Hello
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Posted:Oct 17, 2008 8:07 pm
Last Updated:Feb 18, 2009 7:49 pm
4040 Views
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I know it been a while since I posted on here but I am sorry I really been busy. I get on from work but the old laptop is too slow to do anything but look at mail and maybe sit and watch chat a few minute.
I been reading alot at work mostly Romanace series and started my xmas shopping on line... and also crocheting some water carriers for friends and family..
well not much more going on so I will close and hope to talk to you all soon
me 
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Good Advise
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Posted:Aug 17, 2007 2:20 pm
Last Updated:Apr 25, 2024 2:30 pm
4365 Views
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Okay, so you know that feeling that you get maybe an hour or hour and a half after eating that gives you a first faint inkling, a small surge of fear that maybe the food was bad? It's followed by cramping, then watery tidal sounds from below the equator. Then by recalling everything you ate - fish, fries, lemon, malt vinegar...TARTER SAUCE! Shit! I bet the tarter sauce was bad! Oh hell, I'm going to blow from every orifice any minute!
Now, I am not one my first lap in the pool of life, so of course, I immediately implemented Emergency Response Plan Shitstorm:
1. Immediately make any plausible excuse to step away from the .
2. Ask the lovely new coworker you're secretly crushing on to take over with the (double benefit - she is glad to have the opportunity, and she will be nowhere near the desk the newest person has been given right next to the bathroom).
3. Now feeling the second wave of cramps; sweat and beginning to taste a little metallic in the increasing saliva that is rising in your mouth, you begin race-walking to the can. Race-walking has two benefits: it is a bit quicker than walking, and it allows you to clamp firmly on your sphincter while you rush to the relief station.
4. Say a quick prayer to the porcelain gods that all stalls will be unoccupied.
5. As you reach the door to the bathroom, begin unclasping belt and buttons.
6. Scan for open stalls while completing step 5.
7. Dash to a stall while lowering trousers to half mast. Shout warning to anyone else present - "Save yourself! Get out NOW!"
8. As you pivot and begin lowering your butt to the toilet seat, flick the stall door shut and the lock with it. Combining these three moves saves time! Precious time...
9. Sit, relax the sphincter and ride out the storm.
Properly implemented, this plan should save you just enough time to get your ass in place, with a good seal to prevent blow back just as the gallant sphincter gives it up.
Unfortunately, because I stood that extra second or two after my instincts told me I had hideous diarrhea on the way - I was arguing with myself that maybe it was just gas - I didn't quite get a good seal before Vesuvius Crapitanus erupted.
The one other person in the room was heard to exclaim, "Holy Shit!" and "Oh my God, man!" This last was heard from the hallway just before the door slammed shut.
Once the eruptions slowed, then stopped, I began secondary response procedures - look to see if there is toilet paper...YES! Did it spray forward onto my pants...NO! Did it...oh fuck! A two foot high, glistening wall of brownish green slime covers the back of the seat, tank, wall and my white shirt. That two seconds of denial had kept me from getting a good seal. I'd have to improvise a new secondary response procedure to clean up. Remove shirt and wipe seat and wall. Clean self as best possible with toilet paper. Soap and water at the sink.
Having cleaned as best I could, I knew I only had minutes to get to my apartment before the nausea hit. Calmly as possible, I exited the bathroom, hoping to sneak shirtless down the back stairs. As I left the bathroom, another guy walked in. A second later, he came back out, gagging "Call 911, someone died in there!" I was on the stairs, then out the door, then in my car.
I made it home, spent the next 36 hours with my porcelain savior, and hoped that the new woman had made a sale. Or at least hadn't heard about the bathroom disaster and the wild-eyed, shirtless coworker seen running from the scene! I'll know tomorrow.
I did everything right, followed the playbook perfectly, but that one hesitation - the one that made me too slow - kept me from getting a good seal. And that little hesitation may just keep me from enchanting my crush, or it may even mean I need to get a new job, depending on the nicknames they've come up with for me. Still, I give myself a 9.6 because I did everything flawlessly except for sticking the landing. The other judge, who is from Romania and is a janitor when he's not judging, might give me a lower score. Damn.
