Best Served Cold Chapter 6 The Party Best Laid Plans
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It’s all my fault. All I wanted was to not wind up in a nursing home before my time. Now, my whole family is fucked up.
My name is Karen, and I’m 50 years old, divorced, with a daughter and a granddaughter. My daughter is 35, and married to a rigid asshole, which means he was a good match for her. And yes, that means I had her young, and she had her daughter young, both of us were in high school when we got knocked up. My granddaughter is 20, and smarter than her mother or me, as I’m not yet a great-grandmother.
I was 48 when I got diagnosed with MS, the hard to control kind. Of course, I’d lived pretty hard up to that point, set a terrible example for my kid, and put some serious off-road miles across rough terrain on my body. I may die younger than I’d like, but I expect to leave a fairly decent- looking corpse. Anyway, when moving around a lot got to be challenge, I started to realize that my asshole daughter was talking with her asshole husband about dumping me in a “care facility.” Marvin, that’s the asshole husband’s name, really can’t stand me, which is fair, cause I have no use for him, either. At least I didn’t. You reevaluate things when just taking a shower starts to get a bit scary.
Kristy, that’s my daughter, resented me for screwing up her life. She blamed me for her father leaving when she was two. I was a kid with a kid, and her dad was a kid, too, so what can you expect? I certainly didn’t have any experience with making good choices. Still don’t, I guess. As she grew up, I most often left her with my mother and partied, and hung out with some interesting, and fun, folks. Well, my mom didn’t exactly have a great track record raising kids either, so Kristy turned out a lot like me. Now, I wish I’d listened to the old bat a little more -- if I’d paid more attention to Kristy in her “formative years” as mom called them, maybe Kristy’d be more willing to help me out when I began to desperately need that help. It probably would have been a good idea to be nicer to asshole, too.
Kirsten, that’s the granddaughter, had somehow turned out pretty good. She actually loves her mom and dad, and me, and listens, does good in college, and seems to be keeping her legs closed. She reads books a lot, and is smart. And, my expert eye and nose haven’t seen or smelled the slightest sign of drugs or drinking. I sometimes wonder if they mixed up babies at the hospital when she was born. Naw, actually, she looks like her mom and dad. If there’s any of me in there, it’s well hidden!
So, anyway, when things began to get challenging for me, Kirsten noticed I was having problems, told her mom, there was a meeting with my doctor, and everything came out. I love my independence, but, well, the doctor and Kirsten were right. I needed someone to keep an eye on me so if I lost my balance in the shower again, someone could call an ambulance. Or maybe could just help me off the bathroom floor, which I’d prefer, actually, as long as I hadn’t broken my skull on the tile.
Asshole, um, Marvin, actually has a good job and they’ve got a good house, one with a guest room that they moved me into. Okay, don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate that! Most especially, it was great to spend time with and talk to Kirsten. She’s a great kid. She pays attention when I tell her of my exploits and adventures, and she understands both how much fun I had and how stupid I was. She’s smart enough not to make the mistakes I did, or the ones her mom did, for that matter.
I tried not to be a strain or a drain on the family, really I did. I mean, I got on disability, and Medicare and Medicaid, so I was paying my way. And things were actually kind of good for a while, I mean relationship-wise. I wasn’t to the point where I needed full-time care, or even much in the way of part-time care. I was on a lot of meds, since the MS was progressing faster than we’d like. One of them was Luvox, and apparently one of the rare side-effect of that drug family on some women was inducing lactation, which, if you’re not feeding a baby, can be damned inconvenient. They gave me some stuff to try to stop it, but that messed with some of the other, more important meds, so I kinda was stuck with it. They gave me a breast pump to keep my tits from exploding or me soaking the bed, the room, and/or the house.
So, yeah, I was a little grumpy about it, and maybe I over-shared a bit. I mean, I hadn’t even breast-fed Kristy back in the day -- she was bottle-fed on formula like most of the babies at that time. That was probably the beginning of the end -- Kristy got weird about me pumping, and I think it made Marvin squeamish or something. Kirsten didn’t bat an eye, didn’t faze her one bit. It got on the wrong side of Kristy, like I had to pump now, but didn’t for her when she was a baby. Maybe if I had, we’d have bonded better. I don’t know.
