The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of Marilyn Jaye Lewis by Marilyn Jaye Lewis
Authors: Marilyn Jaye Lewis
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into orgasmic bliss in record time.
“In my country,” she assured us, “women can give milk without being pregnant. It is not necessary to be with child in order to give milk.”
We were sceptical, Bertrand and I. The following day, over the telephone, we consulted with some fetishists we knew on East 9th Street and they, in turn, assured us that it was true. The trick, they said, was to fool the pituitary gland into thinking Paulina had an infant to nurse.
Really? This was certainly news to us. But intriguing news; exciting news!
“It would require constant suckling, of course, maybe even for a couple of months. Do you think you’re up for the task?”
Constant suckling at Paulina’s breasts, her ecstasy so contagious that it would nearly make us come, as well? We hung up the phone. Our mission was clear: we would suck on Paulina’s nipples, night and day, until the milk came out. It was a mission that suited us thoroughly. And as luck would have it, in late spring, when Paulina’s milk finally came, I found myself with child. Bertrand and Paulina couldn’t have been more pleased. With Veuve Cliquot, they joyously toasted the baby’s conception. Though no less joyous, I abstained, however, from the champagne and thought instead of the moment of birth, contemplating ecstasy.
Baby, It’s Cold Outside
Marilyn Jaye Lewis
The Philadelphia Flyers had come into the new hockey season ranked down at the very bottom of the Eastern Conference, but Connor Moore, a die-hard Flyers fan, knew there was still plenty of time left in the season for them to get back on top. He was determined to get to the arena in plenty of time for today’s face-off – the Flyers were playing the NY Rangers at five o’clock. Another snowfall was heading toward Hellertown, but Connor was undeterred. They would make it to Philadelphia come hell or high water – or even more snow.
Kaylie Moore, Connor’s wife, was less than a die-hard hockey fan. She didn’t hate it; she simply didn’t love it. But she did love Connor and after three years of marriage and two years of steady dating, she’d gotten used to his devotion to the Flyers, to his love of the sport. She saw the home games as a way to spend time with her husband, if nothing else. Still, sometimes his fanaticism drove Kaylie a little nuts. Here they were, already getting into the car.
“Don’t you think that two o’clock is a little early to be leaving, Connor? The game doesn’t start until five. We’re only about an hour away.”
Connor slid into the driver’s seat and pulled closed the car door. “I’m leaving plenty of time for bad weather and – I thought I’d surprise you.”
This perked Kaylie’s interest. “Really? Surprise me how?” She fastened her seatbelt.
“We’re taking the scenic route. I thought I’d go 611 the whole way instead of the freeway. How does that sound? And we can stop at that old barn thing you like – that farmer’s market.”
It was a very nice surprise. Kaylie was amazed that he’d even thought of it – on a hockey day, no less. “I’ll bet 611 will be beautiful in this snow, but I don’t think the market is open in the winter time, Connor.”
“Sure they are.” Connor put the car in reverse and backed down the long graveled driveway to the semi-rural street they lived on, Fullerton Way. “There must be something farmers can sell in the winter. You know, stuff they ship in from California that we could buy cheaper just about anywhere else. It’s the ambiance we’re after here and I’m sure they’re well aware of it, even in winter. Farmers can be pretty shrewd.”
Kaylie smiled in spite of herself. “Pretty shrewd” was her husband’s pat way of describing anyone whose crafts, food, folk art, or furniture were packaged in just the right way to get Kaylie to part with her hard-earned money. The Amish, the Quakers, and now, apparently, the farmers were all “pretty shrewd.”
“You’re sweet,” she said.
“In my country,” she assured us, “women can give milk without being pregnant. It is not necessary to be with child in order to give milk.”
We were sceptical, Bertrand and I. The following day, over the telephone, we consulted with some fetishists we knew on East 9th Street and they, in turn, assured us that it was true. The trick, they said, was to fool the pituitary gland into thinking Paulina had an infant to nurse.
Really? This was certainly news to us. But intriguing news; exciting news!
“It would require constant suckling, of course, maybe even for a couple of months. Do you think you’re up for the task?”
Constant suckling at Paulina’s breasts, her ecstasy so contagious that it would nearly make us come, as well? We hung up the phone. Our mission was clear: we would suck on Paulina’s nipples, night and day, until the milk came out. It was a mission that suited us thoroughly. And as luck would have it, in late spring, when Paulina’s milk finally came, I found myself with child. Bertrand and Paulina couldn’t have been more pleased. With Veuve Cliquot, they joyously toasted the baby’s conception. Though no less joyous, I abstained, however, from the champagne and thought instead of the moment of birth, contemplating ecstasy.
Baby, It’s Cold Outside
Marilyn Jaye Lewis
The Philadelphia Flyers had come into the new hockey season ranked down at the very bottom of the Eastern Conference, but Connor Moore, a die-hard Flyers fan, knew there was still plenty of time left in the season for them to get back on top. He was determined to get to the arena in plenty of time for today’s face-off – the Flyers were playing the NY Rangers at five o’clock. Another snowfall was heading toward Hellertown, but Connor was undeterred. They would make it to Philadelphia come hell or high water – or even more snow.
Kaylie Moore, Connor’s wife, was less than a die-hard hockey fan. She didn’t hate it; she simply didn’t love it. But she did love Connor and after three years of marriage and two years of steady dating, she’d gotten used to his devotion to the Flyers, to his love of the sport. She saw the home games as a way to spend time with her husband, if nothing else. Still, sometimes his fanaticism drove Kaylie a little nuts. Here they were, already getting into the car.
“Don’t you think that two o’clock is a little early to be leaving, Connor? The game doesn’t start until five. We’re only about an hour away.”
Connor slid into the driver’s seat and pulled closed the car door. “I’m leaving plenty of time for bad weather and – I thought I’d surprise you.”
This perked Kaylie’s interest. “Really? Surprise me how?” She fastened her seatbelt.
“We’re taking the scenic route. I thought I’d go 611 the whole way instead of the freeway. How does that sound? And we can stop at that old barn thing you like – that farmer’s market.”
It was a very nice surprise. Kaylie was amazed that he’d even thought of it – on a hockey day, no less. “I’ll bet 611 will be beautiful in this snow, but I don’t think the market is open in the winter time, Connor.”
“Sure they are.” Connor put the car in reverse and backed down the long graveled driveway to the semi-rural street they lived on, Fullerton Way. “There must be something farmers can sell in the winter. You know, stuff they ship in from California that we could buy cheaper just about anywhere else. It’s the ambiance we’re after here and I’m sure they’re well aware of it, even in winter. Farmers can be pretty shrewd.”
Kaylie smiled in spite of herself. “Pretty shrewd” was her husband’s pat way of describing anyone whose crafts, food, folk art, or furniture were packaged in just the right way to get Kaylie to part with her hard-earned money. The Amish, the Quakers, and now, apparently, the farmers were all “pretty shrewd.”
“You’re sweet,” she said.
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