Page 27 of Soothed By Daddy
“Are you going to open your present or am I gonna keep it for myself?”
“Noooooo, I’m gonna open it. Right now. See? I’m doin’ it.” George ripped away the wrapping paper and then repeated the process with the tissue paper underneath. “Ooh, Daddy, look at her! She’s so pretty.”
When I went to the store, I’d intended to find something that looked like a dino nuggie. That idea was abandoned when I found this adorably goofy-looking purple dinosaur with splotches. My gut said George would love the silliness, and I’d been right.
“Oh. My. Goodness. Daddy, I love her.” George clutched his new stuffed animal to his chest and gave it a tight hug. “You’re right. I did need one like this.”
“Does she have a name yet?” I reached out to touch her, and George grabbed my fingers for a tight squeeze.
“Plummie, I think.”
“That’s a good name, baby.”
“Thank you, Daddy. Okay if I sleep with her tonight?”
Given that he’d wrapped both arms around her while he snuggled her long neck, I wasn’t about to say anything but yes.
“You don’t even need to ask, baby.”
The light streaming through the window was the typical weak gray light of early morning in the Pacific Northwest. It wasn’t misting, but the overcast skies threatened to leak later. The world was quiet except for the soft, adorable snorts and snores of the little one sleeping next to me. Plummie, the purple dinosaur, remained tightly clutched in George’s arms.
Last night, after he settled back down from opening his present, George returned to my shoulder, but this time, snuggling Plummie. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t let go of her all night long, but there wasn’t a reason to be jealous because he hadn’t let go of me either.
Every time I woke up to check on him, he was right there, snuggled next to me, and if he happened to scoot away, I immediately pulled him back. Plummie might be new, and it might be his safety net at night, but he was going to quickly become mine.
“You’re up early,” George whispered in the early morning. His voice was still raspy from sleep, and when I glanced down, his eyes were still shut.
“How do you know I’m awake?”
“Because I can hear you thinking.”
“Oh yeah, then what am I thinking right now? “
“You’re thinking that you’re glad I’m here because you won’t have to pump this morning. All you’ll have to do is let me chestfeed.”
I grabbed a pillow, shoved it under my head, and settled back onto it. Like he’d been doing all night, George followed right after me. I settled him in the crook of my arm, and his mouth was inches from my nipple. It was already hardened, tight with the anticipation of feeling his mouth on me. A little bit of milk formed, and with a giggle, George leaned over and took a quick lick at it.
“You taste good in the morning.”
“Baby, I hope I taste good to you all the time.”
“No worries, you do. But in the morning, it’s extra sweet.”
Another droplet formed, which George kindly took care of for me.
“Are you gonna make me do it, or do you wanna take care of it for me, baby?”
“You never have to ask. My answer is always yes.”
I was already on my back, so it wasn’t much effort for George to latch onto my tight bud. I felt the letdown of my mouth as it flowed through my glands, through my chest, and into George’s mouth. His latch, as always, was tight and firm, and he never wanted a drop to escape.
All I had to do was lie back and relax. My fingers stroked his hair as he drained one side of me, moved to the other side, and then back again to make sure I was fully depleted on both sides.I couldn’t even imagine going back to using the pump. Nothing worked as well as George’s mouth. Maybe one day I’d have to return to it when he found a proper Daddy, but until that time, I wouldn’t even contemplate it.
My question this morning was rhetorical because I knew George always wanted the sweet stuff straight from the tap. As he pulled and suckled on me, my heartbeat fell into the same rhythm as his. The calm that had amazed me the first time he’d nursed from me returned, but this time, it was the expectation I enjoyed. The endorphins—or the dopamine or serotonin or whatever it was that made me feel good—coursed through my veins.
When he was sated, George drew back with a satisfied sigh. I hoped that meant he had a full tummy because he looked nothing short of milk-drunk. His lips were parted, and a drop of milk remained on them. There was a shiny smear of milk across his chin. With his tummy full, he fell back asleep. It was probably no later than six a.m. It was too early to start the day.
And I didn’t want to start it at all. When I was forced to leave this bed, George and I would go back to being friends, which was fine, I guessed. I loved his friendship. But we might have to go back to pretending we didn’t know what it was like to fuck each other or to satisfy each other’s needs in the most primal way possible. That’s the part I wasn’t ready for.
