Go down to the bank and pull out a little cash
Forget about the yard, forget about the trash
Let's get a little sun...
Good times, good times,
It is a good time to let the good times roll,
Mile after mile, smile after smile,
Heading on down the line,
Hey, we're having good times.
Anita Cochran, Song Writer and Country Singer (1999)
My name is Elaine Beauvais Ferrell, 30 years old, married with one newborn child, aged three months. I'm an MBA from Wharton with the title of Associate Director in the Structured Finance Group of Goldman Sachs in New York. I'm almost six feet tall, weigh 165 pounds, and have green eyes. My hair is blonde and worn long. In case you are wondering about my looks, let me just say I'm good looking enough to have participated in a number of teenage beauty contests in my home area and even won a couple. All my life I have stayed in shape by working out a minimum of three times a week, even packing workout gear with me when I travel for business. My figure has matured from the beauty contest days, but I still retain a 36D, 25, 35 body. Although since my baby was born almost four months ago, my bust has swelled to a hopefully temporary 36DD.
My father ran a small hardware business, made a good living, and was a respected member of the community. We were neither poor nor rich but managed our money well. My Dad taught me to go after what I wanted and not stop for anything or anybody. He learned the hard way - ROTC out of Indiana State ('66) into Vietnam. He was wounded twice, survived the melee that was the Tet offensive, was captured and escaped from some prison run by the Viet Cong. His constant exhortation when I would get miserable was "don't let the bastards grind you down!" which is what the grunts used to tell each other when things got really bad over there. I remember once when I was really stubborn and clinging to some off-the-wall position long after it was rational to do so, he told me "never be afraid to walk - or even run - away. You run away to fight another day. If you do not die, you live. If you live, you have another chance - for revenge, success, or whatever. I learned in Vietnam that surrender was the postponement of annihilation, and sometimes that is a victory in itself." Dad tended to be more philosophical me so the best I could do was translate his comments into 'where there is life there's hope.'
Like my dad, my mother also went to Indiana State. She took Elementary Education, taught for years, took graduate courses at night while she raised the family, and eventually became a respected elementary school principal in our town. To outsiders, she appeared successful, but to my sister and I she confided that, as a small town woman in the 50s and 60s her opportunities were limited. She wanted my sister and I to never accept less than what we wanted and that our world was not my mother's world. From the time we were weaned, my mother had raised our consciousness about being female in a male world and to accept nothing less than absolute equality with men.
In combination then my mother and father, each starting from different places, raised me to believe that I was no one's inferior and that I could be whatever I wanted to be, go wherever I wanted to go, and interact as an equal with whomever I chose to interact. There were no limits except those my dad lumped under "illegal, immoral, or unethical." Certainly, I believed I was the equal of any of my male counterparts. All thorough high school, college, and graduate school and at the Federal Reserve and Citibank, I competed deliberately and successively with boys and then men.
I went to college at Northwestern, outside Chicago. I ran with the in-crowd and partied on the North Side of Chicago with lots of bright, aggressive kids. In fact, in my four years there the only people I ever spoke to that did not score at least 1450 (out of a max 1600) on their college boards were the cafeteria help and one hell of a lot of bartenders. My sorority was Chi Omega, which had a core philosophy of young women bonding for life to assist one another in a male-dominated world. We also tended to have very high grade points, graduate on average in less than four years, and end up in high income professional positions after graduation. My class nicknamed me "Barbie" - blonde and boobs was the stereotype - but my grade point was 3.8 on a 4.0 scale at a top 20 university so I resented the air head implication of the nickname.
Being a geek sorority, we were not as sexually active as the average campus sorority, but we were not nuns. Being geeks, we combined research and personal experience into what we called the "Penis Scale." According to this scale, 68% of males achieved an erection length of five inches with a base circumference at erection of four inches. This was in contrast to another penis category which we encountered mush less (only a 28% frequency) and that was the six inch length with a five inch base circumference. Finally, there was the legendary seven incher with a six inch base that reportedly had only a 4% frequency based on the reports of our sorority sisters. We dubbed these three categories: "joy-toys" (five inch), "longfellows" (six inch), and "unicorns" (the mythical seven incher).
