Chapter Nineteen
With trepidation, I knelt on all fours on the insemination table. Some guests had gathered about the windows to watch. I judged it to be late morning and it appeared some were drinking coffee. A third day had begun without a milking. My breasts ached.
It felt great, however, to have my yoke removed, especially for an extended period of time. It did not feel great to have my head shaved by a strange young woman who could only be described as the avant-garde of Greenwich Village. Her clothing was gaudy and the number of piercings about her nose, lips and ears were countless.
The table had been lowered so that my face was at the level of her shoulders and I had to remain perfectly still while she worked with an annoying smirk of self-confidence. It communicated the notion,
