EXTRACT FOR
Milk Me
(Beth Kean)

"It is a calling more than a choice. I mean, seriously, who would choose to debase themselves to level of livestock. It's not like you wake up one morning and say to yourself, hey, I think that I want to be a human cow, a Hucow, I think that today I will submit myself and settle into a life of utility."

Heather glanced down at her heavy breasts, small patches of moisture had begun to grow dark against the pale peach of her light t-shirt, she was conditioned, it was milking time, she knew instinctively without even having to check the plain chrome and white wall clock set high above the ward doors. 

"Can I organise for some pads for you, or a fresh t-shirt... or something?" David flushed and nodded uncomfortably toward the stains that continued to grow. He placed his notepad and pen on the small table beside her bed, a table strangely devoid of the customary flowers and grapes normally associated with hospital visiting time.

"Thank you," Heather smiled, "But pads would be pointless." She studied him under hooded eyes, he was uncomfortable, very uncomfortable she chuckled quietly. "The only thing that can help me right now is to express." Heather saw him swallow, he had been drawn to her story but was struggling to handle the reality. David had written a news piece first, and he had covered her rescue very well, eloquently she had agreed, except that he had missed the most important part of the story. The truth had escaped him just as it had escaped the police, she hadn't needed to be rescued. 

She didn't want to be rescued!

And she wanted to ensure that the book that he was planning to write about her would make that fact crystal clear.

"Express?" David understood the word almost the second that it crept from his mouth, he should have accepted without comment and moved on.

But he didn't Heather told herself feeling a wicked need to shock the decidedly straight-laced reporter. "I have a hand pump in the absence of what works best for me," she nodded and without hesitation she lifted her t-shirt as her hand hunted in the small locker beneath the table top. "I use this to pump my milk, technically it's called expressing." Her hand squeezed the pump's round rubber ball, air hissed between her breast and the clear plastic cup that enveloped her elongated nipple and broad areola, "Look!" she coaxed quietly, "This is a great relief, but it would be better if I were hooked up to the machine, that had the benefit of emptying both my udders at the same time."

"Udders?" David's eyes were glued to the creamy whiteness rapidly filling the clear collecting cup, "Isn't that degrading?"

"I call them what they are," she replied, "I am an animal, a Hucow, I have udders! You would never talk of a cow or a goat having tits, boobs or breasts - they have udders or teats, I find it impossible to call these breasts now because in my mind they have always been my udders."

David shook his head slowly yet his gaze remained glued as the cup continued to fill.