A university student learns that a woman can train her body to produce milk even if she’s never been pregnant. She tries and succeeds, then meets a ‘farmer’ who wants her to roleplay being his human-cow hybrid. Little did either of them realize that it would become much more than just fun and games.
Author's Note: Like most of my writing, this is a modern-day, mostly realistic romantic story involving various kinks and fetishes. However, this story is my first that also dips into the fantasy genre. It's considered 'low fantasy' because even when the magic begins, the characters must deal with how it affects them in a real-world setting. Be patient, though; the possibility of magic isn't even brought up until Chapter 16 and doesn't actually happen until Chapter 17.
Stay tuned for the sequel to this story, titled My Life as a Hucow, which I've already started writing.
How I Became a Hucow, Part 1 consists of the following chapters:
Chapter 1 – How I Became a Milkmaid
Chapter 2 – How I Met My Farmer
Chapter 3 – How I Got Comfortable with My Farmer
Chapter 1 – How I Became a Milkmaid
I put my key in the lock of my off-campus apartment and turned the doorknob, relieved to be out of the public eye after a very long and embarrassing day. As luck would have it, though, there was still one person between me and the solitude of my room.
My roommate Kayla was sitting on the sofa reading something on her tablet. She looked up at me and saw my wet shirt, and exclaimed, “What the hell happened to you?” She paused a moment, trying to process what she was seeing. “Are you leaking milk?” she asked in disbelief.
I panicked and blurted out the first lie I could think of. “Someone threw a water balloon at me.”
“Right. And it managed to hit you in two separate places, directly on each boob,” Kayla replied sarcastically.
“I meant two water balloons,” I said, hoping that would satisfy her.
“Sure, whatever you say, Ella,” Kayla said in the same sarcastic tone. My second response clearly didn’t satisfy her any more than the first.
“I don’t want to talk about it!” I said in frustration as I made a beeline for my room.
Until that fateful day, not another soul knew about me producing breast milk despite never having been pregnant, which is how I wanted it. I didn’t mean for it to become public knowledge, but it couldn’t be helped, and now the genie was out of the bottle and there was no putting it back.
Back then, my name was Elizabeth Moore, or Ella to my family and friends. This is my story of how I became a hucow. If you don’t know what that is, you’re not alone; not many people do. The word ‘hucow’ is a mash-up of the words ‘human’ and ‘cow’. A hucow is simply someone who likes to roleplay being a cow. No – it’s more than just that. More accurately, it’s a person who fetishizes pretending to be a cow, especially if it involves lactation, or actually producing milk. And that’s how I got started, but in my case it didn’t end there.
I’d wanted to be able to lactate ever since I was a young teen and my mother was nursing my baby brother. As I was going through puberty and growing my own pair, I was fascinated that breasts could produce milk, enough to sustain another human being, or even two in the case of twins. I was even more intrigued when my mother weaned my brother but continued to pump her milk and donated it to a nonprofit milk bank, which provided it to premature and critically ill infants. She did this for a good two years after my brother was weaned.
My mother had told me, incorrectly and out of ignorance, that a woman had to give birth before she could produce milk. I was very disappointed to learn this for several reasons. One was that I had an older cousin who’d gotten pregnant while in high school. Her life had become very difficult since she’d given birth to a baby girl. Another was that I’d been raised in a strict, conservative Christian family. Actually, my cousin had been too, and that had a lot to do with her present situation, as her family had disowned her. Anyway, getting pregnant any time before I was a married adult was pretty much out of the question.
A third reason was that I was rather shy, especially around boys. My parents required me to always dress very modestly, and make up was strictly prohibited. Back then, I didn’t have a rebellious bone in my body, and so it never occurred to me to dress differently or wear makeup behind their back. Besides, I rarely made eye contact with anyone and rarely spoke, and so I was just pretty much ignored by my peers. I had no idea how I would ever get into a relationship that would lead to marriage.
I’d gone away to college (university to you non-Americans), and began sowing my wild oats, which for me meant wearing makeup and clothes that showed some skin. With encouragement from my roommate and other friends, I also began making an effort to come out of my shell and improve my social skills, but I knew it was going to be an ongoing process.
