I Dream of Mother's Mil

The Interview -- Present Day

Paranormal, supernatural, and otherworldly things. These are my specialties. I'm currently traveling around the country and right now I'm in my hotel room, where my producer has arranged recording equipment for a podcast. It's our third season of the podcast and we have a sizable audience.

A woman named Cassandra lingers in the room. About middle-aged. She's tall and busty, large breasts, moderately fit with curves. She's put together in a semi-formal kind of way. Blazer. White blouse. Jeans. Pumps. She looks like a smart woman, someone who makes a living using her brain.

I normally do extensive research on guests, but my producer thinks this interview will be more powerful if I discover her story during recording. I trust my producer's judgment and verification abilities.

Once the equipment is ready, I wear my headset and Cassandra does the same. I press the record button. Her voice will be modified in post-production to protect her identity. She'll be anonymous for this podcast.

"How are you?"

Her smile is brilliant. "I'm doing well. Thanks for having me."

"Thanks for being here. This is interesting because I know nothing about you."

"I should start with my occupation. That's what my story is about, after all."

"Sure, that's always a great place to begin."

"I'm a physician with over 17 years of experience. Stanford graduate. More recently I'm what's called a 'visiting physician,' where I travel to people's homes to provide medical care. Mostly rich people or celebrities, people who don't want to wait in lobbies."

"You're the first medical professional we've had on this show."

Cassandra gives a coy expression. "Well, you're going to hear things on this show that you've never heard before. I can promise you that."

"Oh? You're setting a high bar. We've heard lots of amazing things on this show."

"Trust me. You've never heard this before."

"Let's dig into your story then. This is your platform now."

"Thanks again for having me," she says. "My story begins two years ago. I come from a big family and we have get-togethers every few months and some genius decided that we should rent a pool hall to swim. I'm in my late-40's and I hadn't worn a swimsuit in over a decade, but my nieces and nephews expected me in the pool.

She gestures to her chest area. "I made sure these girls were under control. For the listeners, I'm referring to my breasts. They're not obscenely large, but they're pretty big. Double D cups. When I left the pool, I sat on a lounge chair and my son thought it was the perfect time for a selfie together. Daniel was shirtless and wet and he wrapped his arm around me. I was caught off guard but managed to smile at the phone in his hand. He took several pics and laughed about it. Of course, I wanted to smack him for taking pictures of my cleavage, but I saw the humor in it.

She continues, "Later he texted me the pictures. I loved them. I thought they were special. To clarify, Daniel was 24 at the time and he had recently moved out. He currently works at a start-up tech company and lives with friends from college. So it was nice having that picture, even though I looked old without any makeup and my boobs were meshed together in that pose. For whatever reason, I decided to post that on my Instagram page. Plenty of charming comments from family and friends."

"I have to say, you're the first guest who's ever talked about an Instagram picture at a family pool party and a son and bikini."

She gestures to her chest. "And breasts. Don't forget."

"It sounds like that's relevant to your story."

"More than you'd expect," she says.

"How so?"

"That picture on Instagram eventually led to a new client. A wealthy, Middle-Eastern woman who did a background check on me and liked that I was this attractive, busty mother. This woman knows I'm here. We'll call her 'Mehreen,' as a fictional name. She's the one who put me in contact with your producer."

I look over to my producer, who nods, encouraging me to delve deeper.

"Why does Mehreen want this story shared?"

"Because this involves the depths of human sexuality. Do I have your attention?"

There's an embarrassed smile that grows on Cassandra's face because she's the last woman to have public conversations about sex. Am I interested? I have the feeling this could be the most interesting episode we've ever done.

Cassandra's Story -- One Year Ago

After being contacted by Mehreen's assistant, I did some research into her. Her business reputation is legitimate as she's involved with international deal makings thanks to her family connections in the oil industry. At 36 years old, she's also a social media influencer with nearly a million Instagram followers who adore her extravagant lifestyle.

Now here I am, parking my BMW and entering the lobby of a luxury condo building. After making my way to the 17th floor, I'm greeted by armed bodyguards who look attentive when I approach.

