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.
How I Became a Hucow, Part 3 consists of the following chapters:
Chapter 7 – How My Farmer and I Got Physical
Chapter 8 – How I Met My Hucow Mentor
Chapter 9 – How I Spent My First Hucow Summer
Chapter 7 – How My Farmer and I Got Physical
Back at school, Kyle and I now had to figure out how our relationship was going to work. We knew we couldn’t let it interfere with our studies and that we’d both need to exercise no small amount of self-discipline to keep our priorities straight. Speaking of self-discipline, we also had to come to an understanding about how physical our relationship was going to be.
Kyle and I had never even touched until his visit on Christmas day, and while we did quite a bit of kissing and hugging then, it was only for a few hours at my parents’ house, with my parents and little brother nearby at all times. Now we had complete freedom to do whatever we wanted. The question, though, was what did we each want? Or more relevant, what did we each consider to be appropriate?
We discussed this – and on some points, negotiated – at length before we reached an understanding. We’d stick to mostly only seeing each other at scheduled times like we’d done during the fall semester when we met for coffee twice a week. This semester, it worked best for us to have lunch together on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. We’d also both leave Saturday evenings free to spend an extended period with each other, and we’d start going to church together on Sunday mornings.
Any other time would have to be by mutual agreement, and we both acknowledged that we’d have to not only protect the time we needed for our own schoolwork, but also the time we knew the other needed. If he were free and in a weak moment I wanted to see him when I really should be studying for a test or had a paper due, it was up to him to tell me no, and vice-versa. That meant we had to keep each other aware of our commitments and deadlines.
As far as physical intimacy went, that was a bit less defined. We agreed that genital-to-genital sex had to be off the table. That was partly due to our mutual Christian values, but mostly because I wasn’t on birth control and didn’t want to be. Yes, I was on it for months leading up to starting to lactate, but that was because abruptly stopping it was supposed to encourage lactation. To go on it now was likely to reduce or stop my milk production, and I didn’t want to do that. Neither of us felt safe trusting only condoms to prevent pregnancy.
We decided not to set any other pre-defined limits to our intimacy, but agreed anything we did would have to be by mutual consent. However, we were both worried about being able to exercise the self-control required to keep me from getting pregnant in the heat of the moment.
“I have an idea about that,” Kyle replied. “We could make sure you’re locked into a chastity belt, with the keys in a completely inaccessible place, before we start anything. The only thing is, that would also keep us from being able to do anything else down there, like manual or oral stimulation.”
Kyle had to explain to me what a chastity belt was and how it worked. Once he did, I understood his concerns. “Maybe we just see how it goes for now,” I suggested. “If we feel like the temptation is becoming too great, we can always resort to the chastity belt.” Kyle agreed to try that.
The first Saturday evening after returned to school, Kyle took me out to a nice restaurant for dinner. As before, he took the liberty of making some adjustments to my order. I had the feeling this was going to be the norm, at least until I learned what dishes he approved of and which he didn’t. After dinner, we went back to his apartment, since I shared mine with three other girls and he only had one roommate, and his roommate had announced his intention to spend the night at his girlfriend’s place. This would be our first opportunity to do any serious making out.
We started out on the sofa, fully dressed, with our bodies pressed as close together as possible and our tongues exploring each other’s mouths. When we’d come up for air, we’d say things like “I’ve wanted to do this for so long!” and “This feels so good!” to each other.
After probably a half an hour of this, which I’d thoroughly enjoyed, we were both ready to take it to the next level. But Kyle said to me, “I know if I try to steal second base, I’m going to start you lactating, and it’s going to get awkward. It’s probably better if we talk it out and make a plan first.”
I agreed with him, and he continued to speak his mind. “There’s no sense in wasting that milk by having it soaking into your clothes or spraying all over the place. What I’d really like to do is sample it. Would you be willing to take your top and bra off before they get wet and let me do that?”
I’d anticipated that we’d end up doing something like this, and I was probably looking forward to it as much as he was. I’d never experienced someone sucking my nipples and partaking of my milk, and badly wanted him to do that to me. “Yes, I’d love that, Kyle,” I said to him, “but if you suck on one, the other one is probably going to start leaking, too, and I can’t reach it with my mouth. Would it be okay if I put a pump on the other side while you do that? I don’t have to turn it on; I just need it to catch the drips.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” he replied.