At first, I didn’t know what I wanted to major in. However, I was drawn to classes that were relevant to health-related occupations. During my sophomore year, I happened to take a class in human physiology, and one day the professor mentioned, almost in passing, that it was possible for women who’d never been pregnant to produce milk. He said it wasn’t easy, and not everyone who tried was successful, but in many cases it had been done.
I don’t think I heard another word the professor said that day as I daydreamed about being such a woman. I couldn’t imagine anything more feminine, short of pregnancy and childbirth. I wanted to experience the discomfort of breasts full and heavy with milk, begging for relief. I wanted to experience the inconvenience and embarrassment of having leaking milk soak through my bra and clothing. I wanted to experience the sensation of being milked, especially by someone else. More than anything, though, I wanted to experience having someone, preferably some sexy guy, actually suck the milk out of my nipples. Just thinking about that was getting me aroused.
At my first opportunity I searched online for how to induce lactation in someone who hadn’t given birth and wasn’t pregnant. Everything I found contradicted what my mother had told me and confirmed what my professor had said. If only I’d done my own research years ago!
I learned that there were several ways to do this, with the most obvious and readily available method being to frequently physically stimulate the breasts and especially the nipples, either manually or by using a breast pump. Next were a variety of herbs and supplements reported to increase milk supply, though they lacked any scientific studies that proved their effectiveness. Third was to go on birth control pills for at least six months and then abruptly stop. Doing so provides some of the same hormones that are naturally produced during pregnancy, and the sudden stop mimics childbirth, triggering the production of other hormones that actually start the production of milk.
So I acquired what I needed and began all three of these methods. I had to be very careful about when I used the breast pump, though, because I didn’t want anyone to hear it and start asking questions. There was a fourth way, to get on prescription drugs, but that would require the cooperation of a doctor, and no doctor was going to prescribe these to someone who didn’t have a newborn infant to feed without asking a lot of intrusive questions.
Everything I read said that the process would take a good number of months before I’d see any results, but to not get discouraged at this. After all, the natural process takes nine months. Consistency and perseverance would be required and quite possibly rewarded.
Then one day, I finally did it! I managed to squeeze one small drop of milk out of my left breast! I was beyond thrilled! I took a selfie of my boob with the drop of milk visible to record the achievement.
Unfortunately, though, there was no one to share the good news with. I’d never told a soul I was trying to make myself lactate, and I didn’t know anyone who would even remotely understand. Still, I couldn’t just keep this to myself, and so I looked online for someplace where I could anonymously share my accomplishment with people who would appreciate it.
I found such a place, a group for induced lactation that seemed reasonably safe on a social platform where I was already a user. I created a second, throwaway account and posted the selfie I’d taken, with the caption “First drop of milk today!”
The outpouring of support and affirmation was immediate. Everyone was excited for me and encouraged me to keep up the good work. I was very motivated by this to continue working at it. A couple of days later, I was able to get a drop out of my right breast. This time, it occurred to me to taste it. I wiped the drop off with my finger and put it in my mouth. The drop of milk was sweet-tasting and delicious.
I didn’t throw away that online account, however. I stuck around and lurked, reading dozens if not hundreds of previous posts as well as new ones. I learned a lot from these posts. Some of the women who’d been lactating for a while were producing prodigious quantities of milk, much more than needed for even twins, even though they’d never been pregnant. They were quite proud of themselves and loving the entire experience, despite the many inconveniences. I wasn’t sure if the claims some of these women were making could possibly be real – some were claiming to get a gallon [3.8 liters] a day from each breast – but I found their reports intriguing nevertheless.
I found lots of tips about supplements and foods that promoted the production of breast milk, and I made notes of these so I could try them out. They all seemed harmless enough, and who knows, maybe at least some of them actually worked. I read more about a couple of prescription drugs that were reported to increase milk production, but one wasn’t legal in the U.S., and the other was limited to only a five day regimen. I knew I could never get a prescription without having a newborn baby and an insufficient milk supply.
But what I was most surprised by were the numerous references to ‘hucows’, which I’d never heard of before. Hucows were women who pretended to be dairy cows, or at least some kind of human-cow hybrid. Usually, these women were either actually lactating, working on getting that way, or pretending to be. In photos and artwork, they almost always wore a sexy, skimpy white outfit with black blobs resembling a Holstein cow, a hairband with what looked like cow horns and ears protruding from it, and often a cowbell hanging from a collar around their neck.
