LACTOGENESIS I: THE SHOPPING TRIP Christine smiled tentatively at the woman standing in front of her, and the woman smiled back in kind. She allowed her gaze to move slowly along her body, taking note of small details he didn't ordinarily scrutinize. Let's start at the top, she thought. I like what she's done with the hair, a "do" reminiscent of Barbra Streisand's, but shorter. Same color, though. Thank God, no gray yet, but she's only 24, for crying out loud. Eyebrows maybe a bit too thick, nose perhaps a bit too long, eyes...now stop that, she caught herself. Always looking at the dark side. Now start again, and be *nice*. Where were we? OK -- face: I wouldn't call her her drop-dead gorgeous, but she hasn't broken the changing room mirror or anything...hey! What did I just tell you, she admonished herself again. She'd been satisfied with the hand Nature dealt, and the opposite sex had responded well. She'd had enough dates in her life, but it had been a while...maybe being here would help that. So let's get down to it, shall we? She let her eyes move further downward to examine the bikini she was trying on. Summer's on the way, melanoma be damned. I've got to get some color into this whiter-than-white skin, she thought. Actually, I do look pretty damned good in this... The spaghetti straps of the halter top moved smoothly over a well-defined collarbone and down past a small mole on the left pectoral and a tiny strawberry mark on the right to plug into the two triangles of fabric which made the suit just barely legal in public. Her lip curled slightly as she thought of how easy it had been to find something in her size. Just a plain old garden-variety 34B, plenty of those around. Shouldn't complain, she said to herself. Sherri across the hall must have a hell of a time finding clothes that fit with that enormous chest of hers. Impulsively she removed the top and took a good long look at herself. They may only be 34B, she thought, but they're *my* 34B's. If she were to attempt a pencil test, she would have passed. The coral pink nipples still pointed slightly upward, and slightly away from each other. Gravity's been good to me, Chris thought. If I lived on the moon, would I still look like this in forty years? She cupped her breasts briefly, but withdrew her hands quickly. Boy, they were sensitive today, she thought, as a quick bolt of warmth shot from them to her groin and her nipples responded with alacrity. Must be because I'm so aware of them right now. She replaced the top and shortened the strap around the back of her neck, thinking it would increase her decolletage, but the effect was to flatten her bust and squeeze her breasts back toward her armpits. She rolled her eyes and loosened the strap a little. She stepped back from the mirror and completed the visual tour. She noted in passing a couple of extra pounds around the waist -- nothing some more time on the Stairmaster wouldn't take care of -- if only she didn't love Ben & Jerry's so much. A slight look of chagrin crossed her face as she noted some wisps of pubic hair peeking out of the sides of the suit. If I buy this, I'll need some Nair, she thought. Hell, maybe I'll just get rid of all of it; I've always wondered what that'd be like. She didn't give a second thought to her legs. That same Stairmaster had sculpted them into a perfect blend of bone, muscle, and just a hint of fat, just enough to smooth the lines out. Her legs and the firm butt they were attached to were probably her best feature, but she was still concentrating on her breasts. The erection of her nipples was only now beginning to fade, and she noted with some satisfaction that it wasn't very visible through the fabric. Good, she thought, I can get cold on the beach and not broadcast it. A quick breath, a sharp nod. She'll take the suit. Good thing, since the bottom part, she noted sheepishly as she removed it, was slightly damp. She emerged from the revolving door of the main mall entrance and blinked back the bright late spring sun. She hadn't gone ten meters before she realized she had forgotten where she'd parked. Mall parking lots are the bane of my existence, she thought. What will future archaeologists think when they unearth them? She stood in the middle of the drive adjacent to Section B, doing a slow 360, searching for the dented hatchback that made her Subaru different from all others. She clutched her tiny package under her arm, only vaguely aware of it. She was so intent on her search that only the barest fraction of her mind heard the screeching of tortured tires and the over-revving of an engine. She had just completed her full revolution when the world exploded in a dark red fog. Pain, and again dark red, becoming lighter. Awareness returning frustratingly slowly, as if swimming up from very deep water. Why won't my eyes open? Chris thought, but the words were forming so slowly in her mind. Then a crescent of white light which grew larger as her reluctant eyelids finally obeyed her commands. The red fog cleared, leaving sparkles at the edges of her field of vision. The first thing she focused on was a thin clear plastic tube snaking its way upward to attach to an inverted bottle within which a steady stream of bubbles arose. Instant recognition, and instant panic. An IV unit. I'm in a hospital! What the hell....? She tried to sit up and was rewarded with the return