Whisper Milk

For the better part of my life I thought you couldn’t milk a whisper, because I thought whispers were never mothers. One night on my brother’s front porch, he said, “What are you, nuts? Whispers aren’t A-sexual.” I asked him if he wouldn’t mind milking one for me. He rolled his eyes and downed his wine. With hands cupped over mouth, he slowly rubbed his thumb and forefinger as he spoke in a hushed manner. I watched drop after drop of pale white fall into his wine glass. After a sizable gulp had collected, he passed the glass to me. I thought to myself, “Fresh whisper milk must be the sweetest milk in the world,” but as it turns out, you can barely even taste it.

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