Letters To The Editor - My Summer As A Sperm Cow

This is something that happened twenty-five years ago, and to this day I am still blown away by it. All through junior and senior high school, my best friend had been a boy named Bobby. We used to hang out at each other's homes - playing video games, watching NetFlix, talking about girls. When we graduated, Bobby got a summer job as he was going off to college in the fall. I had enlisted in the Air **** and was waiting for the paper-work to be processed and all, so I just kind of goofed off.

One afternoon I went by his house to borrow a video game. I knew he wasn't home, but that was no problem, like I said, we were practically members of each other's families. His mother, Mrs. Robinson (not her real name, of course) was lounging around in her housecoat, which was unusual. Normally she would be cooking or cleaning or outside working in her garden. What was even more unusual, she had been drinking. I'd seen Mrs. Robinson indulge during the holidays and at birthday parties and the like, but usually she only had one or two. She never got sauced. And she certainly never drank that early.

A few months later, after I was already in the Air **** attending service school, I learned that she and Mr. Robinson were going through a divorce.

Anyway, on that particular afternoon, when I came downstairs from Bobby's room, Mrs. Robinson insisted that I sit and chat with her for awhile. She even insisted that I have a beer (she was drinking vodka), saying, "You're eighteen now. And besides, if you're going to be in the military, you're going to drink."

She wasn't what you would call a gorgeous woman, but she had a pleasant face. And bright red hair. She was also a bit on the heavy side. Not fat, but her legs and backside were plump, and she had a slight belly.

At some point or other, the conversation turned to sex. She asked me if I had a girlfriend. If Bobby had a girlfriend, complaining that he never told her anything anymore. She told me how she had married her husband right out of high school. And then she talked about this other boy she had dated before Bobby's father.

Mrs. Robinson said that she had grown up on a farm, and the first time she had ever given her first boyfriend a handjob, she thought how similar it was to milking a cow. "Since then," she said, "I've always had this fantasy of milking a male like a cow. You know, him on all fours and me reaching underneath." Then she laughed nervously, saying that I must think she was very weird.

Not really knowing what to say, I tried making a joke out of the whole thing by responding with, "Moooo." That's all. I just made a moo-ing noise. As a joke.

Mrs. Robinson stared at me for a few moments, then asked, "Do you need milking?"

Talk about the air being heavy in a room. I didn't know what to say. I don't think either of us did. But after several seconds of silence, she added, "I'm serious. Drop your pants and kneel up here next to me on the couch. Facing the wall."

Like I was in a dream, I did just that. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion. At first, all I could think about was hoping that Bobby didn't leave work early that day and walk in on us. Because the way the living room was arranged, the first thing anyone walking through the front door would see would be by asshole as I knelt up on the couch with my legs widespread.

After it was all over and I was re-fastening my pants, there was again an awkward silence between us. I don't think either of us could believe what had just happened. I figured the sooner I left, the better. But just as I headed for the door, she called my name. When I turned to face her, she asked if I was going to come see her tomorrow.

I froze with my hand on the door knob. Looking at my best friend's mom, in her night clothes and a little drunk. In a raspy voice (my mouth was suddenly dry), I said, "Yes."

And so it began. The next day and the day after that I was back in the living room at Bobby's house, kneeling on the cushions of his couch, my arms and head on the back of the couch, while his mother jacked me off.

When the weekend came, I did not know what to do. I could not, not go over to Bobby's. That would seem strange. But how could I face his mother. Anyway, as it turned out, both Saturday and Sunday everything seemed normal. Mrs. Robinson was dressed like always. She insisted on making us lunch. Bobby and I spent the afternoon playing video games. It was like nothing had ever happened. But Sunday evening, just as I was getting ready to leave, Mrs. Robinson caught me outside of Bobby's hearing and said, "You'll be over tomorrow, right?"

I remember how we stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like a long time. Finally I nodded.

And that's how I spent my summer. From the middle of June until the beginning of September, I was over at Bobby's house each week-day afternoon. My pants and underwear down. Positioned like a cow. As Mrs. Robinson jacked me off.

No. LOL. As she 'milked' me. That woman seemed obsessed with my cock and balls. Like she couldn't get enough of fondling and handling them. Squeezing and tugging. Pumping on me until I shot out my cum.

After I left for the Air ****, I saw her a few more times, but nothing ever went on between us. And neither of us made any reference to that summer. After Bobby graduated college, his mother remarried and she seemed quite happy.

To this day, I get an erection anytime I see a "Got Milk?" commercial.

Charles (last name withheld)
Daytona Beach, Florida