"Good morning, I'm Cassandra Reynolds. I'm here for an appointment with Mehreen."

Everything checks out and when I enter the condo, I'm taken aback by its stylish decor. A modern day palace that blends her cultural roots with chic western style. I'm also surprised by the number of personal staff who work for her.

Mehreen greets me in the living room and she's every bit as beautiful as her social media accounts portray. Custom, designer clothes from head to toe. She's wearing a loose-fitting garb and she's barefoot. There's a powerful confidence in her.

She offers a handshake. "Pleasure to meet you, Cassandra, so glad you've come."

"The pleasure is all mine."

We make small talk in the living room while sitting on the couch and her legs are curled across the cushion. Tea and pastries are served. It's the normal, getting to know each other, talk.

Mehreen is a godsend because she's offering a lot of money, more than my typical rate, and her medical files show that she's in great health. Truth be told, I'm hoping this relationship works because I recently went through a messy divorce and had to let go most of my patients because I was emotionally unavailable. Now I'm trying to rebuild my career.

"You're a sweetheart," she says. "Before we make things official, I was hoping for a test of your skills."

"Sure, of course, what are you thinking?"

"For doctors and check-ups, I only let women touch me. Show me if you have the right touch. Give me a physical."

For a split second, I think about telling her that I don't have any medical tools right now, like my stethoscope or instrument to measure blood pressure. I don't have rubber gloves, either. Nonetheless I accept.

Mehreen is prepared for this and she opens her garb to reveal a loose-fitting top and she's braless underneath. I do what I can under these circumstances, using my fingers to check her pulse and I examine her skin and look at her mouth and tongue.

When the basic vitals are done, she pulls her top overhead and sits topless. Her breasts are brown globes with dark nipples. Staff are still in the area. Home nudity is natural to her.

I don't miss a beat, performing a breast exam while she keeps her chin held high. My hands feel for lumps, changes in shape or size, or other abnormalities. I ask Mehreen to raise her hands then I perform the same inspection. Her boobs are perfect. Just stellar. Her dark nipples turn erect.

"There's no ring on your finger," she says.

"None, I'm single."

"Why? You're very attractive. And you're in your prime."

"Thank you. Long story but I went through a nasty divorce and now I'm trying to focus on my career again. Dating is the last thing on my mind."

"It may be for the best."

"Why is that?"

"More time devoted to your son. My assistant showed me your Instagram page, you and the handsome guy at the pool. Such a loving connection."

We both laugh, but I'm secretly mortified that a prospective client has seen bikini pictures of me, even though I'm holding her breasts in my hands.

"Everything looks great. You're a healthy and vibrant woman."

Mehreen looks at me, eyes going up and down while sitting there. Her breasts are still exposed and she has zero intention of putting them away.

"What's the price of your tits?" she asks.

"Excuse me?"

"What's each nipple worth? I want to raise my three children in America but I travel too much. I need someone who can deliver fresh milk here while I'm away."

"It sounds like you're looking for a wet nurse. Someone who will lactate on your behalf."

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm looking for. How much does this cost?"

"Well, the price depends on several things. I can find someone that..."

She cuts me off. "No, no. I want your breasts. Your nipples."

"I'm not a young woman. I haven't had milk in over 20 years."

"Nothing is impossible."

"If only a woman's body were that simple."

"Do you want more money? I will pay."

"Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to lactate because of my..."

"Your age? Leave that to me. What's your price? Every woman has a price. I will give you $10,000 right now. Okay?"

"What would that money be for?"

"Wear my necklace at night when you sleep," she says.

"I don't understand what a necklace could do in this situation."

"You'll see."

Mehreen snaps her fingers and a young female assistant comes with a checkbook and small case. Her breasts are still exposed, nipples still erect. She fills out the check and hands it to me. $10,000. Then she hands me a case and I open it to find a necklace with a green emerald that shines bright. I can only imagine how valuable it is.

"Now take this and leave, I have another meeting soon. Great meeting you."

"It was great meeting you as well. You want me to wear this at night?"

"Yes, have a great day."