We decided collectively that width was more important to us than length because there was more pleasure in intercourse with something that filled the vagina rather than speared the womb. We even had a blackboard in the sorority house where every Saturday evening upon arrival home from a date or hookup the sorority members recorded which of the three, if any, they encountered that evening. I rarely had anything to contribute as my sexual activity was minimal and was serial monogamy whenever I had a relationship. Truthfully, including my husband, my total sexual experience has been with the five inch joy-toy batch. Not sure I have ever seen in the flesh a longfellow, much less a unicorn.
I graduated in 2000, worked for the Federal Reserve Bank in Chicago for three years, and then went to business school at Wharton where I majored in Finance because I wanted to go to New York and work with a large bank. Goldman hired me upon graduation from Wharton, and I have been there for four years and loved every minute of it.
My husband, Paul Ferrell, is a 37-year-old consulting engineer. He is a Vice President with Bechtel and travels worldwide. Our combined incomes with bonuses exceed $600,000 per year. We met in grad school and got married after dating for two years. He's basically a very nice guy, gentle, caring, and what attracted me to him was his intellect. He is a very smart man. His most irritating characteristic is that he sometimes does not take me seriously and often acts in an overprotective way that causes me to rebel and do stupid things. As do most people today, we engaged in premarital sex, but nothing particular kinky or out of the ordinary. Like most kids in their late teens we had sex a couple of times a week, most often with him on top in the old missionary position. Neither of us was particularly experienced. Not counting amateurish and messy middle and high school blow jobs given by me to pimpled male adolescents, I had had sex with only five or six guys before I met Paul and have been faithful to him since we began to date.
For the past three months, I have been breast feeding our daughter. In fact, if I do not feed the baby or manually pump the breasts, milk can actually leak out into - or through - my bra and onto my clothes. The lactation process has temporarily enlarged my breasts by two inches so I am a temporary 36DD. Also, the areolas around my nipples got much darker during pregnancy. The darkening allows a baby to more easily feed because the milk comes from the entire areola, not just the nipple. My aureoles are quite dark and easily visible through light clothing. My husband thinks it is quite humorous that I cause all the male heads to turn whenever I enter a room or walk down a street with "big red headlights" (his words) on the tips of my breasts.
In the meantime, whenever my breasts are sucked, squeezed, or massaged, copious amounts of milk emerge. Once during lovemaking, my milk ejected almost like a spray. My husband found the effect unsettling; he prefers routine to surprise. On rare occasion, since the birth we will sometimes pause in our lovemaking to allow him to fasten his mouth on one areola and then the other, sucking down my milk. It is a real turn on for both of us. Sometimes the whole process gets so messy that we then shower together, washing off the milk and our sex fluids at the same time.
After our daughter was born, I took three months maternity leave. That leave was up in two weeks so, given my mother was available to stay with our daughter, I decided to accompany Paul on a business trip to the Caribbean. While I am away, my mother will wean our daughter off breast feeding and over to baby formula. To facilitate the process, I stored bottle after bottle of my milk in the refrigerator. I felt like a regular cow pumping out the milk necessary to allow my mother to transition the baby from natural mother's milk to formula.
We purchased a battery-powered breast pump that allowed me to simultaneously pump both breasts into breast milk collection bottles - technology triumphs again! I even up-graded to the model that attached to the nursing bra and allowed me to pump both breasts simultaneously while keeping my hands free. Right before we left for Jamaica, I was triple processing - breast pumping while using my hands to edit a draft prospectus during an audio conference with my office. I was just glad that it was not a video conference showing my boobs pumping away to the world wide staff of Goldman.