(Aside to Romanian judge: Dude, I did the best I could with just a shirt. I'd have done better with a disinfectant cleaner and a mop. There'll be a bottle of pear brandy in your cart on Monday.)
Moral: "Good instincts usually tell you what to do long before your head has figured it out." Trust your instincts. Oh, and get a good seal.
Location: Didn't get a good seal
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 394614542
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Think twice about the woods :D
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Posted:Aug 17, 2007 2:18 pm
Last Updated:Apr 25, 2024 2:30 pm
4193 Views
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Take me in the weeds
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Date: 2007-08-14, 10:19PM PDT
My dearest Casual Encounter,
We met on Craigslist. You were the one with the sensual, alluring title - "Ram your cock inside me and spurt your hot load!". I knew you were the one for me by the way you typed in ALL CAPS and listed enough conditions to make a contact attorney proud. Your policies of "FACE PICT *ONLY*! NO COCK SHOTS!" and "NASTY, OLD PERVERTS NEED NOT APPLY!" really resonated with me. And you chose me. of the 357 responses you received, you chose mine. I like to think it was my charm, wit, and carefully crafted prose. That or the Abercrombie and Fitch model I chose for "my" picture.
We both were in relationships, but we needed something more. We needed each other, if only for that one afternoon. So I took off work early. Wasn't feeling well; going home to rest. You just left a note on the counter - "out shopping". Why wouldn't he believe that?
I lust you, but I don't trust you. I can't let you know where I live. You don't care, but he could be home any minute. And I certainly wouldn't want to be around for that. Motels are so cliché. (OK, really we're cheap.) Besides, wouldn't it be totally hot to do it outside, totally exposed to the whole world? I'd never done such a thing before. Neither had you.
So we met at the park at 4. The sun was just starting to go down. The light though the trees was sublime. You in your easy-access summer dress. The shine of your hair. The look in your eye. I wanted you. I needed you. I simply had to have you.
But where? Had to be close. No time to wander around when sex is imminent. Somewhere out of the way. Others can't see. Up that hill. In the trees. Underbrush all around. I pull it aside for you as we make our slow progress trystward. You do the same for me. Then an opening. Nestled into a copse. Surrounded by scrub brush. Perfect.
The blanket goes down and 3 seconds later your tongue is in my mouth. So warm. So soft. So wet. I can no longer think. All the blood is in my cock. I reach my hand down your pants. It's like my toiletry kit fresh out of Miami baggage claim - a hot, wet, sticky mess. You moan and I'm inspired to keep going. First one, then two fingers. Thumb on your clit. It's not long be you're there. I keep kissing you the whole time, but really I'm staring at your face. At the look of pure pleasure. Then you go silent. Your body tenses and arches and I can feel the intense contractions inside you.
You reach for me and I'm ready, clothes off in 6 seconds. After witnessing your performance, I'm already close. Really close. You stroke me. You lick me, and less than a minute later I black out for the longest 5 seconds of my life.
Back into focus, and my gaze lands upon your face. We exchange an awkward look, like we're back in high school and aren't sure what to make of all this. You pull your hand back looking with concern at the mess on it. I pull out a Kleenex and push it at you while I use another to deftly wipe off my stomach.
Nothing left to say, so I get up and start putting on my clothes. You pick up the blanket. I make one last effort on the way back to the cars; I gently brush the cruft out of the back of your hair. You turn half-way toward me and give me a tight-lipped smirk.
That was yesterday. Today I am itchy. And swollen. I have splotchy rashes on my body But my cock is the worst. It's bright red, raw, and about 50% bigger than normal. Now I know the secret of those spammers who claim to increase your girth - poison oak.
I'm sorry, Casual Encounter girl. Sorry if I got poison oak on you like you did to me. Or worse, in you. I'd like to say it was worth it, but I can't. Not now. Maybe in a few days this will be more funny than painful. I hope so. But I do know that next time, we're splitting the cost of the motel.
it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 397398685
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Copyright © 2007 craigslist, inc. terms of use privacy policy feedback forum
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ANR
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Posted:Jul 31, 2007 11:51 am
Last Updated:Dec 25, 2007 5:56 pm
5867 Views
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I found a great site that is ALL ANR and check it out at http://TSmeet.com I am on there as just Suggie.