of the red fog and a feeling which must be what getting one's head impaled on a spike must be like. She paused to take stock of her condition. Her head was wrapped tightly in bandages; in fact, where she reached up to touch her face, all she felt was cloth. No, just the nose and the upper jaw were covered. Her lower jaw ached, and her mouth felt like it was packed full of cotton. She raised her arms into her field of view and saw a splint on one hand and nothing on the other. Tentatively, she wiggled toes, moved legs, flexed her back. Sore, but bearable. Her personal inventory was interrupted by the smiling face of a young man bending over her. The suddenness of his appearance startled her, and she jumped slightly, which caused fireworks to go off behind her eyes. A slight moan escaped her throat. "Sorry," the doctor said. "I shouldn't be hovering like this. Just checking my handiwork." Chris heard the scrape of a stool across the floor as he sat down at her bedside. He paused a minute, as if collecting his thoughts, then smiled again. "OK. Lots of questions. First, you're in room 223 of Memorial Hospital. I am Dr. Frankenmuth. That's '-muth', not '-stein'. I'm your doctor. Seems some maniac trying to flee mall security with ten dollars' worth of shoplifted doodads in his possession tried to mow you down in the prime of life." Frankenmuth noted the fear building in her eyes and his manner immediately changed. "You're hurt pretty badly, but we've put everything back where it belongs. The worst injury was to your head. Your EEG shows normal, but there was some fracturing. We had to go in through the roof of your mouth to repair the damage. You'll be here a couple of weeks, but you'll make a full recovery. We've given you medication for the pain and to help you sleep. You're going to be fine. I and a number of my colleagues will be checking in on you from time to time, but for now, just rest." Chris was mildly surprised at how easy it was to follow that advice. LACTOGENESIS II: THE HOSPITAL The next several days were a confusing time for Chris. She slept a lot but was being constantly awakened for blood samples, urine samples, stool samples. There seemed to be an endless parade of specialists marching past her bedside, doing their pokings and proddings. There were physical therapists, nurses, X-ray technicians, consultants, orderlies. As the major pain subsided, Chris became aware of less intrusive discomforts. She had been catheterized; the tube was chafing her vulva slightly. Great, she thought. I've got a sore pussy for all the wrong reasons. The IVs were starting to irritate the veins in her arms, but the stitches in her mouth still prevented her from eating all but the softest foods. She began to feel the pain along her side where the car had hit her, but at least the fireworks had stopped in her head. Finally came the day when Chris got enough courage to get out of bed and walk shakily to the full-length mirror in the bathroom. She gasped slightly at the bandaged, black-eyed spectre staring back at her. Christ, she thought, the last time I looked in a mirror I was trying on a bikini. Now look at me. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound...and with that she untied the strings of her hospital gown and let it fall to the floor. She was actually relieved at what she saw. A deep blue bruise covered most of her right hip, but it was already yellowing at the edges and beginning to fade. No major contusions otherwise. She had lost those extra couple of pounds -- nothing like not being able to eat to make one lose weight. When her eyes fell upon her breasts, however, they went wide. She had expected them to be smaller, in proportion to her weight loss. On the contrary, though, they seemed larger! As she became aware of that fact, she also became aware of a new heaviness and warmth about them. These can't be mine, she thought. The nipples seemed thicker, the areolae larger and slightly darker in color. Faint blue veins showed beneath the skin, which somehow seemed almost translucent. They're beautiful, she thought, but how...? Her reverie was shattered by the sound of the door opening. Chris's eyes closed tightly and she felt a blush starting at the base of her neck. There was no way she could hide herself; there was still enough pain that quick movement wasn't a good idea. So there she stood, before the mirror, stark naked, clutching an IV stand with a catheter tube snaking from between her legs, as Dr. Frankenmuth entered the room. She felt like dying, but Frankenmuth seemed not to take much notice of her nakedness. "If you can get yourself to the bathroom, you don't need that catheter any more," he said approvingly. "Get back up in bed, and I'll remove it." Chris made a move to pick up her fallen gown and winced as her hip reminded her of its bruised condition. Frankenmuth just smiled. "Believe me, I've seen every square inch of you. If you really want it, though..." and he moved to pick it up. "No, that's OK", Chris replied, her voice still thick from the rapidly receding swelling in her mouth. She was almost surprised at herself. Maybe it was the residual thrill of seeing her new body that caused her modesty to be pushed into the background. She shuffled over to the bed and stiffly but ably sat up on its edge. Frankenmuth put on sterile gloves and retrieved the necessary equipment from a nearby