Mehreen ends the discussion while a maid cleans the table and her assistant puts her things away. She was serious about having another meeting, getting up and walking topless to her bedroom, letting guards and staff see her tits.

***

I wake up to the feeling of soreness in my chest, as if I'd done a thousand push-ups the night before. But I never go that crazy with workouts. And I'm noticing that the feeling is more than just my muscles. There's a strange sensation within my breasts, as if there's a sudden fullness there.

My initial reaction is that I must have been laying on my side overnight while sleeping and the emerald meshed between my breasts and now I'm paying for it. At my age, aches and pains are easy to come by. But as I lay on my back and remove the jewelry and place it on the counter, I realize it's more complicated than that.

This is the fourth day I've worn the necklace while sleeping and I've never had a problem until now. I'm religious, but not superstitious, so I rule out the possibility that the green emerald did something to me.

I go straight to the bathroom and check for any bruises or marks. The sensation of fullness is more pronounced when I'm standing upright. I give myself an inspection by bending over and looking at my cleavage. Nothing.

After removing my top while standing in front of the mirror, I notice my breasts appear ten to twenty years younger. They're full like they used to be. Perky, almost. With big pink nipples that point forward. My breasts don't hang like I've become used to. They protrude forward.

The sensation of fullness lingers and I touch the undersides of my breasts and lift, noting the weight. Heavier than what I'm used to. When I press two fingers into my left breasts, there's a newfound density that tingles. It's tender and sore to the touch.

Just like when I used to breastfeed.

I almost panic. It can't be. I bend over the sink and squeeze my left breast, feeling the tingling sensation build as milk shoots from my big pink nipple. I stare in disbelief, looking at the white milk in the sink and the excess that hangs from my nipple. How can this happen? At my age?

Still topless, I rush back to the bedroom and fire off a series of texts, emails, and phone calls to both Mehreen and her assistant. No immediate response because she's overseas at the moment and the time zones are different.

I go to my laptop and perform quick internet searches on how sudden lactation can occur among women my age. My situation doesn't seem to match any of the results. My situation is spontaneous and happened overnight.

An email arrives from Mehreen.

So glad to hear it. I'm in Kuala Lumpur right now and I'll be back in three days. My assistant will schedule an appointment with you. Keep wearing my necklace.

I think about typing a response, but in my limited experience dealing with her, it's pointless. Everything she says is curt and pressed for time.

The sensation of fullness remains and I return to the bathroom and check my other breast by squeezing it and pointing my nipple to the sink. The result is the same. Milk. Lots of it. And with every squeeze it's clear that there's plenty in supply.

"Mom?"

The voice rings from downstairs. It's my son Daniel who's here for my book club meeting later this morning. I asked him to help prepare lunch because it's my turn to host friends as we discuss the latest Taylor Jenkins Reid novel. I look at the time and I'm way behind schedule.

"Can you come upstairs for a minute?"

I hear the faint sound of grocery bags being placed on the kitchen table. When I hear his footsteps coming up the stairs, I wear a thin robe and tie the knot.

When he stands by the doorway of my bedroom, he stops and he's taken aback.

"You aren't dressed yet?" he asks.

"I'm having a crazy morning."

"The book club is today, right? Or did I make a mistake?"

"You're right, it's today. Something's come up."

"Everything okay? You seem, I don't know, jittery."

"Let me ask you something," I say. "Do I look different this morning?"

His eyes go up and down. "You seem stressed. There's a worried look on your face and I'm surprised you aren't ready for the book club meeting."

"Look down here."

My hands smooth over my thin robe and then I put my hands down. When I push my chest forward, the round shape of my breasts are visible. I never go braless around my son. I've been well-equipped my entire adult life and I've always avoided making things awkward for my son.

He sees what I'm trying to show him, then looks away.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Remember when I told you about a wealthy Middle-Eastern woman who might be a client? She gave me lots of money to wear a necklace, which I've been doing, and something changed."

I walk closer to my son and loosen the robe, partially opening the top to reveal the center of my chest and a partial view of my boobs. By the look in Daniel's eyes, he notices how swollen my boobs are.