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Do you Have a Yellow Shirt ?:7
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Posted:Jul 25, 2007 2:17 pm
Last Updated:Apr 25, 2024 2:30 pm
5220 Views
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The yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread
and snaps up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away. "You're not taking that old thing, are you?" Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt. "I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!"
"It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class,
Mom. Thanks!" I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt be came a part of my college wardrobe. I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.
The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.
That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her "real" gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.
The next year, my husband, and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some
furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt!
And so the pattern was set.
On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress. I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.
In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three , I prepared to move back to Illinois . As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read, "So use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up."
I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn't my mother's love a piece of God's armor? My courage was renewed.
Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer.
Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet.
Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were the words "I BELONG TO PAT."
Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER." But I didn't stop there. I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington , VA. We enclosed an
official looking letter from "The Institute for the Destitute," announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom's face when she opened the box. But, of course, she never mentioned it.
Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: "Read John 14:27-29. I love you both, Mother."
That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: "I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me."
The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three months that
she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.
I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.
A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart
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Which Barbie are you??? O:)
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Posted:Jun 6, 2007 5:55 pm
Last Updated:Jul 25, 2007 2:05 pm
4421 Views
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>>One day a father gets out of work and on his way home
>>He remembers that it's his 's birthday.
>>He pulls over to a toy store and asks the salesperson,
>>"How much is the Barbie on the display window?"
>>The salesperson answers, "Which one? We have:
>>Work out Barbie for $19.95
>>Shopping Barbie for $19.95
>>Beach Barbie for $19.95
>>Disco Barbie for $19.95
>>Divorced Barbie for $265.95
>>The amazed father asks: "What? Why is the Divorced Barbie
>>$265.95 and the others only $19..95?"
>>The salesperson annoyingly answers:
>>"Sir..., Divorced Barbie comes with:
>>Ken's Car, Ken's House, Ken's Boat, Ken's Furniture,
>>Ken's Computer and...One of Ken's Friends."
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2
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Which Barbie are you??? O:)
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Posted:Jun 6, 2007 5:55 pm
Last Updated:Apr 25, 2024 2:30 pm
4291 Views
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>>One day a father gets out of work and on his way home
>>He remembers that it's his 's birthday.
>>He pulls over to a toy store and asks the salesperson,
>>"How much is the Barbie on the display window?"
>>The salesperson answers, "Which one? We have:
>>Work out Barbie for $19.95
>>Shopping Barbie for $19.95
>>Beach Barbie for $19.95
>>Disco Barbie for $19.95
>>Divorced Barbie for $265.95
>>The amazed father asks: "What? Why is the Divorced Barbie
>>$265.95 and the others only $19..95?"
>>The salesperson annoyingly answers:
>>"Sir..., Divorced Barbie comes with:
>>Ken's Car, Ken's House, Ken's Boat, Ken's Furniture,
>>Ken's Computer and...One of Ken's Friends."
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This site,,,
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Posted:Mar 31, 2007 8:02 am
Last Updated:May 24, 2007 12:46 pm
4685 Views
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this site is sure getting weird each day... they denied a post I made about question and Answers about lactating but allow crap.. this I do not understand...
right when you think things are getting better in here there they throw a curve ball at you and change
things again..
I had my confirmed ID done like four time on here and still no check mark lol Tried of informing them of stuff that goes on death ears..oh well this post might not even make on the site.. But did not post it for them post it for myself.. if you can understand that one...
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Was sent this wanted to share I loved it :)
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Posted:Mar 27, 2007 2:40 pm
Last Updated:Apr 13, 2007 9:15 pm
4899 Views
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WHITE CHRISTMAS
'Twas a few days past Christmas and I just
couldn't sleep.
I was still on vacation and off work for the week.
Wanting my breasts sucked became infatuation.
I tossed and I turned with anticipation.
I'd played with my nipples for much of the day,
and wished for a partner to lick them and play.