“Also,” I continued, “I want you to be the one to remove my top and bra, because it’s a lot sexier that way, and I don’t want to do it here in the living room, in case your roommate doesn’t get lucky tonight and comes back home. Let’s move to your bed and continue there.”
And so we both did what we’d discussed. I put a pump on my left boob and let Kyle have his way with the right one. He began by fondling and caressing it, and it felt absolutely wonderful. I was pretty full and knew it wouldn’t take much to get me started. He then focused on my nipple, rubbing it between his fingers and tugging on it. That was all it took, and as soon as he saw the first drop, he dove in mouth first and began sucking as he caressed my nipple with his tongue.
He was rewarded with a stream of milk, and, not wanting to pull his mouth away to speak, looked up at me and gave the thumbs up sign. He sucked and swallowed for a good ten minutes before I ran out and he let go of my nipple. It felt amazing the entire time! I absolutely loved the experience of being sucked on!
My left boob had dripped a small amount of milk into the pump’s receptacle, but was still mostly full. “Want some more?” I asked him. “The other side’s still full.”
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “It was delicious!” I removed the pump and he switched sides. There was no need to attach the pump to the opposite side because it was empty. After another ten minutes, he’d completely sucked me dry and he released me. He had a huge grin on his face.
“That was udderly amazing, Ella!” he said, trying to be funny with a pun. I laughed. “It was everything I imagined and more! Your milk is delicious!”
“This was your first time, then?” I asked, referring to drinking breast milk.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Mine, too, and I agree; it was amazing for me, too,” I replied. “I’m glad we could have our first times with each other.” We just laid there and cuddled together in silence for a long time. I loved this man so much, and I knew he loved me just as much.
After a while, Kyle spoke. “I hope I’m not ruining the mood by saying this, but I have a small request. Next time, would you mind wearing that hairband I bought you?”
It hadn’t even occurred to me to wear it! I felt so stupid. Of course he would want to see me wearing it while he milked me. “I’m sorry, Kyle!” I said. “I completely forgot about the hairband. I would’ve gladly worn it this evening if you’d only said something earlier!”
“I know,” he said patiently. “I didn’t think of it, either, until we were in the thick of things, and then it was too late. An interruption at that point would’ve sucked for both of us.”
“Sucked… Ha-ha. I see what you did there!” I said, laughing.
Kyle laughed, too, but he said, “You’re more on the ball than I am. That time it wasn’t meant to be a pun. I didn’t even think about the word ‘sucked’ having two meanings.”
Anyway, that became our Saturday evening routine for a while, though sometimes we did it my place and sometimes his. But we soon became bored with the same thing every week and were looking for ways we could mix it up, and maybe spice it up.
“Tell me what you’d do to me if I were your hucow, Kyle,” I suggested, hoping he’d say something I’d be willing to try. “I mean, if you owned me and could do whatever you wanted.”
“Okay,” agreed Kyle. “Please understand, though; this is just me fantasizing without taking your desires or limits into account. I wouldn’t necessarily insist on most of this if you were unwilling.”
“I get it,” I replied. “I’m just curious to hear your wildest dreams. Maybe I’d be willing to fulfill some of them.”
“I’d have you wear a collar with a cowbell attached to it, and cowprint clothes – or what would pass for clothes. A bikini and stockings and those sleeve things. I’d have you get your septum pierced and put a big nose ring on you like a cow would have. I’d fatten you up like a good cow should be. I mean, whoever heard of a skinny cow? I’d use Mr. Meyer’s drugs to give you huge boobs – I don’t know, maybe the size of basketballs or watermelons, and drastically increase your milk production and sex drive. I’d restrain your hands and arms somehow, maybe behind your back, or secured to something, so that you’d have to beg me to milk you and f**k you, and then I’d hook you up to a milking machine while I nailed you from behind.”
Kyle paused, but I didn’t respond because it was obvious he was still thinking. He was making me really horny with everything he’d said so far. “Maybe I’d even have you branded on your ass like a real cow,” he then added, “with my personal brand, so that I could see it and know that you’re all mine while I f**ked you.” Even that was incredibly arousing.