In most cases, the women were depicted with their breasts attached to either a milking machine or to breast pumps. Often they were physically restrained so that it appeared they were being milked against their will, and sometimes they were simultaneously being nailed by either a mechanical device or a man, or else were sucking a man off. For a sheltered girl like me, these images were intense and overwhelming. I was both fascinated and repulsed.
I also read text posts supposedly from women who called themselves hucows or claimed they wanted to be hucows. Invariably, they’d say how much they did or would get turned on by the entire experience, even if it was degrading. Many of them seemed to want to be degraded. They wanted to be treated like a farm animal and kept in a barn and be restrained while they were being milked. They wanted to suck a guy off or orgasm or both while they were doing that. Some of them wanted to have their intelligence reduced to that of a cow and only be capable of saying “moo” as well. Many of them wanted to be bred and impregnated; many of the images were of pregnant hucows. It was hard to say how much of this was guys just fantasizing, how much was legitimate roleplay, and how much was women really wanting to be like this.
I also found plenty of erotic pics and videos involving lactation where the woman wasn’t pretending to be a cow, too. It was certainly possible to be into the former without also being into the latter.
In any case, I began drastically increasing my water consumption and eating a lot more of the fattening foods that had been recommended. After a while, my milk production began to increase, slowly but steadily. After several months, I was getting a few ounces [several dozen ml] of milk out of each breast daily. I’d also gone up from a B cup to a C, and I’d gained some weight overall. I was very pleased about all of that. Before all of this started, I’d been a skinny girl at five foot four (163 cm) and only about 110 pounds (50 kg).
Chapter 2 – How I Met My Farmer
The day my life changed forever began as an ordinary weekday early in my junior year. But that afternoon, there was an active shooter event at my university. The entire campus went into lockdown as police searched for the gunman, who’d managed to flee the scene. I was stuck in my psychology class for quite a few hours until the police evacuated us, and by then I was way overdue to pump my breasts. I didn’t have my pumps with me, and so they began to leak, soaking through my bra and shirt. It was quite evident, and even though this was what I’d once secretly wished for, it was humiliating to have to go through. My classmates began to stare, and my professor, sizing up the situation, asked if I was okay.
But there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to cover my boobs with my arms, but that just called more attention to my predicament and didn’t completely hide my wet shirt. Besides, I couldn’t keep my arms up like that indefinitely. It was early evening by the time we were evacuated and free to go.
On the shuttle bus taking me back to my off-campus apartment, this cute guy smiled at me and handed me what looked like a business card without saying a word. I took the card and stuck in my jeans pocket without looking at it or thinking much of it. I was very much preoccupied with the events of the day and the fact that we had to leave our backpacks and books and whatnot back in the classroom. I presumed the guy was a fellow student; I’d seen him on the bus and on campus before.
I got back to my apartment, and that’s when my roommate Kayla saw my wet shirt and realized I was leaking breast milk. Until then, everyone who had seen me was a complete stranger or someone I only barely knew, and no one had felt it appropriate to ask me about or comment on my wet shirt.
Now it was getting real. I panicked and made up that obvious lie about the water balloon, practically ran to my bedroom, desperate for the privacy it provided me, and closed and locked the door behind me.
It was just as well I hadn’t taken my breast pumps with me to class, because I would have had to leave them there. I stripped out of my wet clothes from the waist up, turned on some music to mask the sound of the breast pumps, and began pumping out my heavy, aching breasts. They’d never felt so full before, but it actually felt good in a way, and it was amazing that they were dripping like they were, despite the embarrassment they caused me. I was secretly proud to be lactating enough that any of that even happened. But it also felt good to pump them out when they were that full, even a bit arousing.
As I was doing that, I remembered the card the guy on the bus gave me, and I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at it. It was printed with the words ‘Farmer seeking hucow for mutual fun’ and then the name Kyle followed by a phone number. He’d obviously given me the card because he’d seen the leaked breast milk soaked through my shirt.
My heart started racing upon reading that and realizing the implications. This Kyle person was also on to me! He knew, or at least made an educated guess about my secret. But he knew in a good way. He wasn’t disgusted or appalled; he liked what he’d seen.
On a whim, throwing caution to the wind, I decided to text Kyle and see what might come of it.
