thanked her a bit sheepishly before I shifted onto a lower step, leaned in, and took the crest of her left breast between my lips. I heard her moan softly as I readily sucked on the nipple and gently massaged the surrounding areola with my jaw.

However, my attention quickly turned exclusively to enjoying my own satisfaction as I eagerly drew her sweet milk into my mouth and swallowed it in periodic gulps. I sighed contentedly several times as the warm elixir filled my stomach and the familiar sensation of intense bonding warmed my heart as well. It tasted roughly like melted vanilla ice cream, but it was surprisingly filling as well. Within ten minutes, I had completely drained the first half of her mammary endowment and instantly latched on to the second. After I finally pulled away from Danica's empty breasts, it was at least two hours before I felt noticeably hungry again.

Yep, I definitely couldn't blame Susan for making a habit of drinking from her mother and/or sister's boobs. That is why, although I was quite thrilled when Susan decided to attend the same university that I had chosen, I also truly empathized with her when she expressed her regret that she would soon have to give up drinking from a loved one's breasts for months on end. "The only milk I'll be able to get on campus is cow's milk, but where's the love in that!" she whined half-jokingly. "I'm not a damn calf!"

One day just about a week before our commencement, Danica was sitting next to me on the couch watching a movie while I half-lay/half-sat against her side and suckled from her exposed right breast. Danica had a subtle but very contented smile on her face throughout my snack which only widened whenever I emitted a soft moan of satisfaction as I gnawed gently on her areola and happily consumed the sweet and warm milk that flowed from it. She let out her own fair share of moans as she fed me, obviously reveling in the feeling of nurturing a loved peer and relative. I'm not sure why the idea chose that particular moment to finally occur to me, but just as I was eating up the last few drops, I suddenly withdrew from her nipple and looked wide-eyed at her. "I can lactate!"

She looked at me in amused surprise and began pulling her T-shirt back down as I sat up properly to explain myself. "If you could make yourself produce milk without ever being pregnant, who's to say I can't? Susan was right about how great suckling is, but the way Aunt Liz talks about it has made me just as curious about what it's like on the other end. What if I actually start lactating myself? Maybe then, Susan wouldn't have to go without breastmilk while we're away at college!"

Danica laughed. "That's actually not a bad idea! My mom's right. Feeding is great too, trust me. I think you'll love it, and I'm sure that sister of mine will be quite happy to humor your curiosity!" I decided right then and there that I would try inducing lactation and began picking Danica's brain for how to do so.

After learning most of what I needed from her and doing a bit of research online, I very nearly called Susan that very evening, but another sudden idea struck me, this time one that put a sly grin on my face, and I promptly put my phone away. No, I would not say a word to her. Instead, I would wait until we moved into our dorm and surprise her! It would at least be better than getting her hopes up before I found out how well and how much I could lactate, and I could only imagine the look on her face when I told her she wouldn't have to give up what was arguably her favorite snack food after all!

Having decided that, I spent the next six weeks routinely stimulating my breasts. I massaged them for about fifteen minutes at a time for at least three sessions per day. I began by cupping each one broadly near its base and firmly sliding my hands forward against the supple flesh until I neared the crest. Then, the massage would turn seamlessly into more of a vigorous squeezing motion around the areola, peaking at the nipple. I did this rhythmically to both breasts simultaneously and repeatedly. After I managed to procure a breast pump, I integrated it into my routine, using it to more specifically emulate the suction of a hungry mouth.

I beamed secretively when an evening stimulation session finally yielded the first definite drops of what I recognized as most likely colostrum, based on what Danica had told me. Encouraged, I increased the proportion of my stimulation routine that involved pumping, and not long at all after that, I was at last rewarded at the start of another evening session, when multiple milky white drops emerged from each breast as I finished the very first round of massaging and squeezing. I beamed again. I continued my usual procedure with renewed vigor, feeling more and more pleased as each cycle consistently brought out a dollop of milk (enough to keep my areolas moist throughout the session). I let out a gleefully gaping chuckle when a particularly firm squeeze pressed the milk out in a thin projectile jet. As a final step, I applied the pump, unable to help feeling proud of myself when I actually managed to somewhat fill the jars.

After that, I resolved to not express any more in any way until I started to really feel the pressure as my supply freely accumulated. I was encouraged with every hour that passed without even the slightest discomfort, and after about nine hours or so, when I finally noticed the pressure becoming palpable and my boobs getting a bit tender, I immediately drained them both with my pump and noted the volume, which turned out to be 19 ounces per breast. I repeated this process ten times over the course of the following week, and my average output consistently hovered closely around 19 ounces in each boob, which my online sources confirmed to be near the highest storage capacity within the average range found among healthy women. When I shared my success with Danica, she actually narrowed her eyes at me in a playful glare. "Show-off!" she teased before digressing with a genuinely excited smile. "That'll be plenty for Susan! Mom's maximum is about 16 ounces, and mine is about 13."

