MORNING MILKING

by

David Wetmore
 
	The other day I was sitting with a friend and doing 
some reminiscing. We are about the same age and so we grew 
up in the same era. But he was a farm boy and I was a city 
kid.	 
	When I was growing up in the city, we were always of 
the opinion that farm life was pretty earthy. . .that 
growing up surrounded by animals and nature exposed kids to 
the explicit facts of life. Farm kids were always seeing the 
animals do it, and in the process were more exposed to the 
information, the inspiration, the stimulation and the 
opportunity to become sexual themselves.	
	And, of course, that conclusions made us feel envious 
too. Not that we didn't manage to accumulate our own 
information, inspiration, etc. And not that we didn't pursue 
sexual experience with our own enthusiasm. But somehow, we 
always seemed convinced that others, in this case the farm 
kids, were somehow having more experience and more fun than 
we were.	 
	So I was surprised that day to discover that during my 
preteen and teen years, my brother and I were enjoying a 
much more erotic youth than my friend from the country.	 
	He grew up on a dairy farm, which his parents still 
operate. And, when he goes back home to visit, he 
automatically falls into line in helping with the daily 
chores.	 
	That day My friend was telling me about the years at 
home when he was expected to take part in the morning 
milking. From way back when he was in elementary school, he 
would awaken early each morning, well before sunrise and 
well before it was time to get ready for school, to help his 
father with the morning milking. That involved getting up 
and getting dressed each morning, winter and summer, heading 
out to the barn and taking part in the arduous tasks of 
attending to the needs of the family's dairy herd.	 
	He didn't seem to mind the work. In fact, he described 
the experience with a touch of nostalgia.	 
	As he went on, I could not help but recall that my big 
brother and I also had a routine that we referred to as 
morning milking Unlike my friend, our routine had nothing to 
do with hard work and cold weather. And it certainly did not 
involve our dad. Ours was a game that we played with each 
other - a game that we played together in secret and 
revealed to nobody. I couldn't even bring myself to describe 
it to my friend.   I'll try to tell you about it now.	 
	I come from a family of bed wetters. Billy, my big 
brother, and I followed in that family tradition. Billy, who 
is three years older than me, wet his bed until he was 
nearly twelve. I was in less of a hurry, wetting at night 
and relying on diapers and plastic pants until I was 
fourteen. Both Billy and I developed an affection for 
diapers and wetting that we resumed in later years. But that 
was the age when being dry meant being grown up - a 
milestone that we savored for a long time.	 
	When Billy stopped sleeping in diapers, he was so proud 
of himself, and before long began to playfully tease me 
about being a wet diaper baby. In fact, Billy continued to 
have "accidents," wetting the bed every 6-8 weeks or so all 
the way through high school. I don't know if they were 
really accidents or if he missed the feeling of waking up in 
a wet bed. In any event it assured Mom keeping a rubber 
sheet on his bed right through his teens (which always got 
lots of energetic use).	 
	When I stopped wetting my bed every night (I was 14 
then and Billy was 17), I had accidents less often than 
Billy. But Mom never gave a thought to having me go without 
a rubber sheet for one moment - Thank Heavens!	 
	Billy and I played lots of fun boy/brother games over 
the years. But one of my favorites was morning milking. We 
played it whenever we got the opportunity - especially on 
Saturday and Sunday mornings. It started when Billy was 
about 13, a few months after he began producing boy milk. 
How excited we both were when that happened. Instead of 
jerking off with the guys in the woods, we moved the sport 
to our bedroom. It took him a while to cum in those early 
months, but we didn't mind the wait. And when he did, we 
watched his little white volcano with wonder and delight. 
Then we would play with it - feeling the thick slippery 
texture, inhaling its strong spunky scent and tasting its 
strong salty taste.	 
	We made up a number of mutual masturbation games that 
we played over the years, but morning milking soon became 
our favorite.	 
	Mom and dad loved to sleep in of Saturday and Sunday 
mornings. Billy and I arose later too, but we still awakened 
at about our usual time (about 7:00 AM). When we came down 
for breakfast about 8:30 or so, we were still well ahead of 
the parents. We drew out our game of morning milking as long 
as we could. But in those years it was a real accomplishment 
if we were able to delay a climax for even 20 or 25 minutes.
	 
