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Some experiences can’t be quantified in a way that can be easily explained, where the true feelings are disseminated effectively. This is one of those situations.
Some things can’t be learned outside of life experiences. When I was younger, I never could have imagined that pleasing a woman would take longer, the older they were. And I am sure many of you think I mean sex, –and there is some truth in that, but alas I am not. I am remaining inside the bubble of ANR.
In order to properly demonstrate what I mean, it is time to tell you about my first experience with a woman’s breast. Now many of my readers know that my first experience with ANR came from a neighbor who was a bit older than me. But this is my actual first overall—not a story I tell often.
Her name was Misty. She was a freshman as Mesquite High School. I was a sophomore at North Mesquite High School. As you can guess- rivals. Well, on one October Saturday, while at band rehearsal (trombone) at Memorial Stadium, I decided that after rehearsal, I would drive over to the Mesquite High School band rehearsal to poke fun at friends from my church youth group. Yes, I was a nerd. Honestly, I still am. Like a lot.
So, I drove over to Hanby Stadium, where the band was rehearsing in the back parking lot. I stood there and watched my church friends. Once they were on a break, one of my girl-church-friends drags over a girl to me, and introduces me. -Odd teenage drama ensues. Boy meets girls, yada yada yada-
Three dates later, I was now going over to her house after school. Her Mom worked until 6pm, and we did homework and watched Jerry Springer together. It really was a friendship. She, like me, was a bit of a recluse, so we were pretty good together. –And as always, we watched Jerry Springer.—But on this day, a woman stood up from her chair, yelling at her mom, and ripped her top off, baring her breasts to the audience, Jerry, and the world! Of course they blurred the areas, but my heart skipped five beats—and Misty noticed. She looked at me, “Oh so you like those?”
Thinking I was in trouble, I said, “She is just crazy!” Watching Jerry Springer was like watching a perpetual car crash.
But the next thing I knew, there was my girlfriend, right in front of the TV, ripping her top off and baring her breasts to me. As a stunned and stupid teenager, I froze. She walked over to me, and asked, “Don’t you want to kiss them?”
She was a very full thin framed 36C. I can still see the cold nipples standing out on her milky-white skin. I watched in slow lotion as she climbed onto my lap, and took my head in her hands, and invited my lips to her breasts.
Ten minutes later she made me stop, telling me, “Ok, you’re going to make them raw.” She put her shirt back on, fell to my side, and we returned to watching Jerry.
Now in hindsight, I know I sucked on them, rather than suckle. My lips had no control over pressure, technique, or motion. But even so, with two breasts, she could only take ten minutes—and neither of us knew to regulate the sensation for long lasting enjoyment.
Now, as I got older, and was deep into the not-yet-socially-named ANR, the sessions of suckling got longer. And aside from my neighbor, who is responsible for 80% of my stamina a jaw strength, I noticed a pattern. Younger women, even when suckled, did not last as long as older women. (Now to be fair, I meant women in their 30’s at the time). Indeed, other than my neighbor, I did not experience my first two-hour suckling session until I was with a woman in her 40’s.
Fast forward 25 years, and we get to the day that Charlotte sent me a wonderful note on Fetlife. She read one of my writings, ‘The Passion of Age in ANR’, and loved how tender and gentle I was with the woman. We talked all about my expectations and desires, and I explained my true love of ANR. That’s when she asked how I would feel about visiting a woman in Assisted Living.
Now to be fair to the reader, I only knew of nursing homes. Two of my grandparents ended up in one, both for emphysema. So, what I knew of places like this was limited to those experiences.
She laughed and explained that Assisted Living was more like living in a college dorm, with aids for cleaning, medication, and other personal needs. Needless to say, I told her that the facility did not bother me. So, she gave me the address and asked when I could come.
Now that was shocking.
Most of the time, even if a woman has read every word I ever written, she still needs to get a good idea of who I am through many conversations. Trust and comfort are required elements, otherwise the euphoria and relaxation of ANR as just not possible.