I began to get a feeling, like Kristy and Marvin were running out of sufferance for dear old mom. There were meaningful looks exchanged between them sometimes, especially after I’d had to go pump myself. One thing about MS, you tend to get quieter as the disease progresses. You get tired easy, and you don’t move around much, so people can not notice that you’re there sometimes. So, I overheard them talking about a “care facility,” and I started to have nightmares about being trapped in a room on my back with no one around, except just to make sure I wasn’t dead yet. I figured I had a window of opportunity to do something that was closing.
I needed a plan. Something to remind my daughter that I am her mother, and emphasize that mother-daughter bond in a good way, not as it has been. The penny dropped one day when I caught my Kristy watching me pump, but pretending not to. It was kind of like she was fascinated, and kind of like she couldn’t believe that I was capable of being enough of a mother to actually produce milk. I felt a bit ashamed. It kind of hurt. I really did a shit job with her. If I’d gotten pregnant with her ten years later, maybe I’d have done better. Well, okay, probably not, but I wish ... I mean, Kirsten and I got along great, I’ve been more there for her, interested. More adult, really, to tell you the truth. I really was a self-centered cunt to Kristy for most of her life.
I wish I could do it all over again and do it right. This is not my usual approach to life. I’m more of a never-look-back and not-too-far-ahead kind of girl, with a heavy dose of if-it-feels-good-do-it. This taking perspective stuff sucks.
Anyway, so I caught her watching, and she caught me watching her watch me. Before she could get all defensive, the words “I wish...” came out of my mouth. She said “What?” and I admitted what I’d been feeling. I told her I was sorry for fucking up her life, but I was actually proud of her. She’d started off doing what I’d done, but had grown up, made her life work. I told her how great a job she’d done with Kirsten. I copped to wishing I could have a do-over.
Usually, she’d give me shit about saying something like that, but she reacted to my genuine vulnerability. It was a real kumbaya moment. We both cried. She hugged me, and I wound up hugging her back, tits out and all. I apologized for getting her shirt milky. She laughed, and said that was okay, and that I’d finally breastfed her, even if it was just on her clothes.
I asked her if she wished I had breastfed her as a baby. She told me she hadn’t realized it until I’d had to start pumping, but yeah, she did. We talked about what it was like then, back when she was a kid, and I told her that, on reflection, I thought maybe the whole formula-only approach we had back then maybe screwed up a couple of generations of kids and parents. I told her I sucked as a parent, but maybe I might have been better if we’d had that bond. I cried a little more and told her how I was sorry for that.
Well, I put my tits away, and we straightened up, and Kirsten came home, and Kristy really watched as Kirsten and I had some grandkid-grandma time. It was pretty cool, ‘cause we both appreciated how great a kid Kirsten was, and how we related. Kristy had a look on her face that was hard to interpret -- part proud, part sad, part I don’t know what.
Later, I went back to my room and thought. So, I saw an opportunity, and felt like we’d made a good start, but I needed something to strengthen things. I was pretty sure asshole would break that fragile start, because he’s habitually angry at me for how I treated Kristy before.
So, I have some trouble with fine motor control anymore, but Kirsten had been going through some of my old stuff getting things arranged in my room, and had found my old beading kit. Okay, you say beads, and people think of those tiny beads, you know? Well, this was an old beading kit from like, the late 70’s and 80’s, and I got it back when I was doing stuff with the Rainbow Tribe, and following the Grateful Dead and stuff. So, these beads were bigger, and I could still manage working with them. I’d made a necklace for Kirsten with some lapis and amethyst beads that she really liked, and wore. I thought maybe I’d make one for Kristy, just to ... well, you know.
I got out my box and started going through the bags of beads and line, and then something happened that doomed me. See, I knew this guy back then who was into weird drugs, you know, the designer shit. He was part of this drug of the month club, where somebody created a new drug and gave it to certain folks who would try it and tell him what it did for them, how high they got, and whether he had a good one with that batch. Like I said, I hung out with some interesting and fun people back then. Anyway, a packet of pills fell out of my box of beads.