"They're shaped differently. I mean, not that I'm keeping track. What happened?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out. I've contacted Mehreen and she wants to schedule another appointment. Outside of that, she hasn't given me any information. I'm starting to think the necklace has caused this."

"That's impossible. It's probably an allergic reaction to whatever Mehreen is having you wear around your neck. Or maybe she put something in your drink when you visited her."

"My body literally changed overnight."

Daniel pauses, then shakes his head. "It's probably an allergic reaction. That would explain the swelling."

I pull the knot on my robe then hold it open. For the first time in his adult life, Daniel is treated to a view of my breasts, except these aren't really my breasts. They're an exaggeration of what women my age are supposed to have, both in shape and milk content. All my life I've guarded my breasts from everyone except lovers and medical professionals. I've especially guarded them from my son.

Daniel's eyes are wide and for some reason that makes my nipples harden. I know he feels bad for looking, but men are men. He enjoys the view, as uncomfortable as this makes him. If I'm honest, there's a small part of me that likes the attention I'm getting from him.

"Why are you showing this to me?" he asks.

"Because I need someone to believe me."

"And you have milk?"

"I'll show you."

Daniel follows me to the bathroom and I toss my robe to the floor and I'm only wearing panties. I realize that I'm treating him more like a lover than a son. That makes me uneasy but he's already seen what I have to offer.

He stands beside me in the bathroom and I bend over the sink, squeezing around my left breast with both hands and giving a gentle push. I repeat this process twice to get the ducts going. Milk shoots from my nipple and into the sink. I keep going to see what the limit is, but I stop because it's becoming obscene. I could do this all morning.

When I turn to Daniel to ask his opinion, I notice that his eyes have been glued to my breasts, not in an observant way. In a way that's sexual. He's never seen lactating breasts before. Thinking of his past girlfriends, he's never seen breasts this size. Not in person.

A drop of milk dangling from my nipple threatens to fall on the floor. I wipe it with my finger. Then taste it. Just like it used to taste all those years ago. Daniel breathes deeper when he sees me tasting my milk.

"See something you like?"

He snaps out of a trance. "Sorry, this was the last thing I expected to see this morning."

The young man's confidence has been drained as I grow comfortable being topless around him. He breathes deeper. He struggles to maintain eye contact with me and his eyes occasionally drift down to my breasts and nipples.

How am I supposed to respond? How should any mother respond? I almost say something but the doorbell rings. I look at the clock inside my room.

"Oh god, I'm way behind schedule. Can you answer the door and start preparing the food? I'll be downstairs in a few minutes."

"Sure, I'll handle it right away."

Daniel rushes down the stairs to answer the door. As I remove my panties and step into the shower to further milk myself and relieve tension, a thought comes to mind. Daniel had an erection looking at me. The thought, as dirty and taboo as it may be, feels electric and I feel terrible for putting us in this situation.

***

I'm waiting in the living room of Mehreen's condo and the assistant is bringing me a cappuccino along with more pastries than I can ever eat. I smile and accept, but the last thing I want is food. I'm too nervous to eat but I take a drink and have a bite.

Minutes later, the assistant returns.

"She will see you now."

"Thank you."

I'm led towards the bedroom where Mehreen finishes breastfeeding and being an attentive mother. A different assistant tends to her family, while Mehreen is still topless with elongated nipples from having fed, and there's saliva and milk dripping from her breasts.

"Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?" I ask.

"No, I have a few moments. Let's go to my office."

She wipes her breasts and the assistant helps her wear a silk robe, which she doesn't bother to tie. She's wearing pants and an open robe and we go to another room. She sits behind her desk like it's a business meeting. I sit across from her.

"You probably have a million questions," she says.

"Just one. What exactly is happening to me?"

"Do you still wear the necklace, like I've asked?"

"Yes."

"Do you still lactate?" she asks.

"Everyday for the last four days."

She smiles. "That makes me happy. To answer your question, that necklace has been in my family for generations. It's a fertility emerald. That's why you've been blessed with the ability to produce milk."

The ease in which she explains this is shocking. As if this explanation is so simple for anyone to understand. She's as casual with her beliefs as she is with nudity.