Susan and I had hoped to live in the same dorm ever since we were admitted to the same university and decided to accept that admission, but with my secret decision to become my cousin's new milk provider, it took on extra appeal for me, since sharing a room would make breastfeeding even more convenient for the two of us. When the housing department granted our request in the processing of our application, we both let out a triumphant "YES!" and high-fived each other, and I could not help but smile secretively to myself at the extra reason for celebration that my cousin still had no clue about. This would only make my eventual revelation even better!

When moving day finally arrived, our flight to school was very early, so I arrived at Aunt Liz's house at the crack of dawn, just as a groggy Susan trudged into the kitchen in pajama bottoms and a camisole. A tearful Aunt Liz greeted her besides the fridge with a warm smile and opened her arms for a hug, which Susan gladly obliged. Their embrace lingered for about a quarter of a minute as Susan's head came to rest on her mother's chest. This quickly morphed into my cousin brushing her lips against the crest of my aunt's breast as if practically by instinct. Her eyes still closed in contentment, Susan then furrowed her brow in hazy indignation before she expertly yanked the offending bust of her mother's tank top down and immediately seized the areola in her mouth. Aunt Liz emitted a soothed moan as her youngest daughter sucked hard on the nipple and instantly began using her jaw as a piston against the surrounding flesh, gulping down what sounded like a robust flow of milk. She suckled as hungrily as ever, and somehow, I knew it was as much of a bittersweet parting ritual as it was a breakfast for her.

That intuition was confirmed on the way to the airport. About thirty minutes after Susan finished her milky meal, we had finally packed our belongings into Danica's PT Cruiser. Aunt Liz had had some pressing matters at work to attend to, so she would not be accompanying us. After a moist-eyed wave at her as she stood in the driveway, we finally departed for the next chapter in our lives. The task of driving had fallen to me, which I realized was rather fortuitous during the latter third of the trip. About twenty minutes before we reached our destination, a glance in the rearview mirror revealed Danica smiling as she unbuttoned her shirt and welcomed Susan's lips on her right breast. Both sisters purred in deep satisfaction as the younger one drank her fill of warm milk while the older one stroked her hair. I doubt that Susan was already as hungry as the zeal of her suckling suggested. Again, it seemed much more about filling her need for an intimate good-bye with her beloved sister than it was about filling her stomach.

In addition to eagerly anticipating my cousin's reaction, I had one more reason to look forward to finally telling her that I would be able and willing to breastfeed her. Since I had to pump my boobs regularly and donate frequently to a milk bank, it was not exactly an easy secret to keep. Initially, Danica helped by quite happily chugging my jars of milk herself, but I was soon producing too much too fast to rely solely on her, especially if we were going to keep anyone else from noticing any potential drop in the elder sister's appetite for her mother's milk. So it would be a relief when I could reveal my lactation to Susan and rely more on her to keep my supply under control.

I almost spilled the beans midway through our flight. I saw her reach for her stockpile of snacks and stopped her with a hand on her arm. "I have a surprise for you," I said with a smile. She looked confused as I reached into my carry-on and pulled out an opaque bottle with a large straw in it. Too anyone else, it looked like what an athlete might carry water in, but it actually contained the roughly 38 ounces of milk I had pumped out of my breasts in the bathroom before boarding. I simply handed it to my now curious cousin and replied to her raised eyebrows with, "Just try it."

Upon the first sip, her eyes widened comically in recognition. "Holy crap! Delia, you didn't!" she gaped at me before failing to resist another sip, this one much more generous in volume. "Tell me you did not sneak some of Mom or Danica's milk into our bags!" she marveled in a hushed voice.

I swear, the truth was on the tip of my tongue, but I decided to let her think it had come from her mother or sister for the time being, so I just shrugged and chuckled as she indulged in another long swallow. "It's obviously not the same as getting it straight from the source, but it's definitely better than nothing, right?"

She nodded and emphasized her agreement with a pleased look in her eyes as she kept drinking it up. "I might get mad at you later, because this delicious surprise could actually make it even harder to get used to not having any more for a whole semester, but right now, I just don't care! What would I do without you, cous?"

Her apparent pleasure made even funnier by the hidden irony of her words, I used my laughter to disguise the proud smile provoked by her calling my milk delicious. "Let's hope you never really have to find out."

Fortunately, the next several hours went by quickly, probably due to everything we had to do. We checked in at our residence hall's commons, got our keys, and spent about three hours moving our belongings into the room and decorating it. At the end of the process, the layout was fairly simple. Our beds were both set to a height of three feet and placed with the headboards against the west wall on opposite sides of the room. Between our beds was a window, and under that was a dresser in which we stored our bras, panties, boxer shorts, and tank tops. Against the end of each bed was a desk and a chair fashioned from the same oaken woodwork as the dresser. We placed our jeans, skirts, and other tops in tupperware bins under our beds.

12
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