Marion, Shannon and I first met at a 'spouses-only' function in Pebble Beach about six years ago. We were all wives of executives at the Zo-Dickson company meeting. As is usual for such meetings, while our husbands did whatever they do at these things, wives were sort of left at loose ends, though a few social events (read, 'museum visits and shopping'} had been arranged. It was at lunch at TGI Fridays at the La Plaza Mall the first day, that we really hit it off, and had been friends ever since. Since we all lived in the same general area, we were able to get together, and often did.
We were all very thrilled when we became pregnant around the same time. Shannon and I (oh, I'm Elsbeth) were each expecting our first. We're both in our late twenties. Marion was expecting her third, and she's in her early thirties. We shared our experiences during pregnancy, which was very comforting to Shannon and I. Marion told us what to expect from the birthing experience, without sharing dreadful stories of her first two pregnancies. I really hate it when women do that, you know, the 'two weeks of labor' stories.
Anyway, since none of us had close relatives anywhere in the area, it was so thrilling that we were more or less there for each other when it came time to deliver. I gave birth to a lovely little girl, Susan. Shannon had twin boys, Alex and Sean, and Marion also had a little girl, Miriam. It was as part of our post-partum get togethers that the story I'm going to tell you began.
We were over at Marion's, sitting at her kitchen table, discussing our favorite desserts. Mine is pumpkin pie, Shannon said hers were eclairs, and Marion said hers was Tres Leches cake. Shannon and I both looked at her quizzically.
"What's that?" asked Shannon. I nodded my head, too.
"I never heard of it," I said.
"Oh, that's a Mexican cake," Marion said. "Basically, it's a yellow cake that's soaked in, um, condensed sweetened milk, evaporated milk, and whipping cream, and iced with a vanilla icing. It's really good, but very sweet....and fattening, too," she said, patting her still swollen stomach. Marion and I had been having trouble losing the weight we'd put on during our pregnancies, but Shannon looked just as slim as she had before she'd become pregnant.
We all had tremendous breasts, though, fat and swollen with milk. The slightest thing could set any of us off lactating, leaking our abundant milk. Enough for our babies, and then some!
"That sounds really good," Shannon said, referring of course to the cake, but the mention of milk set me off on a track of wondering what Shannon and Marion's mother's milk tasted like, if it was the same as mine. Mine was very sweet, and I had enjoyed tasting it on occasion.
I put my tea cup down on the saucer. "Speaking of milk," I said, "have you tasted your milk?"
"Ha, who hasn't?" Marion said, waving her hand lightly. Shannon nodded her agreement, her blonde hair riding up and down her shoulder with the movement of her head.
"Yes, I tasted mine. Umm, I liked it," Shannon added. She looked a little embarrassed, a slight blush on her upper cheeks. It made her look even younger than she was.
"And speaking of cake," I said, "Do you think you could make some of that cake for us, Marion?" I'm never one to turn down a new pastry.
"Gosh, yes, or at least something like it. I have yellow cake, and a can of vanilla frosting, and, let me see, yes, I think I have enough of all the milks, and cream."
She began bustling around the kitchen gathering the ingredients, and Shannon and I pitched in to help. I looked at the two women as they tied their hair back, and washed their hands. Shannon was one of those very pretty executive wives, who look like they'll keep their beauty as their man moves up the ladder. Long, blonde hair, model-perfect facial features, a tall, slim body. I found myself staring at her sometimes, just drinking in her loveliness.
Marion, on the other hand, was also quite lovely, but much darker, with strong hispanic features and glossy, thick black hair, as her mother was first-generation from Mexico and her father a Swede from Minnesota. She was much shorter, and fuller, her breasts, hips and ass very plush. She definitely looked like a mother, the kind that's always busy with her kids!
I'm red-haired, with pale skin and I'm prone to freckles and sunburn. My body is kind of average, medium height, medium sized breasts and ass, although my breasts were a lot bigger then. All in all, I think we represented the diversity of the corporate world, and were reasonably attractive.
Shannon was pouring the cake mix into the mixing bowl, when it plopped in out of the plastic bag, raising a big cloud of flour into her face and all over her front. A fine dusting settled over the dark granite countertop around the bowl. Shannon sneezed (fortunately not into the cake mix!), Marion and I started laughing, as Shannon's face was all white, and she had a coating of white powder on her bangs. She looked as though she were auditioning for a role as a mime somewhere.
"Think it's funny?" she yelled, grinning, and threw a pinch of flour at Marion and I, which made us laugh even more. We each had a small spot of cake flour mix on our blouses, a small match for Shannon's top.
"I'm sorry," Marion apologized. By way of apology, she began brushing off the layer of flour from Shannon's front, her hands running over Shannon's generously sized breasts. Her hands seemed to fuss with Shannon's breasts more than absolutely necessary, I thought.
I notice things like that.