Now, this batch I remembered, ‘cause I’d held onto it for a reason -- it made people relaxed and mellow, but if you told them something, they’d believe it, even after the high wore off. I mean, you could tell someone that you were friends while they were on it, and when they came down they’d be friendly with you. Nothing major, really, they’d just treat you like you were better friends than you really were. Or like, the two of you had absolutely mind-blowing sex even if you’d never even seen them naked, and they’d remember it that way, and probably be willing to have sex with you “again.” I’d saved it hoping to get a guy with money to think of me as his girlfriend, and maybe even wind up marrying me for a while. When you live in a tent in the woods in winter with only leaves to wipe your ass with, that can seem like a good plan. Of course, the flaw in that plan is that you don’t meet too many well-off guys with money in the middle of the woods in winter, at least not around the folks I was hanging with.
So I’d forgotten I had them. Now, looking at them, I remembered. It’s a shame those particular brain cells survived, I guess. There I was, looking at my little baggy of magic pills, and I had a bad idea. Have I mentioned that I can make some really stupid choices? I thought ... brownies! Go ahead, shake your head now.
If you have a brain, you’re probably thinking, hey, don’t chemicals change after years in a box undisturbed, exposed to heat, cold, damp, and god-knows-what? And baking those into brownies may do bad things to them chemically as well? Yeah, well, I’ve damaged my brains through the years. I’d say the sixties were very good to me, but I can’t remember them anymore. Actually, I was a kid in the sixties, but I certainly took up the hippy lifestyle, if a bit late, so, the seventies and eighties were very good to me. And the nineties and a few of the aughts. Nine or ten too many Grateful Dead concerts, maybe.
So, yeah, I thought it might be a good idea to bake brownies and tell Kristy she loved her mother and wanted to keep her around. My first problem was grinding up the pills when no one would notice. Well, it took a day for me to wind up in the house alone. Then figuring out how to smash up the pills took a while. Did I mention fine motor control problems? After working with a coffee cup and to try to crush them and having to climb under the kitchen table several times to find and retrieve them, I thought maybe the blender! The pills were too small, the blades just spun right above them. No good. I thought maybe adding something to them to get the blades to hit them. I was running out of time, and I panicked. I figured adding some of my other pills would do it.
Yeah. I know. Now. They could have done a Lucille Ball sketch of me that day. It probably would be accurate. Well, maybe if you added a dash of Cheech and Chong. So I added some of my Luvox. I mean, they’re mood elevators, right? And that wasn’t enough. So, I added some of my medicinal marijuana. That did the trick, powdered everything up fine. I dumped the powder back in the baggy, washed out the blender and put it away, and got back to my room just in time, as Kristy came home. Now I needed a time when we’d have the house to ourselves for a while. I didn’t want asshole coming in and saying things to Kristy when she was mellow and suggestible, things like When are we getting rid of your mother?’ or Your mother should go to such-and-so home.”
Opportunity knocked two weeks later. Marvin went out of town on a hunting trip with one of his buddies for three days, and Kirsten was spending the weekend with one of her friends. I asked her to spend Saturday with me, and told her I’d make brownies.
Saturday morning finally dawned, and it was not a particularly good day for me. I was having some symptom flares. I did use some of my medical marijuana, and I needed it. Before Kristy got out of bed, I had the brownies mixed and the oven preheated. When I heard her get in the shower, I put the brownies in and started the coffeemaker.
By the time Kristy emerged with her hair in a towel and wearing her bathrobe, the brownies were done. She came to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee as I was cutting the brownies and placing them on a rack to cool. I put the rack between us, and sat down across from her with my own coffee.
“Good morning,” I said. “How are you this morning?”
“Not bad,” she said, “Thank God it’s Saturday! How about you?”
“Not one of my better days,” I told her, “I’m having a flare.”
“Did you take your meds?” she asked, reaching for a brownie.
“Yes, Mom,” I laughed. She smiled at that, and took a bite.
She chewed a second, and said “These are spiked, aren’t they?”
I said yes, and said I thought I was going to need it today.
She said, “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t need to be anywhere today!”
