The urge to be suckled is difficult to articulate. Even now, as I stare at this blank computer screen trying to put “that feeling” into something coherent and meaningful that has led me to where I am today.
Even before I knew what “it” was; before I knew there was a name for it, I had always enjoyed being dry suckled and nursed by my husband. It became part of our pillow talk and role play, the quiet sexy talk whispered in a lover’s ear. I liked the sensation of his mouth on my breast hungry for something it no longer provided. I loved the sense of calm it seemed to give him…and to me. His whole body would relax, I could hear the internal sighs of comfort. I would wrap him up and provide that bit of comfort sometimes as a prelude to lovemaking or sometimes as a lull to sleep. His suckling felt different than typical breast foreplay I had experienced. It was deep and soulful, it had purpose and intent. Our sessions went in fits and starts depending on the voracity of life’s events but over time, the pillow talk evolved, and desires were shared. I wanted to nourish him. He wanted to be nourished, but I am what they call a “mature woman”, past the age of making babies. I felt I had an expiration date for such things and mine was way past.
Thank god for the power of the internet. All questions can be asked and answered in relative anonymity. Apparently, this was a “thing” and the thing had a name. The thing had groups and dating sites and blog articles and chat groups. And the thing did not have an expiration date. But the thing did indeed have a big double standard and a fetish label.
The irony of my whole experience thus far in ANR is, I am not inexperienced in life choices that invoke eyebrow raising and double standards. I have been in the lifestyle (consensual non-monogamy) for about 5 years and am aptly familiar with discretion, taboo topics, secrets and preferences discussed with only like-minded individuals. ANR/ABF was even outside the realm of those topics shared within my lifestyle circle. I needed a circle outside my circle.
My husband is unfailingly supportive. He did not bat an eyelash when I sheepishly suggested I wanted to try to induce and that I also wanted to find some regular partners to help with the process. Induction is not for the faint of heart. There have been many days in this 5-week journey where I have questioned my sanity and purpose. Induction is relentless and at times uncomfortable and ungodly frustrating. The act of intentionally waking myself up at 3am to pump defies menopausal woman logic where uninterrupted sleep is coveted. I have swung between being resolute in my decision to not induce with domperidone to really wanting to just try it and see. At times I feel so staunch that being in milk again is an experience I really want to have. I nursed a baby, so I am not without the breastfeeding experience, yet this feels wildly different. Sharing this part of myself be it dry or wet is a powerful pull both from how I feel as a nurturer and the impact to my sensuality. For me it is all tangled together and ironically those tangles keep me grounded in reality. My sense of self as a woman, nurturer, sensual human is not solely defined by the end game of milk or no milk. But the pull is there to keep trying. For today I embrace the journey, the contacts I have made with other women on a similar path and the men who may be a good match to come along for the ride.
To be continued…