Ella: Hi Kyle. I’m the girl on the bus u gave ur card 2
Kyle: Hi. Whats ur name
Ella: Ella
Kyle: Hi Ella. I noticed u were lactating
Ella: Yeah. I was stuck in the lockdown and couldn’t pump
Kyle: Do u have a baby or did u induce lactation
Ella: I induced
Kyle: Very cool. R u a hucow
Ella: No but I no what they r
Kyle: Do u wanna b 1
Again, my heart began racing when I read that line. The idea was intriguing. I decided to take a chance.
Ella: Maybe
Kyle: U had dinner yet
Ella: No
Kyle: Meet me at Hoovers in a half hour then
Hoover’s was a creamery that had all kinds of fancy ice cream dishes in addition to a grill. It was within easy walking distance.
Ella: Still pumping. Can we do it in an hour instead
Kyle: Ok. Does pumping turn u on
Ella: Kinda yeah. Especially now as full as they r
Kyle: What do u do with the milk
Ella: Ive been recycling it. Drinking it I mean
Kyle: Thats an excellent thing 2 do. It helps u make more
Ella: I no
Kyle: Can u reach ur nips to suck it out
Ella: No
Kyle: We will have 2 work on that then
Kyle: What made u decide 2 induce
Ella: It just seemed like such a feminine thing 2 do
Ella: A womans body is made for 2 things, pregnancy and lactation. Im not ready 2 get preg yet but theres no reason to not lactate in the meantime
Ella: I love lactating. It feels so fulfilling
Kyle: I love lactating 2. Not me though. Women
Ella: Lol. Of course
We continued to banter while I pumped. Once I finished and put on dry clothes, I told Kyle I could be at Hoover’s in ten minutes, and he said he’d be there.
I opened my bedroom door and headed for the front door. Kayla looked up at me again expectantly. “I still don’t want to talk about it, Kayla,” I said to her before she could ask.
“Where are you going now?” she asked.
“Out for dinner,” I replied.
“Ella, you’re acting very strangely,” she observed. “You never go out to eat. What’s going on?”
“I don’t want to talk about that, either,” I said to her just before I shut the apartment door behind me.
When I got to Hoover’s, Kyle was there waiting for me just like he said. “Hi, Ella,” he said pleasantly. “It’s nice to actually meet you.”
“Hi, Kyle,” I responded. “I’ve seen you around, even if we haven’t formally met until now.”
The hostess showed us to our table, and we sat down and started looking over our menus. “Just so we’re clear, I’m buying your dinner,” Kyle said, “but in doing so I also reserve the right to change or add to your order.”
I wasn’t sure what to think of that, either the paying part or the dictating what I ate part. “You don’t need to do that,” I protested. “I didn’t consider your invitation to be a request for a date. It’s just two people seeing if there’s potential for a date in the future.”
“I realize I don’t need to, but I’m going to anyway, even though it’s not an official date,” he replied, leaving no opportunity for further debate. “Subject closed.”
I decided not to make an issue of it. “Well, thank you,” I said.
“So how much did you pump out just now?” he asked.
I just looked at him for a moment. Until today, no one even knew I was lactating, and now he wanted to talk about it in a public place. “I got about three ounces [90 ml] out of each side,” I said. “That’s not even counting what leaked out before I got home. But I’ve only been getting about eight ounces [235 ml] per side per day, total, and that’s pumping four times a day. They were at least 50% more full than normal; maybe twice as full.”
“Well, good,” Kyle replied. “Maybe you’re increasing your production. But it’s good to let them get so full they’re overflowing fairly often. It helps increase your capacity.” He seemed like he knew a lot about lactation.
When it came time to order, I said to the waitress, “I’ll have the Hoover Burger with fries and a small hot fudge sundae afterwards.”
Kyle interjected. “She’ll have a side salad with vinaigrette instead of fries, and make the sundae a large strawberry.” The waitress just looked at me, not knowing what to do. I just shrugged and told her, “What he said. He’s buying.” She then took Kyle’s order and left.
Kyle explained. “I hope you don’t mind. I made your meal better suited to milk production.”
“No, I suppose not,” I replied. “I’m just not used to being with someone so… assertive, I guess.”
“It’s a farmer’s responsibility to know what’s best for his cow,” he said with a smile.
“But I’m not your cow,” I protested.