But this woman was bold. Basically, she made up her mind that it was going to be my choice to come. She knew enough about me already. But she did give me one warning. “Now I am no spring chicken. It takes awhile for me to feel satisfaction. That’s one reason I chose you. Stamina. But I think this is going to be an entirely new experience for you, and I hope we don’t scare you off.”
The ”We” is explained later. I honestly thought she was just talking in third person.
I assured her that my stamina is more than words on a page, and as soon as I drop off my daughter to school the next day, I will be right over.
So, at 7:41am, the next day, I am checking into the Assisted Living Center, to see Charolette. As I was escorted by a staff member down to her room, I was amazed at how this place did not look like a nursing home, it did not smell like one either. Honestly, I thought I was going to be entering a hospital environment. But no, from my short walk, this place had multiple common living rooms, poker tables, pool tables, piano, pool, cafeteria, and a gym. Other than the staff member dressed in scrubs, I would have thought I was at a luxury apartment building.
Finally, we arrived at Charolette’s door. It was a wide, ADA approved door, and I thought this is where the nursing home begins. As the staff member knocked, they loudly announced who they were. Then the door opened, and their stood a woman in her mid 70’s, wearing grey sweats. She invited me in, and once again, I realized that this really was not a nursing home. There was a small kitchen near the entrance, then past an L shaped bar, it opened up to a large living room, that other than the bed in the corner, was ornate, and well decorated.
She invited me to sit on the couch, “Do you have any questions before we begin?” In my brain, a spark went off. Where other women wanted to feel the connection of ANR, this woman was ready to go. I did notice several doors, so I asked if the units were connected, and she laughed. She explained one door went to a powder room, and the other to her bedroom and master bathroom.
“So, just curious, why is the bed in the living room?”
She giggled, and stood up and opened the bedroom door. It was like she owned her own fabric store. It was her sewing room. She explained that the living room was much bigger, so why not have the bed there?
Just as I was about to answer, she removed her sweatshirt, and I was floored.
NOTE: It is amazing that the older I get, the younger older women look. I remember being 18 and thinking a 32-year-old woman looked old. Perception over time is amazing.
Now she did not have the perkiness of a 20 year old, and even though I had not given much thought to it, I had seen breasts that completely lost their skin cohesion. This was not her. They were lovely and in need.
She reached down and took my hand, “Let’s go to the bed. Mama needs her good times.”
As she laid on the bed, she motioned for me to lay on her right side by reaching for my head and welcoming it down to her breast. As my lips pressed into her areola, and her nipple landed on my tongue, the suckling began.
A few moments later, she said, “A little harder honey. They need to feel you working them.”
I had a lot of her breast in my mouth, and I was border line sucking on them. It was still a suckle, but her nipple was very deep in my mouth, almost to the point I worried about my teeth. But she moaned and gripped my head harder, showing this is what she wanted.
I heard the TV come on as I suckled. She did not even ask if I cared. I assumed that she knew from my writings that it was fine, but still, most ask, even if rhetorical.
I was determined to outlast her. She had challenged my stamina more than once, and now I had to prove it. And she was not accepting a lite sweet suckle. No, this was a full-on mouth massage for the breasts. Her breasts lifted and fell with every suckle.
Every so often she would stroke my hair, “Good boy…”
After working on both breasts, and now back to the first, I thought the session would begin winding down. This is not always the case, and it certainly was not here!
Suddenly the front door opened and I heard many feminine voices. My natural instinct took over, but she grabbed my head, “Pay them no mind dear, you just do you work.”
I heard a stunned, “Well Stars, what do you have going on here?” –Stars was her nickname with the girls.
Without missing a beat, she seductively said, “Oh, he’s mama’s good boy. He’s the breast lover I told you about.”
Then I began hearing my own writings and stories discussed by these women. All while I continued to suckle on Charolette’s breasts.
Apparently, the women gather at 10am each day to watch The Price is Right. They ogle Drew Carey while tearing the women on the show apart. It is a social fest to be sure. A few times I could not help but laugh, but Charlotte gave me a soft slap and reminded, “You worry about my breasts young man. This conversation is not for you.”
