The Nursing Wife

I wonder why it is, in a society such as ours, when it seems that "anything goes", that a woman's breasts, particularly if used for comfort and nurturing, are taboo? It seems ridiculous to me, and I'll unashamedly admit that I LOVE my boobs! Although I am fairly petite, I was blessed with naturally large (DDD) and extremely sensitive breasts. I developed much earlier than other girls my age, but I always embraced my "bountiful fruits" as a symbol of my femininity; as much as I have always loved my boobs--and their size--I never felt that they were meant for just ANYONE to worship and enjoy. As a matter of fact, I kept them carefully tucked away (well, as much as you can keep a pair of jumbo jugs tucked away) until I met the man who later became my husband. I have found that as much as I love my tatas, HE loves them even more. I like to remind "S", as I will refer to him, that before I came into his life, he was a self-proclaimed butt man. And he will admit that boobs were never really his "thing"--until he saw mine.

My husband is a gracious and generous lover who spends long moments fondling, caressing, kissing, and suckling my breasts. He reaches for them during the day, brushing his fingers against them through my shirt and rests his cheek on them at night. I love the attention, the incredible sensation, and my awareness of my own womanhood soars whenever I am reminded of his love for my breasts. Some of the Mother Earth emotions that I experience while S is dutifully tending to my needs stem from the fact that I am a very nurturing person by nature, and nurturing the man that I love seems as normal and natural to me as nurturing our three children.

Our journey into a loving Adult Nursing Relationship (ANR) was not a planned path, but one that we discovered by chance when I was pregnant with our first child 14 years ago. Neither of us had had children; I had never been pregnant before and he had never been with a pregnant lady before, so both of us were very eager to explore my changing body--and the experience was AMAZING.

I lactated very early in my pregnancy, and began to produce actual milk by the beginning of my fourth month. S was amazed, and when the first glistening drops sprang from my nipples, he practically DEVOURED me! My milk flow continued throughout my entire pregnancy, and S enjoyed suckling and gently squeezing my boobs, drinking what came so freely to him, and I was able to nurse our son without incident from the moment he was born.

As my milk supply increased, S became even more enamored with my breasts. In the evening, after our son had been fed, it became a routine for me to nurse my husband. Not only was it very sensual and loving, it was extremely empowering to know that I could nurture and nourish two beautiful people. S loved the taste of my milk, which was warm and sweet and sugary, and would let it trickle into my mouth as we kissed. Not only did my husband's nursing help to increase my milk supply, it prevented me from suffering from engorgement. Somehow, without saying a word to one another, we began an adult nursing relationship, and it seemed that nothing could be more beautiful or natural.

I was able to wet nurse my husband for a total of six years--throughout three pregnancies and the breastfeeding that ensued. When our youngest child was weaned at the age of two five years ago, our schedules became so hectic as we juggled parenthood, a new mortgage, work, and school, our ANR began to suffer. S and I still enjoyed love making (with plenty of tit play), but he no longer nursed. I missed breastfeeding him AND the baby, but both seemed equipped to move forward without the aid of my boobs, so I didn't pursue the issue.

Until a month ago.

S and I were cuddling together on the sofa, totally relaxed and attuned, and I unbuttoned my blouse and offered  him my left breast. Without hesitation, he nuzzled closer and latched on, cupping my breast with his hand as he suckled. It was so wonderful that after he had finished, I fed him my right breast, and he nursed from that side, too.

We didn't indulge in nursing again until last night.

I had had a very stressful day, and as we were lying in bed together, I suggested that he relax and let me nurse him. When he seemed eager, I took off my nightgown, settled  back, and nursed him until he fell asleep at my breast. I was eager to discuss reopening our ANR, but it had to wait until the following morning.

I was stunned to find out that S was as eager to discuss our encounter as I was--and I was thrilled to learn that S had been hoping to proceed with our nursing relationship; he'd wanted to for quite a while, but hadn't wanted to bring it up. It was nice to discuss the topic so freely and so openly,
without embarrassment or shame. We chatted about the intimacy and closeness we hoped to gain from our ANR, decided on schedules, considered the option of inducing lactation, and opted for an open nursing relationship--one in which S will be able to nurse freely in the night without asking my permission.

And THIS is how I once again became a nursing wife. I will be feeding S later tonight, and I am eager to share this experience with him once more.