	Billy and I always preferred the term boy milk to terms 
like: cum, jism, etc. We used to think we invented the term, 
but I'm pretty sure that we heard it from one of our friends 
and adopted it for our own use. A while before Billy was 
able to produce boy milk himself, he explained the term to 
me. We saw a couple of our more precocious playmates make 
boy milk, and we both began to await the advent of our own 
with growing anticipation.	 
	I'm not sure how our game of morning milking started 
exactly, but it grew out of our mutual fascination with his 
boy milk and my wet diapers.	 
	Whoever awakened first, usually came over and slid 
under the other's covers. Sometimes I would awaken to feel 
Billy's hand inside the front of my plastic pants, holding 
my peter gently through my soggy diaper. He would squeeze my 
diaper and whisper, "O-oh. . .Wet Baby!" If I was not 
already hard, I was then.	 
	If it was me awakening him, I would take his peter in 
my hand and awaken him whispering, "Make milk, Billy!"	 
	We skinned out of our pj bottoms immediately. That left 
his bottom bare naked and uncovered my diapers and plastic 
pants.	 
	For what seemed like a long time, we would just lay 
side by side - sometimes on our backs and sometimes facing 
each other. Billy would have one or both hands inside my 
plastic pants playing with my diapers and gently rubbing my 
boner through them. And I would be playing with him. I liked 
to run my fingers through his little kinky patch of pubic 
hair. And I liked to feel the shape and texture of his balls 
- smooth and firm and round inside but kind of wrinkly and 
bristly on the surface. Then I would explore his boner, 
which I knew as well as my own. His was bigger than mine - 
still's that of a growing boy, but it seemed huge to me. It 
stood upward against his tummy. I would trace the ridge that 
ran up the outer side and then play with his knob. It was 
almost always wet with slippery precum.	 
	I would spread his precum with my fingertips - around 
the head of his peter and then up and down his shaft. Often 
there was enough to coat his balls and to rub on his tummy.	 
	Of course, when I did this he would always wriggle and 
squirm and that made him ooze even more.	 
	Eventually I would take the shaft or his stiff peter in 
my hand and just hold it. I liked the way it always quivered 
and twitched. I would just hold him and let him set the pace 
by humping my hand. Sometimes he started real slow but 
usually before very long he was bucking pretty good. I liked 
the way his peter began to throb - first down by his balls 
and then all along his shaft when he began to pump his boy 
milk.	 
	We both liked to watch it sometimes, but usually we 
stayed under the covers and just felt it. He would moan and 
grunt and jerk all around. Sometimes I held the palm of my 
hand over the end of his peter to feel his hot milk pump 
against it. Sometimes I let it run through my fingers. 
Usually most of it eventually ended up on his belly.	 
	It was fun to hold his peter real still and feel the 
pumping subside. Then he would get soft again and his peter 
would shrink until it was almost too small to hold anymore.	 
	For a while we would both lay real still and quiet, 
holding each other and savoring what we had just shared. 
Then he would start feeling frisky again.	 
	He would roll me onto my back and position himself over 
my plastic pants, sometimes whispering, "Wet Baby!" again. 
He would scoot down so that his face was right over my 
plastic pants. Then he would lower the front of my pants and 
undo my diaper pins - pinning them onto the hem of my pj 
tops for "safe keeping." He often teased me during those 
years about still being a "Wet Diaper Baby," but when he 
said it when we were playing our morning milking game, his 
voice was always husky with excitement. Like him, I love the 
feeling of waking up in a wet diaper and I liked the feeling 
then too, even though I thought I was eager to stop wetting 
the bed. But when he started taking down my plastic pants 
and wet diapers I felt an added surge of excitement, knowing 
that my diapers were a turn on for he too.	 
	He always tried to do this as slowly as he could. But, 
even though he had shot his boy milk only 15-20 minutes 
before, he would get all excited again and I was already 
raring to go.	 
	When he had my diaper unpinned, he made no attempt to 
remove it - just pushed it down in front to uncover my 
smooth hairless boner and balls. The smell and the feel of 
my diaper was always a turn on for he.	 
	He always teased me about sucking on my boy nipple. And 
now we were both ready for that. He always said that my 
peter was a "perfect fit," and he proved it by gently 
licking me all over and then sucking my whole boner into his 
mouth. During the first couple of years that we played the 
morning milking game, I was not able to make boy milk, but 
we both looked forward to that with great anticipation. But 
I did drool a whole lot and as fast as I leaked, he eagerly 
licked and swallowed. Before long he had me squirming all 
over the place. It was impossible to keep still, but I held 
his head to me so that we would not get separated. We would 
roll around that way - his chin buried in my diaper and his 
tongue pressing the underside of my peter as he sucked 
steadily - until I reached my climax.	 
	He were humping the bed at the same time. Sometimes he 
came again before I did. Usually he came a few minutes 
later.	 
	After my climax was over and my peter shrunk and grew 
soft, he continued to hold it in his mouth for a long time, 
squeezing it gently between his lips. Whenever he did this, 
it often left me with a mild tingling sensation that lasted 
all day to remind me of our morning romp.	 
	When I eventually began to produce boy milk, Billy 
swallowed that with the same eagerness. In fact, if memory 
serves, the first time that I ever produced boy milk was 
during one of our morning milking game.	 
	When our morning romp was over we eventually got up, 
peeled off wet diapers and sticky pajamas, got showered, 
made our beds and got dressed. We usually went about this 
routine, working together in silence, savoring the afterglow 
of our play.	 
	When the folks arose, we had already been up for an 
hour or more - and awake for an additional hour or hour and 
a half before, tending to our morning milking.	 
	I didn't grow up on a farm, but I did grow up doing 
morning milking. And when Billy and I get together by 
ourselves today, we still try to make time for our morning 
"chores," that we remember so fondly.