I thought about the physical changes he wanted. The nose ring would be visible to all, but lots of people had those. Whether it generated stares would depend on how big it was. At least the branding on the ass would be for his eyes only, but it would be permanent. The watermelon-sized boobs would be impossible to hide, and would change how people reacted to me. I’d have to be really okay with that. On the other hand, I’d always been skinny and knew I could stand to be plumped up some more.
Drastically increasing my milk production and sex drive sounded fun on the surface, but in reality, probably would be rather inconvenient and limiting, even. How could I keep a job if I constantly had to excuse myself to pump milk and/or… uh… pet the kitty?
As far as the other things Kyle mentioned – the cow costume, the cowbell, being put in restraints – those were all completely doable, and I told him that. That would just be roleplaying. Of course, f**king remained off the table. Therefore, I also told him if he wanted to put me in restraints, that was fine, but I’d insist on also being in a chastity belt. Or him being in a chastity cage – I’d discovered that there was a male equivalent.
As I spent more time with Kyle, getting to know him better intellectually and emotionally as we ate lunch together as well as carnally on Saturday evenings, I found myself falling deeper and deeper in love with him. I loved his self-confidence and assertiveness – he did those right, so they didn’t make him seem like an arrogant jerk. Instead, he was the embodiment of strength under control. He made me feel cared for and safe and secure and deeply loved.
As a result, more and more I longed to be his in every way possible, as fully as possible. Granted, I was already his girlfriend, but that came nowhere near the level of commitment I craved. I wanted to be owned by Kyle Day, and not just in the bedroom. Not as his slave, as neither of us were into that sort of thing. As his hucow. I wanted to be the best hucow I could possibly be for him, whatever that meant. I wanted to have his brand seared onto my ass for all time.
I knew I’d been on a slippery slope towards this destination ever since I met him, but realizing I was now there was a bit scary. Mostly, though, it was exhilarating. In many ways it was liberating. If I were his, I’d no longer needed to figure out my own life and what I wanted to do with it.
But I knew I couldn’t do this unilaterally; he needed to be ready and willing to step up and take ownership of me. I had no doubt that he was able. However, if I pushed too hard on this, if I seemed too desperate, it might weird him out and cause him to run, not walk to the nearest exit.
This motivated me to do what I could, within reason, to enhance roleplaying with me as a hucow and him as a farmer. I bought myself some sexy cowprint outfits and a cowbell and leather collar. I also went ahead a bought a chastity belt. To complete the effect, I bought Kyle a pair of denim bib overalls and a wide-brimmed straw hat to wear.
The next Saturday evening after everything arrived, we were at Kyle’s place. I gave him a box containing his items and told him to do with them as he liked. I then excused myself to go into the bathroom and change into my outfit, including the chastity belt. When I came out, he was wearing the hat and overalls and little to nothing else, and was reclining on his bed with forearm holding up his head. He looked me over and said, “I like what I see, Ella! You make a great-looking cow!”
I smiled at his compliment, and replied, “Thank you, Farmer Kyle.”
“I think it’s time I gave you a cow name,” he said. “From now on when you’re wearing that, your name will be Ellie Moo.”
I laughed, but not because I thought it was clever or funny. I thought it was kind of silly and much too obvious, considering my actual name is Ella Moore, but I wasn’t going to shoot him down. It was his prerogative to choose my cow name, and it was my privilege to be given one. “I would be pleased if you called me that, Farmer Kyle,” I said demurely.
I saw him looking at the chastity belt and I could see the gears turning in his head. I had a pretty good idea what he was thinking but neither of us said anything about that. Instead, we did our normal breastfeeding routine, which was fine. But after that, he didn’t disappoint me.
“You know, considering that you’re locked into that safety belt, I think it’s time I introduced you to my trouser snake. It likes to be milked, too,” he said with a grin.
I smiled, partly at his weak attempt at humor, but mostly because I’d anticipated exactly what he was going to do. I pulled out a hair tie that I’d hidden in my sleeve and proceeded to put my hair back in a ponytail. He hadn’t made a move yet, so I just looked at him expectantly and seductively licked my lips.
He got the hint and removed his overalls and boxers and kneeled on the bed, and I in turn got on my hands and knees and went down on him, taking his man sausage into my mouth and proceeding to suck it and massage it with my tongue. This was my first time ever doing this, so I really had no idea what I was doing. I just figured I’d do his cock like he did my nips, and his body language and the sounds he was making made it clear he was enjoying it.