I could suck them myself but it didn't feel quite
right,
so I hooked up my breast pump to work through the
night.
When all of a sudden at the foot of my bed,
stood the man known as Santa, all dressed up in
red.
"My deliveries are done and I'm hungry for tit.
So relax buxom baby. I'll be here a bit."
He loosened my robe, and then dropped his jaw,
as he squealed with delight at the image he saw.
He took off my breast pumps and lowered his head.
My nips were real hard and a deep rosy red.
His eyes grew quite wide and he started to smile.
"I can see that you haven't been sucked for a
while!"
He climbed in my bed saying "Let us begin",
then tugged on my nipples and started to grin.
"Pumping these beauties is such a big waste,
so entrust them to Santa and give me a taste."
He grabbed hold my boobies and laid at my side,
licking his lips and then opening wide.
Grabbing my hooters he nibbled and chewed,
sucking and slurping and talking quite lewd.
I felt myself swelling, so plump and so round,
as Santa took turns sucking each needy mound.
He sucked my nips deep in the darkness of night,
and he tugged and he stretched them with all of
his might. I yelled "Keep on sucking! Please Santa, don't stop!
My titties are swelling and ready to pop!"
The pressure within was a whole new sensation,
he'd sucked me so hard I was starting lactation.
My nips oozed small droplets as white as the snow,
and I felt a release as my milk started to flow
My nips were like spigots and started to drip,
so he latched on a jug and then started to sip.
My letdown came quickly as he stepped up his pace,
till his mouth filled with warm milk and ran down
his face.
Santa looked at my bosom and started to beam,
hungrily suckling to extract the cream.
Torrents of warm milk gushed out from my tips,
overflowing his mouth as he sucked on my nips
He played with my huge breasts as if they were
toys,
siphoning milk with a loud slurping noise.
I could feel my milk flow through my breasts to
his lips,
while he squeezes my jugs as he gurgles and sips.
As he drank from my breasts, he was pumping and
rockin'.
I bounced up and down and my titties were
floppin'.
He sucked till my nipples were stretched out and
sore,
but my milk guzzling Santa still wanted some more.
Sucking harder and deeper as if in a race,
chewing and biting as my tits slapped his face,
he grabbed hold my breasts as they'd shake and
they'd bounce,
while he sucked like a madman, to extract every
ounce.
Nearly fainting from pleasure as his jaws milked
my bust,
he devoured my nipples with passion and lust.
Deep down his throat he'd inhale and chew,
till my nips were all stretched out and puffier
too.
Grabbing both breasts he was squeezing and
kneading,
determined to get all the milk from his feeding.
I was helpless to move with my tit in his jaw,
as he ravaged my nipples until they were raw.
After 4 hours of milking he started to wean,
with a hand on each breast and his head in
between.
Kneading my breasts so he didn't miss a drop,
he drained both my tits dry before he would stop.
His milking completed, Santa cooed with delight.
My 2 inch long nipples were sore and a sight.
Enlarged and stretched out like the teats of a
cow,
my craving was satisfied, at least for right now.
Then he rose and looked down as he stood by my
bed.
"Now wasn't that better than pumping?" he said.
"This Santa loves titties", he said with a wink,
"especially the big ones with milk I can drink."
"I'll be back tomorrow to play with your rack,
and nurse on your tits for a tasty night snack."
He smiled as he gave my sore nips a few tugs,
and bid me farewell with, "Good night my sweet
Jugs!"
And I heard him exclaim as he head towards the
door,
"Now rest up your nips 'cause I'll be back for
more!"
I started to doze off and needed some rest,
exhausted and rubbing my sore nips and breast.
May all nipples be tasty, and ever so plump.
May they all find a warm mouth, so they won't need
a pump.
May the New Year take Santa to all towns and
cities,
to suckle and fondle all big milky titties.
This story is factual on that you can bet.
Be careful what you wish for 'cause that's what
you might get!
