“Why not, why can’t I fancy her. Man she is like a part of my fantasy I would love to tit fuck her great big milky tits. I’d love to suckle on them.”
“Quieten down don’t wake the baby.” I said at the door of Gussie’s room.
My breasts felt heavy and still ached, the baby was not using all the milk I produced. I went into the bathroom leaned over the sink and began to express the milk. I have always had this problem, producing too much milk. One of the men in my life said it only went to prove I was a regular cow. With my first children I used to donate the surplus to the local hospital for babies whose mothers did not produce enough, but this time they said I was too old and the milk would be poor quality.
To be honest I feel good when I am lactating. When had my first group of children I was continuously lactating for years. My last daughter, the last one before Joanna I suckled until she was nine. I have this theory that drying up lactation early contributes to Breast Cancer, no science to it as such — it is a theory based o observing my acquaintances.
My breasts empty I poured myself a glass of wine, should I veg out watching television or should I go to my study and do some work — vegging out won the day. I know I shouldn’t drink while breast-feeding, because it might affect the baby. I must have some relaxation and it is red wine — which is good for the heart! I felt so good that I treated myself to a second glass — if it does get to the child Joanna will sleep well.
I remember pouring a third glass. I was lying on the settee, there was a soap on the TV — not one I followed. My eyelids felt heavy. I was nodding off.
I was dreaming. Something weird happening to me. My eyes shot open I jerked into consciousness fighting my assailant. Leaning over me was Wayne, his hands on my breasts. “What the fuck do you ….”
“Sorry Mrs McNeil.” White faced Wayne stepped back, looking like a small boy caught with his hand in a sweet jar. Even so he did not have the good grace to stop starring at my breasts.
“Sorry. Your sorry you try to rape me and your sorry.”
“I am sorry Mrs McNeil. they are so beautiful, I just wanted to touch them.”
I needed time to think, I should be angry, my groin was churning and my eyes were being drawn to the bulge in his jeans. “Wayne its Ms not Mrs — I have never married. You may want to abuse my body but please don’t abuse my status too.”
“Sorry Ms McNeil.”
“Tell me Wayne what would my grand-daughter say if she knew you were lusting after my body.”
His reply surprised me. “It wouldny worry her — I’m nothing to her.”
“Oh I thought you were.”
“No never. We are just all mates we knock aboot together, but not like that.”
This was strange I was certain I had heard sounds from Juliana’s room that sounded like sexual activity. “Tell me Wayne where is Jules and Gussie?”
“They have gone out. Taking in some Fringe show — some feminist comedienne she didn’t float my boat”
“So you thought you’d float your boat in me — is that it.”
“No I didny intend. I was upstair in Wayne’s room — I came doon for a drink — looked in the door — you looked so beautiful I jest couldny resist.”