He put his hand on the back of my head and began thrusting rhythmically, first slowly, but increasing in pace. A minute or two later, there was an explosion of sticky, salty goo in my mouth and a look of complete bliss on his face. It had to be the most disgusting thing I’d ever tasted, but I knew what was expected of me. I swallowed it as quickly as I could and increased the intensity of my sucking and tongue maneuvers, acting as if I was thoroughly enjoying the experience.
I felt his dick rapidly go limp after that, and he pulled out. I just looked up at him and smiled, waiting for his reaction. “That was great, Ellie Moo! Good cow!” He took in a deep breath and sighed in contentment. Hearing those words and seeing his reaction meant the world to me!
Chapter 8 – How I Met My Hucow Mentor
Kyle’s master’s thesis was accepted and he was going to receive his M.S. degree in pharmaceutical science in May. He wouldn’t begin as a post-graduate student working on his Ph.D. until August, which meant he needed to find something to do for the summer.
I would be between my junior and senior years as a health sciences major. It’s pretty much expected that undergrads find an internship related to their major during their final summer before graduating. Health sciences is sort of a survey of the various health-related fields of study, and my degree would label me as a jack of all health-related trades, master of none. I ended up with this major because I couldn’t decide on anything more specific, and I still didn’t know what I wanted to do once I graduated.
Kyle and I discussed our mutual dilemmas, and our desire to be together over the summer when neither of us would have to study. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Meyer and see if he can help us both get internships at his pharmaceutical company,” he said.
“That would be easy for you,” I replied. “Your mother obviously lives within easy commuting distance since Mr. Meyer actually works there. You could probably ride with him to work, too. But, it’s what, almost an hour from here? I’ll still be paying rent on my apartment near campus all summer. I don’t have a place I could stay anywhere near there, and I don’t have a car so I could drive there from here every day. I don’t see how I could intern there.”
Kyle laughed. “You could stay at my mother’s, too, Ella. There’s plenty of room there.”
“Even if she were willing, do you think it would be wise for us to be living under the same roof? I don’t think we’re ready for that myself,” I replied. “Not that I don’t want to or anything,” I added with a smile.
“Well, I know lots of people you could probably stay with. Maybe you could even stay with the Meyers. Or you could stay with my mother and I could stay with the Meyers. This isn’t an insurmountable problem; we’ll figure something out,” he said. “But are you otherwise cool with the idea of interning there?”
“It’s as good of a place as any, and we’d be together, so yeah,” I agreed.
“Okay, I’ll talk to Mr. Meyer and see what he has to say, then,” Kyle told me.
Kyle got back to me a few days later and explained that while Mr. Meyer would gladly recommend him and pull strings for him to get a paid internship, he was very reluctant to do that for me, since he didn’t know me at all. He had his own reputation to consider, as anyone he advocated for would reflect on that, good, bad, or indifferent. However, he did suggest that Kyle bring me home with him and introduce us; that maybe he’d be willing once we talked and he got a better feel for me.
Knowing that we had no time to waste, Kyle brought me home that weekend. I was okay with staying with him and his mother for two nights. Just to be safe, I brought my chastity belt to sleep in and to wear at other times if Kyle and I found ourselves alone together.
Kyle’s mother Donna had a much different demeanor than my own mother. She had a serious, professional air about her, but also an obvious caring, compassionate side as well. All of that made perfect sense considering that she was a senior neonatal nurse in a big hospital. She’d undoubtedly saved countless lives of seriously premature and sick babies, but she’d also cried with and consoled countless devastated parents when they couldn’t be saved. I immediately had nothing but the utmost respect for her.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Ella,” she said to me warmly as she smiled and shook my hand and then leaned in for a hug. “Kyle’s been raving about you for months now. It’s been quite apparent he thinks the world of you, and so I’m very fond of you already.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Day,” I said, now self-conscious from the flattery. “I think the world of him, too. You obviously did a very good job raising him.”
“Ella, there’s no need to be so formal here. Please call me Donna.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, thinking I offended her. “I’m just used to calling adults my parents’ age ‘Mr.’ or ‘Mrs.’”
I later realized Kyle’s mother, whatever her name was, was skilled at reading people and putting them at ease. “It’s okay,” she reassured me. “You just call me whatever you’re most comfortable with; I don’t mind. Just don’t call me late for dinner,” she joked.