I smiled, and said, “It’s been a long time since we indulged together.”
She nodded. “Yes, well, I’ve been trying to set a good example for Kirsten. Fortunately, she’s spending the weekend with Heather, so I can relax a bit!”
I said, “You are such a good mother!” I thought I saw a shadow cross her face. “No, really! You are a great mother! You take such good care of your family. I wish, really truly wish, I had been as good as you.”
She was getting relaxed. Wow, that kicked in fast! Faster than I remembered. I was feeling pressure in my breasts -- it was time to pump, also sooner than I expected. I said, “I’ll be back in a minute,” and went and got my pump and brought it back to the kitchen, sat down, and started to set it up. Kristy just kind of watched. I opened my robe, and put the pump to my breast and turned it on. Kristy watched as milk was drawn out of my nipple, pulse by pulse.
“I wish I had breast fed you. I wish I’d been a better mother to you. I wish we were closer. It’s sad that it took my getting sick to realize that. I would have loved to look down at your baby face as you suckled at my breast. I can imagine how bonding that would be. I’d be a better mother. You’d have felt so much closer to me, you’d feel my love, warm at my breast, love flowing into you from my heart, in my breast, through my nipple and filling you with warmth and strength and love.”
Kristy had scooted closer, watching the milk flow out with wide eyes, and her lips worked a bit, like she was trying to nurse. I watched, and had yet another bad idea.
“Baby, would you like to nurse at my breast? It would be like you were a baby, though you are a grown woman.”
Kristy nodded and moved closer. I turned off the pump and moved around the table to sit next to her. I got a little dizzy as I stood, apparently my own edible was kicking in. I felt the wave of its effects wash over me. I guess it was at this point I lost control of my train of thought. I drew Kristy to my breast, and she latched onto my nipple and began drawing the milk from it with a wonderful sensation.
Up to this point, I’d only ever used the pump to empty my breasts, never had anyone used their mouth. It was ... really nice. I’d had my nipples sucked during sex, and that was kinda nice. This was different. This was like, maybe, the real thing, where just sex nipple-sucking was like, half, maybe a third, of what this was. I realized what I had been saying just seconds before wasn’t bullshit. Not at all. Oh my God, I really did wish I’d breastfed Kristy as an infant. It would have changed everything. Maybe it still could, I hoped.
While I was thinking this, my mouth was working without direction from the brain. “Suckling feels good, and it makes you feel good. To tell you the truth, it’s kind of a turn-on, doing this makes me wet. I guess all mothers must get turned on doing this. Maybe that’s part of why they do it. But oh, Kristy, I feel it! The love! Oh, baby, I love you so much! You are my child, and being your mother is so important! So vital! Is this what you feel when you breastfeed? The love flowing with the milk? Oh, damn this is exciting! What a wonderful thing!”
“You must love being a mother! It must be so powerful force in your life!”
I realized I was blathering. With an effort, I tried to get back on track -- remember, Karen, this is about home healthcare, and me staying here to be taken care of! At the same time, God this was making horny! I am bi, and I do like a woman sucking my nipples, and that was getting a bit confused with the maternal instincts that were blossoming in me. I mean, I didn’t want to get too weird or anything! I hadn’t lost track of the fact that it was my daughter at my breast, so I tried to tamp down on the sexual aspect of things. Really, I did!
I was trying not to think of something while talking, so Freudian slips were bound to happen. “God, this mother stuff makes me so horny!’ That wasn’t a Freudian slip, that was Freud wearing lingerie and high heels. Shit. Focus, Karen!
“You must love being a mother, taking care of family. I’m so happy to be a part of your family! You take great care of Kirsten, you take great care of Marvin. I know it can be hard to take care of me, sometimes, but I really do love you for it! I love you anyway, but I appreciate that care. I know you’ll have to take even better care of me as I get older and sicker. You’ll probably have to take care of me like I was a baby, bathing me, even changing my dirty diapers, feeding me. Being like a nurse and a mother. Hah! Being a nursing mother to me. Heh-heh! Ahem. But I want you to know that I appreciate that, and will love you for it even when I can’t tell you. I know you’d do that for Kirsten, too, if she needed it, because you’re that good a mother. You are so filled with love and care!”