During one of the commercials, they started to talk, or rather gossip, and then suddenly stopped. Charolette leaned down, “Now you keep doing your work busy bee, and don’t mind us.” Right after saying that, she laid her hand over my ear, so that I would not hear the gossip of the day. Her seal was rather good. I heard a bit of laughter, but she made sure I did not hear the rest.
After The Price is Right was over, I could feel Charlotte starting to move her body. Normally this is a sign that the session is wrapping up, but instead she was just searching for the remote. Out of the corner of my eye, the women went into the sewing room and retrieved different projects. They returned to their seats moments later.
In time I heard a familiar theme- Young and the Restless.
Normally, I would stand and walk around the bed, to work on the other breast. I do not believe a man should cross over a woman’s body, pressing down on her chest. Her breathing should remain unencumbered during the sessions.
But with me laying on her right side, she would just turn into me so that the left breast could be serviced. This has the added benefit of giving her friends a full-on show, instead of her back being turned to them.
During one of their private sessions of gossip, when my ear was covered, I heard my name and realized they were very impressed with what they were seeing. At least I thought that’s what was being discussed. I had to piece it together.
Once Young and the Restless was over, Charolette removed her breast from my mouth and informed me, “put your shoes on and stand by the door dear.” She then stood from the bed, yawned, and put her sweatshirt back on. I had been suckling for over three hours. I lost track of how many times she had me switch breasts.
Moments later, all the women stood and put their projects away. They walked over to me as I naturally opened the door. I assumed this was the end, but how wrong I was. Charlotte flashed a green ticket at me. It was a cafeteria pass.
So, over the half-hour, the women grilled me about ANR, my life, my choices, and everything else. All while we enjoyed tomato basil soup and grilled cheese. I must admit that her demand for a harder suckle had begun to strain my jaw muscles. The soup felt so good on them.
After lunch, I thought I was going back to Charlottes, but on the way, I was informed I would be going with Betty.
Betty had me kneel before her as she sat in her chair. She loved the soft suckles, and lasted for about an hour, before falling asleep.
After waking her several times, I finally decided to leave her in her slumber. I walked back to Charolette’s room, where she was a bit disappointed to see me, “Tap out already uh?”
The brashness of this woman made me smile. I explained that I could not keep Betty awake and she just laughed. She then picked up the phone, then said, “114. Go see SusyQ.”
I had to fight back laughter, because I was being passed around like a salt shaker, but I did as told. I went to 114 and was welcomed in.
SusyQ was a firecracker. She stood all of 4’10, and her breasts were larger than her head. She honestly looked imbalanced. She had memorized so many of my writings. But more than that, she wanted my head against the mattress, where she rolled into me. I was almost snuggled within her. She was about half on top of me, but there was one thing made perfectly clear, I was not leaving lol.
Those large breasts spread over my face, and I had a hard time breathing. I honestly think she loved that, because occasionally, she fought me from taking a breath while laughing. She was a bit younger than Charolotte and her breasts did not go so deep in my mouth, but she loved the attention for sure.
But unlike Charlotte, after an hour, she was ready to sleep like Betty. So, she sent me back to Charolette’s.
As Charlotte welcomed me back into her room, I noticed it was now 2:50PM. She asked what time I had to pick up my daughter. I told her she was in tutoring until 4:30, so I probably needed to leave by 4pm.
As I turned around, there she stood, bare breasted with her eye brow raised, “Then get on the bed.”
…At 4pm, she gave me a long hug and thanked me for coming to visit. But moreover, thanked me for living up to my writingsI don’t know if I was able to capture the spirt, fun, and overall experience of this story, but I did my best. I know I will never forget it! Women are the most wonderous creatures ever created, and like it or not, they rule man.
I’ve had a similar experience… and LOVED IT!!! 😍 😋 😋 😋
Your story brought memories “Mammaries” back… Thanks!So, did you establish contact indirectly with the assisted living ladies through your writing on this site or another member’s recommendation?
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