“Speaking of dinner, I assume you two haven’t eaten yet,” she said. Without giving us a chance to respond, she added, “I don’t cook on work days, so we’re going out. Is Italian food okay with you, Ella? There’s a really good place right around the corner.” I was beginning to see where Kyle got his take-charge personality from.
“Yes, that’s fine,” I replied, now not knowing what to call her. We hadn’t eaten, and it actually sounded pretty good.
At the restaurant, I decided to run my meal choice by Kyle before ordering; if he wanted me to have something different, it wouldn’t be so awkward in front of his mother. “What do you think, Kyle? Is the chicken alfredo with spinach and a side salad a good choice?” I asked, trying to make it sound like I was asking if it were tasty.
“Yeah, I think that’s a great selection,” he replied, understanding what I was doing and playing along. Fortunately, his mother was oblivious to the real meaning of our little exchange and didn’t even look up.
After we’d given the waiter our orders, Mrs. Day, or Donna, leaned in and quietly said to me, “Ella, I need to tell you something that might make you uncomfortable, but please understand my intention is only to put you at ease.” She paused for effect, took my hand her hers, and then continued. “Kyle’s told me about you inducing lactation and donating your milk to the milk bank. I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before, but I think it’s absolutely admirable.
“I’m sure Kyle’s told you I’m a nurse in a neonatal ICU, and I see preemies and newborns hanging onto life by a thread every day. In many cases, the mother is in no position to provide milk for her baby, either because of her own precarious health, or because she’s a drug addict, or because she’s been discharged and lives a hundred miles away and can’t afford to stay nearby, or any number of other reasons. Many of these babies would simply die if they weren’t able to get human milk from a donor. In that fragile state, they simply can’t tolerate baby formula or cow’s milk.
“I know it must be hugely inconvenient to have to pump and store the milk and take it to the drop-off center. Please know that you are saving precious lives by your selfless actions, and you have my utmost respect. On behalf of these babies, their parents, and the entire NICU staff, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
She looked like she was about to cry as she continued. “I know very few people know that you do that and you try to keep it secret. I respect that, but I don’t want you to think you have to hide pumping your milk from me while you’re here this weekend. You do whatever you need to do whenever you need to do it, okay?”
It felt very awkward that my boyfriend’s mother knew my secret, was talking openly to me about it, and was fully supportive. But Kyle had obviously left out the parts that would have been truly mortifying. She didn’t know about our mutual hucow kink or how he erotically breastfed.
“Out of sheer curiosity, whatever prompted you to do all of that?” she asked. “I know it takes a lot of time and effort to induce lactation, so you must have really been determined.”
I replied, “My little brother was born when I was twelve years old. After my mom weaned him she continued to pump her breasts and donated the milk for another two years after that. I guess I was at an impressionable age, and I was intrigued by that. I wanted to be able to do the same thing. When I learned that it’s possible to lactate without getting pregnant, I just had to try.”
We continued discussing my lactation experience throughout dinner as Kyle’s mother wanted details regarding when I started trying, what I did to make it happen, how long it took to get my first drop, how much I was currently producing per day, and so on. After a while, I asked her why she was so interested in this. She was grilling me far more than anyone else who’d learned my secret.
“Well, professional curiosity is part of it,” she replied. “I am a neonatal nurse, after all. But I also know plenty of people – nurses and otherwise – who have a real heart for preemies and other newborns who are struggling to survive. Some of them would do literally almost anything for these precious little ones. I bet that some would be willing to induce lactation to provide them with breast milk if they heard a success story like yours. There’s never enough to meet the demand and at times the shortages become critical.”
Hearing this made me feel guilty that I didn’t start donating my milk sooner, and that I didn’t donate every precious drop once I began. I got the feeling that Kyle’s mother was thinking about using me as an induced lactation expert or something. That struck me as amusing because I’d mostly just winged it myself.
Saturday morning, Kyle and I went next door so I could meet the Meyers and to talk to Mr. Meyer about internships for each of us.
“Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Meyer, good to see you again. I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Ella Moore,” he said to them as he beamed with pride. Seeing his expression caused me to also beam with pride as well.
“Hello, Ella,” said Mr. Meyer as he shook my hand. “Very nice to meet you. Please come in.”