My breast was empty, so I said, “Kristy, it’s time to switch breasts, let’s go to the one that’s filled with milk.” I helped her move her head and lips to the other nipple. “That’s good, love! That feels so much better!”
I slipped a finger down to my pussy, and my brain into neutral as far as my mouth was concerned. “Oh, God, this is such a fucking turn-on! I had no idea that nipples had such a direct connection to the pussy! I’ve got to stroke it! Mmmm! Oh, God, this is so fucking sexy! I bet you got so fucking turned on nursing Kirsten! You must have had to finger your pussy, too! Does being a nursing mother change the way your nipples feel when they get sucked on later? Does it feel this good when Marvin sucks your titties? After this, will just using my breast pump be this much of a turn on?”
Kristy was making noises, cooing and “mmm”ing during most of this. Suddenly she stiffened, and made a gasping sound, and milk sprayed on her face. I suddenly realized she’d gotten turned on herself, and that she’d just climaxed. Her robe had fallen open, and she’d been fingering her own pussy as I’d been talking. Uh-oh. My brain had left my mouth completely unsupervised, and I’d been saying whatever popped in my head! Shit, shit, shit!
I shut up, and just enjoyed the sensations, trying to not make anything worse by talking. I reached my own climax. I may have cried out something when I did. It may have been “Mommy!” Or maybe that was just in my head. I hoped so. Both breasts were empty now, so I detached Kristy from my nipple, saying that I loved her, and I was glad I was her mommy, that she was a wonderful baby daughter, and a wonderful mother. I told her again how loving and special she was. I cleaned her up with a wet-wipe, as the milk sprayed on her face had dripped way down her body, then helped her up and steered her to the couch, and she burped. I patted her back, and told her to lie back and sleep, that she was a good girl.
I went to my room, and gave my pussy another workout, and then worried about having needed to do that. It was a real need, not just a “I’m kinda horny” session. I worried about what I said, and whether I’d made terrible mistake doing this while stoned. I dropped off to sleep trying to remember exactly what I’d said.
Waking up was a shock. Well, what I woke up to was the shock, not just waking up. I woke up with my daughter’s nipple being pressed to my lips. What was even more shocking was that I began sucking on it automatically. Kristy was atop me, over me, pulling my head to her breast. She was looking down at me with a lovely, beatific smile on her face. I realized suddenly that after my, ah, session, the night before, I had fallen asleep with my robe fully open. I also realized that my daughter’s knee was firmly placed against my pussy.
Kristy was cooing to me like I was an infant, encouraging me to suckle at her nipple, and telling me it would fill me up with her love and make me stronger. “That’s it, love, suck Mommy’s milk, drink it down, it will make you feel good and loved.” There wasn’t any milk coming from her breast, of course; it had been a very long time since she had nursed her daughter. Still, I knew I had fucked up the day before, and while I was trying to figure out a way to fix things, I sucked at her breast; I mean, I worried that stopping or objecting or freaking out would probably only make things worse, and it was my fault -- I was the one who’d fucked up her head.
What happened next was even more of a shock. She started rubbing her knee into my pussy. She also started stroking her own. Okay, it was worse. It had gone from weird to surreal. Wait, what the fuck? Something was coming out of her nipple! It was kind of thick, weird texture, kind of slimy and tasted like nothing I’d ever tasted before, with maybe an undertone of ... chicken?
What were you expecting?
Yeah, the texture and viscosity was kind of like a sexual fluid, but the taste simply wasn’t, and besides, while the breasts are erogenous zones, they aren’t actual sexual organs. Are they? I was getting confused, because of what was happening. God, Kristy’s knee was coated in my pussy’s slickness. I mean, it did feel pretty good, what she was doing. Just a body’s natural reaction! You know...
Fortunately, whatever it was that came out of Kristy’s nipple, was just a mouthful. I didn’t know whether to swallow or spit it out, so I just held it, hoping this would all end quickly. Oh, it must be colostomy, no, cologne, no, colossus, oh, whatever it’s called, you know, pre-milk. That must mean my duaghter’s breasts were going to start making milk?
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