“Not yet,” he allowed, “but I want to show you I’ll take very good care of you once you are.” He made it sound like it had already been decided. That could have very easily come across as creepy, but for some reason I didn’t take it that way. I actually didn’t mind that he thought of me as his future hucow.
“So how did you get to be such an expert on hucows and lactation?” I asked him. After all, he was close to my age, or maybe only a few years older.
Kyle thought for a few moments about how to tell his story, and then said, “When I was 13, a married couple moved next door. They were about my parents’ ages but didn’t have any kids, which I thought was odd. Anyway, first thing they did was put up a high privacy fence around their backyard. But I could still see most of their yard from my bedroom window, and most of the inside of their shed when they had the door open. That was the only window in our house that could, and trees blocked the other neighbors’ views into their yard.
“It turned out that they were a ‘farmer’ and hucow, and they liked to do a lot of their thing either in their shed or outdoors in their backyard. You can imagine how much time I spent looking out my window. I pretended to develop an interest in bird watching to cover up what I was actually doing, and it gave me a reason to ask my parents to get me a pair of binoculars, which I put to good use watching a hucow instead.
“Now my father was always in poor health, and couldn’t do a lot of things that fathers typically do with their sons. The neighbor man was aware of this, and kind of took me under his wing. He was into hunting and fishing, and with my parents’ blessing would sometimes take me along. I’d always take my binoculars and look for birds so I could come home and tell my parents which ones I’d seen, keeping the ongoing lie viable.
“When the neighbor and I were out in a boat fishing or were up in a tree stand or behind a duck blind together, we had plenty of opportunity to talk. I confessed to him that I watched him and his wife in their backyard, which he didn’t seem to mind. We talked a whole lot about the farmer/hucow thing, and I learned an awful lot from him about that. It was only natural that I’d decide I wanted to be a ‘farmer’ myself.
“My father passed away when I was 18, and Mr. Meyer, the neighbor, has been like a father to me ever since. We still keep in touch regularly.”
“Have you actually had a hucow of your own yet?” I asked him.
“No, not yet,” he replied. “You’ll be my first,” he said confidently as he smiled at me. It began to dawn on me that he might not be wrong about that.
Chapter 3 – How I Got Comfortable with My Farmer
I thanked Kyle for buying my dinner, and also for giving me his card on the bus in the first place. However, I didn’t let him walk me home, nor did I even tell him my last name. I just wasn’t ready for any of that. Everything had happened so quickly that day and I needed time to process it.
When I got home, all three of my roommates were on the couch and just looked at me silently as I headed for my room. It was obvious that I had interrupted a conversation they were having about me. I was in a much better mood than before I had dinner with Kyle, and I decided it was better to nip whatever they were planning to do in the bud rather than be blindsided by it later.
“Okay, girls,” I said to them. “I know you were talking about me. So why don’t you just say whatever you were wanting to say about me, or ask me whatever burning questions you’re mulling over?”
They all looked at each other sheepishly. Then Hailey said, “Kayla said you were leaking breast milk, and so we were trying to figure out when you got pregnant and who the father could possibly be. You weren’t showing at the end of the spring semester, and you obviously weren’t pregnant when the fall semester began. It doesn’t add up.”
“Let me put an end to this before it goes any further,” I said with a trembling voice. I’m naturally shy and try to avoid confrontation, but I was determined to not let this get out of hand. I didn’t want rumors circulating about me being pregnant or having an abortion or whatever else they were thinking. “There’s no baby and no father. I’ve never been pregnant. In fact, if you must know, I’m still a virgin.”
“Then how do you explain your wet boobs?” Kayla asked. “And don’t feed us that crap about a water balloon.”
“Okay, I admit, that was a really lame lie, but I’m going to be completely honest with you now. All I ask is that you keep this to yourselves. The reason isn’t nearly as juicy as a secret pregnancy, I promise.” They agreed, and I proceed to tell them my story about inducing lactation. They all looked at me like I was insane the entire time.
“People can really do that?” asked Kayla in disbelief. “Turn themselves into a living dairy bar without having a baby?”
“Not everyone can do it, but, yeah, a lot of them can,” I explained. “I’m living proof. You might be able to, too, if you try.”
Then Maddie said, “For you being a shy, nerdy virgin, Ella, that’s some seriously kinky shit you’re into. I would’ve never guessed.”
“What are you talking about, Maddie?” asked Hailey. “It’s some seriously effed-up shit, that’s all.”