“Hi, Ella; welcome,” said Mrs. Meyer as she reached to give me a hug. “Anyone who’s special to Kyle is special to us, too.” Mrs. Meyer did have quite large boobs and nipples that tented her top a bit, even through her bra. She also had a large septum ring, and she wore a hairband with cow horns and ears attached, similar to mine, which I wasn’t wearing.
We went into the living room and took seats. Kyle then said, “Mr. Meyer, I’m going to have the summer off school in between getting my master’s and starting on my doctorate. I was hoping you could help me get a summer internship with your company that would put my skills to use but also teach me new things as well.”
“I’ve been looking forward to being able to do that for you, Kyle,” he replied. “In fact, I’ll be able to use you myself to assist with the work I’m presently doing. Having a master’s degree, there’s plenty you’ll be able to do in my lab.” The two then discussed the process Kyle would need to go through to apply and be considered for the internship.
Then Kyle told him, “I was also hoping that Ella would be able to get an internship with your company as well. Probably not in the same place as me, but somewhere.”
Mr. Meyer turned his attention to me. “Tell me about yourself, Ella. Your major, your career ambitions, and all of that.”
“Well, I’m an undergrad majoring in health sciences, and I’ll be between my junior and senior years this summer. Yeah, I know everyone says health sciences is the major for people who don’t know what they want to do, and in my case, at least, they’re right. I haven’t settled on what I want to do for a career yet. I'm hoping that an internship will help me figure that out.”
“I kind of recall that there’s an unpaid summer internship that rotates the interns through the various departments at our facility so they get an overview of the entire operation. Maybe something like that would help you get pointed in a particular direction,” he replied. I agreed and we discussed the particulars, but I didn’t get the impression he was particularly eager to help me like he was Kyle.
Then Kyle changed the subject. He said to the couple, “I wanted to tell you a little more about Ella and our relationship. About a year and a half ago, before we met, she began trying to induce lactation, and was successful. We met at the beginning of this past fall semester, on the day there was an active shooter on campus and we were all in lockdown for quite a few hours.
“Because of the lockdown, Ella was unable to pump her breasts when she was supposed to, and her milk leaked and soaked through her bra and shirt. I saw her wet shirt and gave her my card saying I was looking for a hucow. A short time later she texted me, and we met for dinner that evening.
“For the rest of the semester, we just worked on getting to know each other, but we got into a relationship over the winter break. Since then, we’ve been doing farmer and hucow roleplaying sessions and I’ve been sampling her wares.”
“Very nice,” replied Mrs. Meyer. “Ella, how much are you getting per day?” she asked me.
“Right now I’m getting about 16 ounces [475 ml] on each side, so 32 ounces [945 ml] total.”
“Are you taking any hormones or drugs to boost your production?” she asked.
“Nope; it’s all natural.”
“That’s a pretty impressive amount for having induced and not taking any hormones,” Mr. Meyer remarked.
“I’m jealous,” said Mrs. Meyer. “I don’t get anywhere near that much, even with the hormones I take. What do you do with it all?”
“I’ve been freezing it and then donating it to a milk bank for sick and premature newborns,” I told her. “That is, what’s left over after Kyle and I get what we want. But my production has been steadily increasing ever since I began lactating. I’ve yet to reach a plateau, so I don’t know how much I might be capable of making. I think it helps that I drink some of my own milk nearly every day, but who knows?”
“That might be the case,” Mr. Meyer agreed. “You’re essentially recycling some of the hormones that trigger milk production, supplementing the hormones your body is actually making. I end up drinking most or all of the milk Buttercup – uh, Mrs. Meyer – makes, so she doesn’t get to do that.”
We chatted more about lactation and hucow roleplay. The Meyers took us on a little tour of the places where they did that and showed us some of the props and equipment they used. They had a large shed in their backyard that had a corner made up to look like a dairy barn. They did the same in a spare bedroom of their house, which they used during winter and inclement weather. Mrs. Meyer had a whole wardrobe of various hucow costumes and cow print clothing. They both seemed quite proud to show off their stuff; I’m sure they’d had very few opportunities to ever do that.
After the tour, Mr. Meyer circled back to the subject of me interning again, and seemed more enthused about it than before. “What did you say your GPA is again?” he asked me.
