Late to the party.

Story of my life.

When my daughter was born, a scant 23 years ago now, I discovered my fascination (read: crazed obsession) with breasts included them performing their nature duty.

My then-wife indulged me a time or two but was far too locked down generally for that to continue.

My second wife had had a child eleven years before I met her but such was my devotion to her breasts that she showed the first signs of induction. As rabidly sexual as I’d led us both to become after sex less marriages we set a schedule, using the Newman-Goldfarb protocol.

That shit is not for lightweights.

But we managed. And then when she got the first full, familiar letdown she freaked and stopped immediately.

So what was the attraction for me? That much time spent with a favourite body part of my favourite woman. The intimacy was abso-fucking-lutely integral. Her need of relief and my need of her.

Then when I came out as a trans woman I had to wonder if there was breast envy there too. Who knows?

Maybe one day I’ll induce (it’d certainly help get to Tanner stage 5!).

Imagine, Yael, if you will, being induced (and its certainly possible, as I don’t doubt you know from your ANR research), having another person so obsessed with you that they wanted you to be dependent on them for relief. Now imagine that same horny woman has done the same for you…

Lazy Sunday mornings of mutual latching and relief and satisfaction. Long nights of breast-centred depravity…

Seems my lactophilia remains intact. Lol

Capricious by name, steadfast by nature. Trans femme dyke. Smutsmith. Provocateur. Witch. Poet. Slut. Idiot. Kicking names and taking ass.

Capricious by name, steadfast by nature. Trans femme dyke. Smutsmith. Provocateur. Witch. Poet. Slut. Idiot. Kicking names and taking ass.