“There’s a whole group of fetishists who are into breast milk and erotic breastfeeding and shit,” Maddie explained. “Men and women.”
“So where’d you go tonight, Ella?” asked Kayla. “Inquiring minds want to know.”
“If you must know, I was asked out to dinner by one of those fetishists who saw me in my wet shirt,” I replied, smiling.
“And you went?” Hailey asked incredulously. “Are you nuts?” She paused, and then said, “Never mind. I already know the answer to that.”
“He was very cute and friendly, and I didn’t get a creep vibe from him at all. We met in a public place, and I didn’t tell him my last name or let him take me home. Besides, why would one milk fetishist be nuts to accept a dinner invitation from another milk fetishist?” No one could argue with that logic.
“Good for you, Ella,” said Maddie approvingly. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
From the way this conversation had gone, I concluded that Maddie must have a secret kink or fetish of her own, Kayla was mildly curious, and Hailey was repulsed. From then on, I don’t think Hailey ever called me by my name again. Instead, she always called me things like ‘Dairy Queen’ or ‘Milky Way’. The funny thing is, I didn’t even mind. After a while, I even looked forward to hearing a new one from her.
It was already quite obvious to me that Kyle and I had some serious potential together. Something about his confidence, the way he took charge of a situation, was very alluring, and that’s before even taking our mutual interest in lactation into account.
On the other hand, we knew almost nothing about each other. We really had no basis for knowing if we were at all compatible. My experience with relationships was admittedly limited, but until then I’d only ever developed feelings towards guys I already knew and were already friends with. The thought of diving headfirst into a relationship, or into getting physical, with a virtual stranger was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. I was so conflicted.
Kyle already had my phone number, though, and he took full advantage of that. From that day on, he never failed to text me at least once each day, usually something to encourage me to or to suggest ways to increase my milk production. In many ways, it felt good that someone else finally knew my secret and was being supportive about it, and I appreciated his efforts.
After a few days, Kyle started asking about seeing me again. I was dreading this, not because I didn’t want to see him, but because I did so badly. I already knew that if it were up to my heart, it wouldn’t take much for me to agree to move in with him and become his hucow. I also knew I should get to know him a whole lot better before considering either of those, and I really needed to give much more thought to the hucow thing.
I ignored his first couple of requests to meet in person again, but it wasn’t my intent to blow him off or discourage him. I just needed time to get my thoughts together and figure out what to do. So, after the third request, I made myself respond and explain to him what was going on, leaving out the part about my already falling hard for him.
Ella: Sry Ive been ignoring u. Just needed some time 2 think
Ella: Id like 2 c u again but I want it 2 b vry casual so we can get 2 no each other better
Ella: Maybe like meet on campus 4 coffee or lunch or something
Kyle: I understand. When is good 4 u
We discovered we both had a break in our schedule at the same time on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and so we agreed to start meeting at the campus coffee shop then. That first day, the first thing he told me was that I needed to ditch the espressos and drink cappuccinos instead. I needed to take in as much dairy as I reasonably could, he stressed. I didn’t push back on this, but just complied with his wishes.
The second thing he said was this, in the most sincere voice: “I want you to know that I think you have the most beautiful, brown cow eyes I’ve ever seen.” I’ll never forget that line as long as I live. I didn’t know then if having cow eyes was a compliment, but the way he said it, it had to be. My heart just about melted. After that, he’d occasionally call me ‘Cow Eyes’, and it made me smile every time.
I learned that Kyle already had his bachelor’s degree in biochemistry, which includes both biology and chemistry and especially how the two interact. It focuses on chemical processes, both natural and artificial, in living organisms. He was presently a grad student working on his master’s in pharmaceutical science. I asked him how he chose that field of study and what he planned to do with it. He explained that his neighbor Mr. Meyer was actually Dr. Meyer, Ph.D., a pharmaceutical scientist who worked for a big drug company, and that he, Kyle, was following in his footsteps.
Well, there was more to it than just that, it turned out. Dr. Meyer had used his professional knowledge and experience to develop some experimental drugs he’d given to his wife to increase her milk production, breast size, breast and nipple erogeneity, and overall libido. He did this without his company’s knowledge and it violated all kinds of rules and ethics and probably also laws. But his wife had been a willing participant and the drugs worked without causing any significant side effects.