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Wet Nurse Article
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Posted:Mar 27, 2007 2:35 pm
Last Updated:May 16, 2007 10:39 pm
5325 Views
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While in the developing world suckling someone else's baby is commonplace, here we see it as weird - but why? Formula milk has only been available since the early 1900s. Before then wet-nursing would have happened as a matter of course if the mother was ill or absent. In three generations it has become socially unacceptable. None the less, I know women in the UK who have fed each other's babies, although they acknowledge that they would not necessarily admit to it openly. I have also heard of several circles of parents where it is accepted that if you babysit for someone else's newborn, it is OK to breastfeed them (with the parents' consent). This informal wet-nursing is called "shared feeding" or "cross-nursing". And while this has always gone on on quietly in Britain, hiring someone else to breastfeed your is becoming increasingly popular in Hollywood.
Cross-nursing also happens in extreme circumstances. Sarah (not her real name) was contacted by a local breastfeeding support group when a woman with a three-month-old baby was injured in a car crash. She was unconscious and unable to feed. The baby's father knew that the mother would ideally want to avoid feeding the baby formula so he contacted the organisation to ask for donations of breastmilk. "The first woman who turned up at the hospital to express milk said, 'This is a bit ridiculous. I might as well just feed the baby.' The father agreed."
In the end a group of five women wet-nursed the baby for a week until the mother recovered. This example is telling in that it shows that wet-nursing can be a pragmatic solution: it would have been very difficult for the family to feed this baby any other way (the father was also injured and hospitalised and in any case the baby had never taken a bottle or had any formula). It felt very intimate to feed another woman's , says Sarah: "It was weird at first. But it was just a baby who needed milk and needed cuddling."
Wet-nursing is now making a comeback in China, after being banned for political reasons for decades. Rich Shanghai families are recruiting rural women as live-in nannies to feed their babies. Given that most well-heeled Chinese women do not work, these nannies-with-extras are more of a status symbol than a necessary accessory to a busy life. Banned under Mao as "decadent" in the post-war period, wet-nursing is a long-standing Chinese tradition: Pu Yi, the Last Emperor, was suckled into his teens. Now, China's nouveau riche are bringing it back, recruiting pregnant women, who leave their own -ren at home with their grandparents (these babies then have to be wet-nursed themselves by another local woman). Their sacrifice is rewarded with a salary of up to five times the national average.
Perhaps even more intriguing than the actual trend itself is the way it has been reported in the west - with fascination disguised as disgust. One (male) reporter on a British broadsheet claimed with some excitement that these Chinese wet nurses are selected for their "superlative breasts". This, as any breastfeeding mother knows, is total nonsense - breasts of virtually any condition or size can produce milk. Babies do not give extra marks for beauty. The only breasts that have trouble producing milk (although it is not impossible) are fake ones. And, surprise, surprise, earlier this year a Los Angeles-based agency supplying wet nurses popped up. Certified Household Staffing claims it has on its books several Hollywood celebrities with breast implants who have requested lactating nannies. On its website, "wet nurse" is right next to valet, chauffeur and chef. Company director Robert Feinstock assured me over the phone that, yes, there was a demand, but declined to give any more details.
If feeding another woman's baby seems like the last taboo, it is one that exerts a fascination. (You can imagine what happens if you type the words "wet nurse" into Google: X-rated mammary heaven). In the film The Hand That Rocks the Cradle the moment we "know" that nanny Peyton (Rebecca de Mornay) is genuinely psychopathic is whe
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Terms
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Posted:Mar 27, 2007 2:24 pm
Last Updated:Apr 25, 2024 2:30 pm
4806 Views
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* Lactation games: "Mainstream erotic lactation". Any kind of sexual activity which includes the woman's milk. Very widespread in the time after birth because many woman experience a let-down reflex while sexually aroused.[5]
* Adult Nursing Relationship (ANR): Suckling from the female breast as an expression of close intimacy and mutual tenderness. The relationship of both partners is based on equality and mutuality. Adult Nursing Relationships depend on a stable and long term relationship of the couple, otherwise it is nearly impossible to maintain a steady milk flow. On the other hand it is frequently reported that breastfeeding has a strong stabilizing effect on the partnership.[6] The breastfeeding woman may experience orgasms or a pleasurable let-down reflex, but that need not be necessarily so, as the most significant reason to enter into an ANR is the intense bonding and intimacy experienced (and frequently reported) by nursing couples.