“I didn’t, but it’s a 3.75,” I replied.
“That’s quite impressive,” he remarked. He encouraged me to go to the company’s website and complete the paperwork as soon as possible. Meanwhile, he’d work on writing me a letter of recommendation.
So Kyle and I both applied for our respective internships, and with Mr. Meyer’s influence, we were both accepted. Kyle’s was a paid internship, while mine was unpaid, but that was okay with me. He’d actually be able to make a contribution, while I was just going to be exposed to the various departments and do very little useful work. We’d both start the Monday after my last final exam and Kyle’s graduation.
Kyle and I discussed the pros and cons of the various possible living arrangements for the summer. We both thought it wise if we were under separate roofs, but didn’t want to be far from each other, either. Kyle wasn’t crazy about me staying with the Meyers, since Mr. Meyer was obviously partial to lactating hucows. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him, but rather he was just being protective of me, which I appreciated. What seemed to make the most sense was for me to stay with Kyle’s mother, and Kyle to stay next door with the Meyers. Everyone involved was agreeable to that plan.
Meanwhile, my milk production continued to increase throughout the spring semester, and the freezer situation was getting to be a hassle. I either had to take my milk to the milk bank more frequently than weekly or stop at the market to buy anything frozen right before I was going to eat it.
Chapter 9 – How I Spent My First Hucow Summer
So, I moved in with Kyle’s mother Mrs. Day for the summer while I interned at Mr. Meyers’ pharmaceutical company, and Kyle stayed next door with the Meyers. I knew Kyle and I would have more time together than ever, and I looked forward to learning more about being a hucow and what a farmer-hucow relationship looked like from the Meyers. However, I had no idea how much spending the summer with Mrs. Day would impact my life.
Right after I moved in with her, she suggested that I volunteer at the NICU where she worked, so I could get a better appreciation of the good I was doing by donating my milk. They welcomed volunteers to hold and feed the babies; you just had to be screened, trained, and pass a background check. I knew I’d have time in the evenings and on weekends to do that, so I agreed, and jumped through the necessary hoops.
When it came time to actually work in the NICU, I was quite intimidated at first, as most of the babies were so tiny and fragile and I was terrified that I’d break them. Many of them were attached to breathing tubes or IV lines. We were encouraged to maximize skin contact with them, speak to them, and sing to them, in addition to feeding them, because all of that comforted them and improved their will to live.
But I quickly got used to being with these precious little ones, and before long I realized the love I had for them had no bounds. It was deeply satisfying and a great privilege to be able to love on them in ways they could feel and hear. I mean, donating milk was satisfying, but the feeling was more abstract because I never saw or held the recipients. As I was feeding these tiny babies, though, it occurred to me that it might very well be my own milk that some of them were taking in. Even though there was no way to know, even the possibility was emotionally overwhelming to me. I was providing these helpless newborns, or others like them, the elixir of life from my own body.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Meyer had also taken me under her wing. Wait; cows don’t have wings. I’m not sure what the cow equivalent would be. Taken me under her udder? Hmmm… Anyway, we spent a lot of time talking one-on-one about her relationship with Mr. Meyer. A lot of what she told me I sort of knew intuitively, but hearing her actually spell it out for me was quite helpful to me in figuring out where I was in my own relationship with Kyle, where it was likely heading, and where I wanted it to be.
She explained to me that the farmer-hucow thing was one of several popular forms of what’s called ‘pet play’, a roleplay where one person pretends to be an animal or a human-animal hybrid and the other pretends to be their owner or master. Besides cows, other pet play animals are most commonly dogs, cats, and horses, but those don’t usually involve the milking fetish.
Usually the relationship between the two parties is sexual, but not necessarily. However, it’s always Dom/sub, or Dominant/submissive. That sounded oppressive to me, but Mrs. Meyer patiently explained that to most people, those labels have stigmas attached to them, and they make wild assumptions about what a Dom/sub relationship must be like. In reality, though, a proper Dom/sub is consensual and mutually satisfying. The Dom is in charge and the sub willingly complies, but only because the sub has chosen to relinquish control to a partner she trusts with that control. Both parties like that the Dom has the authority and the sub does not.
