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I often write about my wonderful experiences, especially those times when I get to share ANR with a woman who has never had proper attention given to her breasts.
Recently, I was given a writing task to write about what I thought a first time would be specifically with this person, and they gave me some wonderful insights and motivations on what they are all about. I hope it goes somewhere, for she is quite fantastic.
But, I saw a tick-tok tonight that reminded me of a situation that was unique to most of my other experiences. I have had wonderful experiences over the past twenty+ years, but this one was quite unique. If I may, let me paint the picture…
This woman was a very high-level employee at a company with tremendous burdens and responsibilities placed upon her. To say she was a career woman just did not do it justice. I could tell by her mannerisms that she was very controlling and harsh. Controlling people and having expectations seemed to come natural to her.
Then there is me. I am zen-like, calm, and would rather have a work-life balance than worry about advancement. She found me by happenstance, reading one of my writings in a very obscure place, that I no longer post to. Her approach to me was one of a thousand red flags. She wanted to know the who, what, when, where, and why—and wanted references. I swore that I was being interviewed for a job more than someone to share ANR with. It was obvious that she was exploring, having never experienced this before.
Once she felt I was not a threat to her work, lifestyle, or livelihood, she invited me over and allowed me into her house—or rather, her maid/butler did. It was a huge house, in University Park, in Dallas. I am betting that the space my truck took up was more valuable than the truck itself. Indeed, I likely looked like a contractor more than anything else.
After being placed in a private sitting room, ornate to the nines, she came in and sat across from me. She was still dressed quite formal from work. I on the other hand was in an oversize t-shirt and gym shorts. I was both outclassed and out dressed. There was not much talking. In fact, when I tried to break the silence, she put her hand up and said, “No no.”
What I was missing at the time was that she was decompressing. She had dived into my profiles and read everything I had written. She watched every video and was comparing my present self to everything she had absorbed.
Just as I thought I was going to be asked to leave, she stood and said, “You may follow me.”
As we exited the sitting room, she called out to her butler to maintain the downstairs. I am guessing that was code for, ‘you don’t need to kill him.’
I followed her up a dark wooden grand staircase and down a long hall to a set of huge double doors that my truck could drive through. As I entered, the bed was front and center, a huge California king with more laced ruffles than I could count.
She pointed to a sitting area, “You may sit and wait.”
And wait I did, for almost thirty minutes. She had disappeared into another room, obviously the bathroom, and took a very long bath.
When she emerged, she was in a white silk lace Japanese robe, with gold and blue trim.
She never smiled. Instead, she walked to the bed, drew the covers back, and placed herself in the center of the bed. “Per your writings, I take it that this position will suffice?”
“Yes Ma’am,” I said as I stoop. She was so clinical and direct. I had no idea how this was going to go, but if she had asked me to leave, it would not have been unexpected.
Instead, though, I climbed up into her bed, as she undid the robe and exposed her beautiful breasts to me. She laid back as my left hand reached under her breast and my right hand cupped along her muscles. As I began to massage, my lips latched to her areola as her nipple rode up and down my tongue.
With in moments, her hands laid across my back and gently cupped the back of my neck—but that was not the surprising part. No—she was crying—and not just a gentle sadness, but a full-on emotional breakdown. If it was not for the placement of her hands, I would have stopped to ask what was wrong. However, it was clear she wanted me to continue.
She embraced me further, both with her arms and her legs, kissing my forehead, while tears streamed down her face. My mind raced over what torment and tumultuous feelings she was expressing.
It was not until the end that she opened up to me. The suckle and my gentle way that I placed upon her was unlike any way she had been treated. She said it was freeing to just let go and live in the moment. It was both cathartic and rejuvenating. She described ANR as a kindness and a joy that she was so grateful to experience.
After the session she returned to the guarded woman that she was. When seeing me out, she called for the butler to escort me to the front door. Her screen name was deleted and the phone number I was given was disconnected.
I never heard from her again. But that not the end of the story.
I saw her on TV several weeks later in an interview. The person who interviewed her said that she seemed more relaxed vs the last time he had seen her. She made a simple remark, “A bit of kindness came my way.” She smiled a bit, and when pressed for more, she said, “Letting go, to live in the moment, when someone is asking nothing of you, but giving you more than expected. Well—.”
The interview continued, back on track.Nice story…fair play you hung about. 30 mins left waiting I’d have been gone out the door 🤣
This is a thoughtful insight into the demands that life puts on women and the part that such a simple and natural act can play in allowing us to get back to who we really are in our essence.
Thankyou for sharing.
Amazing.
What a disappointment she never had you back.
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