* Pumping: Many women experience sensual pleasure from pumping milk from their breasts with a milk pump or expressing milk manually, either with or without a partner. In addition to the sensual pleasure they report feeling more feminine while producing milk. Therefore some women continue with lactation after weaning a baby for emotional or sensual reasons.
* There exist also three BDSM varieties of erotic lactation:
1. Infantilism: The male partner assumes the role of a baby (being breastfed by the mother) in sexual role play. Breastfeeding might play a secondary role in this type of relationship, and being pampered by "mommy", wearing diapers or a hidden uous character can predominate in this kind of relationship.
2. Breastfeeding as a reward (or surrogate pleasure): Breastfeeding of the submissive partner can serve as a reward for his/her submission.
3. Milking: Milking of the submissive woman, or commanding her to give milk for her dominant partner.
* Excessive Breastfeeding of a : In order to give a comprehensive overview it should be mentioned that "excessive breastfeeding" for reasons of sensual pleasure in the mother might occur. This is not a topic of this article and it is highly unclear whether a woman can harm her directly by excessive breastfeeding.[7]
[edit] Lactation, re-lactation and induced lactation
Erotic Lactation between partners or an Adult Nursing Relationship (ANR) may develop from natural breastfeeding of a baby. During the lactation period the male partner starts to suckle on the female breast, and continues after the baby is weaned off. Milk production is continually stimulated and the milk flow continues.
However, milk production can be "artificially" and intentionally induced in the absence of any pregnancy in the woman. This is called Induced lactation, while a woman who has lactated before and re-starts is said to relactate. This can be done by regularly sucking on the nipples (several times a day), massaging/squeezing the female breasts or with additional help from temporary use of milk-inducing drugs, such as the Dopamine antagonist Domperidone [8] [9]. In principle ‒ with considerable patience and perseverance ‒ it is possible to induce lactation by sucking on the nipples alone.
It is not necessary that the woman have ever been pregnant, and she can be well in her post-menopausal period. Once established, lactation adjusts to demand. As long as there is regular breast stimulation, lactation is possible.
A lactogene effect of herbs is not clinically confirmed, although several herbs were recommended to increase or evoke milk flow. These are for example Fenugreek (the most popular), blessed thistle, and red raspberry leaf.
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Roman Charity
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Posted:Mar 27, 2007 2:22 pm
Last Updated:Apr 25, 2024 2:30 pm
4728 Views
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History: Roman Charity
"Cimon and Pero" by Hans Sebald Beham
"Cimon and Pero" by Hans Sebald Beham
There exists a very old story mostly called "Roman Charity" or "caritas romana". This story is most known from old paintings showing a young woman nourishing an old man who is imprisoned by suckling him.
The story mostly called "Roman charity" comes from the roman writer Valerius Maximus in the year 14 AD - 37 AD. In about AD 1362 the story was retold by the famous writer Giovanni Boccaccio. After Boccaccio hundreds or possibly thousands of paintings were created, which tell the story.
Primarily, the story tells of a conflict. An existing taboo (implied and adult breastfeeding of a woman's milk) or saving a life by breaking the taboo. In this aspect there is no erotic focus to the story.
Most interesting in context of erotic lactation isn't the fact of nourishing a man from a woman's breast. More interesting is the following affair: Valerius Maximus tells two stories, not one only. There's first a long elaborated story with a woman breastfeeding her mother, which is followed by a very short story with a woman breastfeeding her father. The second father- story in fact consists of one sentence only. 1500 years later Boccaccio retells the (first) mother- story only and doesn't mention the father- story. Nevertheless nearly all "caritas romana" oil paintings and drawings show the father- story only. This fact changes the original background into an erotical direction and we can very clearly see the (erotical) fascination of the adult suckling situation for the artists, who created all the paintings.
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Posted:Mar 26, 2007 12:19 pm
Last Updated:Mar 30, 2007 4:36 pm
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Okay post 5 nursing pic in the network album since going the other route takes longer.. Let me know what you think if you can see them 
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