Mrs. Meyer then explained that the Dom/sub dynamic is always in effect during roleplay simply due to the roles involved – pet, or farm animal in our cases, and owner. The owner gets to call the shots, punish or restrain the pet, and so on. However, in some cases, including hers, the two parties enjoy the Dom/sub dynamic so much that they choose to extend it into real life, outside of roleplay, as well. They negotiate and agree on exactly what that means and what it includes and what it doesn’t, and they periodically evaluate whether it’s working well, and if not, they make adjustments.
She said that real-life Dom/sub dynamic that she had with Mr. Meyer included most every aspect of her life except for her job. She did not grant him the right to tell her what she could and couldn’t do regarding her job or career. But, otherwise when she was off the clock, she was all his. If he wanted her to do something, she did it. If he wanted her to not do something, she didn’t do it. She allowed him this control because she completely trusted him to always care for her and look out for her best interests. They both actively looked for ways to make each other’s lives easier and more satisfying.
I considered all of that and asked her, “But what’s in it for you if Mr. Meyer is calling all the shots? Why would you want to give up control of your own life like that?”
“Lots of reasons, really”, she replied. “I don’t have to make decisions. I don’t have to take responsibility for decisions. I do plenty of both at work, and it’s a relief to not have to do that at home. I don’t have to feel guilty doing something that would seem selfish if I’d been the one to decide. Life is just so much simpler if I let Mr. Meyer make the decisions and assume the responsibility, and he does a great job at it.
“So most of the time in real life, he’s still the farmer and I’m still the hucow, in the sense that I trust him to manage things and take care of me. But please understand, I still get a say in things. He values and solicits my input and takes it into consideration. I can respectfully tell him if I think he’s making a mistake, and he wants me to do that. Does that clear things up any?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” I replied, still trying to process everything she said. I’m sure my facial expression showed that I wasn’t yet convinced.
“Ella, you already submit to Kyle’s leading more than you might realize,” she said. “When we’ve gone out to eat together, I’ve noticed that you let him have the last word on what you’re going to eat. That’s the kind of thing a submissive would do.
“He just seems like he knows what he’s doing so much more than I do,” I replied.
“Exactly. So let him. It takes a lot of pressure off of you.”
“Okay, but if he’s carrying all the responsibility, what’s in it for him?” I asked.
“A lot of men – the good ones, and I’ll include Kyle in that group – thrive on being responsible, on looking out for their families, and so on, and they don’t have a power trip about it. They just quietly go about doing it, but it energizes them. That is, if they’re appreciated for it. If he knows that you respect him and his authority and that you appreciate him carrying that burden, and you support him and make it easy for him, you’ll have him eating out of your hand, and there won’t be anything he wouldn’t do for you.
“We’ve been happily married for over 25 years, and in a relationship for over 30, and I’m telling you, if you have a good man who’ll step up and assume responsibility in a loving, caring way, and you willingly let him, you’ll have the best life, and best marriage, you could imagine. Whether that involves pretending to be a cow is optional, but it’s certainly worked for us.”
“You make it sound like you’re not that into being a hucow,” I remarked, confused.
“Oh, I am,” she replied, “and I know you are, too, but I’m just saying. I would advocate for a Dom/sub relationship to any woman who had a man up to the job, whether they were into hucows or not.”
As far as the internships went, Kyle’s was everything he’d hoped it would be, and he was clearly energized to be working in the setting he aspired to, even if he didn’t yet have the clout of a Ph.D. Practically every time I saw him, he’d excitedly tell me what he got to do that day or what he was going to be doing the next day.
Mine wasn’t nearly as fulfilling. Every week or two, my group of interns would move to a different department and get an overview of what they did. They’d then give us busy work or tasks requiring little to no knowledge or experience in order to occupy our time. Unfortunately, this experience didn’t help me to figure out what I wanted to do for a career, though it did give me a clear understanding of quite a few things I didn’t want to do.
Kyle and I spent more time together that summer than we ever had. We usually were able to have lunch together at work, and were together nearly all the time when we weren’t working, except at night, or when I was volunteering at the NICU. We continued to sleep in separate houses.
Being in his home town, when we were out together in public, Kyle would regularly run into people he knew, and he never failed to beam with pride as he introduced me and enthusiastically tell them about me. It was like he couldn’t believe his incredible good fortune for having found me and successfully convincing me to hang out with him. When he did that, he always made me feel incredibly loved and treasured, and I felt the same way about him.