I became very aroused upon learning of this. I imagined myself with a massive, very erogenous rack producing vast quantities of milk and being constantly desperately horny with Kyle pounding me to his heart’s content. God, how I wanted that! I did everything in my power to not react visibly, but the effort was in vain. Kyle could see me zone out and my face go into a look of sheer bliss before I regained my composure.
“You like the sound of that, don’t you, Ella?” he asked rhetorically as he smiled at me. “Well, think about this: Mr. Meyer told me if I found myself a willing hucow, he’d provide me with a supply of those drugs to give to her. Eventually, if I complete my education and develop the necessary skills, he’ll teach me how to make them myself. Your fantasy could become your reality; it’s up to you.”
I became very flustered and I made up a lie about having to study for a test. I got out of there as fast as I could. I struggled to pay attention in my remaining classes that day, I was so preoccupied with what Kyle had told me. It was becoming quickly apparent that I was on a slippery slope leading to being his hucow. I knew I needed to either break off all contact with Kyle ASAP or else accept the inevitable.
But two days later, I was back at the coffee shop to meet him again. As much as my head was screaming at me to stay far away from there, my heart wouldn’t let me.
“Good morning, Ella,” he said to me with a smile. “I wasn’t sure if you’d show up after the way you rushed out of here the other day. I’m glad you did. Show up, I mean.”
“Hey. I wasn’t sure if I’d show up today, either,” I replied. “But here I am.”
“There was no test, was there?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“No, there was no test,” I admitted. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I just kind of panicked.”
“Why was that?” Kyle asked sincerely.
I thought about that for several seconds before responding as honestly as I could. “I suppose my heart has gotten way ahead of my brain when it comes to you as well as the idea of becoming a hucow. Then my brain says, Hey, not so fast there! We need more information and time to really think this through before doing something we’ll regret. My heart has the gas pedal to the floor, and my brain has the brake pedal to the floor, and the car is out of control, just spinning around doing doughnuts and about to crash.”
“Wow, that’s a very good car analogy coming from a girl,” he remarked. “I understand what you’re saying, though. So, if I may ask, why is your brain standing on the brake pedal?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be, if my heart weren’t standing on the gas,” I replied. “My brain wants to move forward, just not anywhere near as fast as my heart wants to go.”
“Okay, I can work with that,” said the wannabe farmer. “What can I do to get your brain to let up on the brake a little?”
“I think what we’re already doing; keeping it casual and working on getting to know each other without any pressure to make things romantic or physical,” I suggested. “In fact, I need to take those completely off the table for now. We also need to stop talking about lactation and hucows. Let’s talk about anything else. That will get my heart to let up off the gas, which in turn will allow my brain to ease up on the brake as well.”
Kyle looked disappointed, but he didn’t push back. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll do that, then.”
“Good,” I replied, as I took a sip from my cappuccino. “Why don’t you tell me more about your family and your childhood, before you met Dr. Meyer.”
Over the course of the next few months, Kyle and I got to know each other much better and became good friends. I really liked Kyle as a friend and as a man. Besides our coffee meets, we did go out to dinner and do other things together, but I was always careful to make sure he knew these weren’t dates. I also resumed allowing discussion of my lactation journey, but limited it to status updates and the like rather than any fantasizing or anything weird. But during this whole time, the sexual tension between us was always there; we both knew that our friendship, while a good thing, was only a means to an end.
Meanwhile, my relationships with my roommates were forever changed. Kayla would smile and ask me how life was on the dairy farm. Maddie now often gave me knowing looks and would playfully call me things like ‘freak girl’ or ‘kinkster’ or ‘Kinkella’. Hailey would use those same terms, or milk-related names like ‘Milk Duds’, but in a more contemptuous tone while giving me the stink eye.
They’d all met Kyle and knew he had a breast milk fetish, so they treated him similarly. Kayla liked to ask him, “Got milk?” Maddie called him ‘milkman’, and Hailey called him ‘sicko’ or ‘perv’ or ‘Vile Kyle’. Partly in response to these three, Kyle made a point of wearing a t-shirt with the ‘Got Milk?’ slogan on it when he knew there was a good chance of seeing them.
Also over the course of the semester, I’d gotten up to about 120 pounds [54.4 kg], my cup size continued to increase from a C to a D and my milk production steadily increased as well.