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.