cabinet. "You might feel a little pressure, perhaps a wee bit of discomfort. I'll try to make this fast." Frankenmuth lowered the bedside stool and moved it close, then sat down. Chris realized that a handsome young man was sitting with his face inches from her naked femininity, and rather than embarrassing her, she found the thought arousing. This is ridiculous, she told herself. I'm so banged up I can hardly move, I've got a tube up my peehole, and I'm getting horny! It's been longer than I thought. She found herself going with the feeling as Frankenmuth's gloved fingers gently spread her labia. Chris felt the insides of her thighs tingle with his touch and a dull but pleasant ache start in her belly. Deftly, smoothly, he pulled out the catheter. By the time he was finished, Chris's lower lips were coated with her nectar, her eyes were half-lidded, and her nipples extended a full half-inch from her areolae. What's *happening* to me? she thought absently. She glanced down at Frankenmuth and noticed that his smile had changed subtlely. Can he see how turned on I am? She got her answer mere seconds later, as Frankenmuth's thumb shifted around to caress her clit, which was ruby red and glistening. Chris took a sharp, shuddering breath. Her hips shot forward (no pain, Chris noticed with a tiny fraction of her consciousness), her thighs began quivering, and she came forcefully...and voluminously. Through the bright haze of her orgasm, Chris was amazed to see a veritable fountain of fluid gush from her pussy, cover the doctor's hand, and splash across the front of his white coat. Frankenmuth uttered a wordless sound of surprise and scooted the stool back several feet. Chris was shocked right out of what arguably had been the most intense orgasm of her life. "Oh, my God, Doctor, I...." Words suddenly failed her as she clamped her legs tightly together. "No, it's OK, really," Frankenmuth said as he looked down at the stain on his coat. "I'd heard of female ejaculation, of course, but I have to tell you, that's the damndest thing I ever saw." "You don't understand, Doctor. I don't do this. This has never happened to me before. I'm...I'm actually a little bit frightened." Chris gathered the bedsheets tightly around her, uncaring that a good portion of them was soaking wet. For someone who had just provided a patient with an incredible orgasm, Frankenmuth was quickly able to don his professional demeanor. "Don't be," he said reassuringly. "Maybe we can find out what's going on. Do you always achieve orgasm so quickly?" "No. I often don't come at all. When I do, it usually takes a while. And I *never* get this wet. Doctor, there have been other things, too." She told him about the change she had noticed in her breasts. Frankenmuth rubbed his chin. "You know, I think I'm going to have an endocrinologist look at you. There's a chance the bump you took to the head has provided you with some fringe benefits." He stood up and turned to leave, then realized what he must look like. He removed his gloves, took off his coat, rolled it up under his arm, and smiled again. This time there was a definite twinkle in his eye as he left the room. Chris sat in her bed, still not quite able to fathom what had happened. Not even ten minutes had passed since she dared looked at herself in the doorway mirror, and in that unbelievably short time she had had a sexual epiphany unlike anything she had ever experienced. I don't know what's going on, she thought, but I think I like it. I wonder what other surprises are on the horizon. Wicked thoughts began playing through her mind as she put her hospital gown back on and rang for the nurse. She was going to need fresh sheets. LACTOGENESIS III: THE ENDOCRINOLOGIST Chris sat in the endocrinologist's office, watching impatiently as Dr. Ellis ("call me Sheila", she had said) pored over an imposing-looking stack of laboratory results. In the two weeks since she'd left the hospital, she'd visited this office three times, each time giving up what she thought was an inordinate amount of blood for tests and submitting to microscopic goings-over of her ever-changing body. At those times Chris had thought that Dr. Frankenmuth had had a gentler touch -- or maybe that was because Frankenmuth had been a man. Chris thought back over those last two weeks. She remembered getting dressed the day of her discharge from the hospital. It was her first time in street clothes in almost a month. The outfit she had worn the day of the accident was a total loss, of course, but her neighbor Sherri had brought her outfits from Chris's apartment. Chris had tried to put on her undergarments, and laughed out loud at the result. She was still thin from the weight loss she'd experienced, so the panties were loose on her, but the bra was ridiculously small. She'd even checked the tag on it: sure enough, 34B. Her breasts had swollen to 36C by that time. She had had to forgo the bra for the trip home. She hadn't done that in some tIme, and reveled in the feel of the fabric of her blouse teasing her nipples as she moved. By the time she'd gotten home, they were so hard and sensitive they ached, and she was sure she'd have to change those too-big panties. That first day home had been a one-woman orgy. Consumed with curiosity as to whether her gushing orgasm at the hands of Dr. Frankenmuth had been just a fluke, Chris couldn't wait to attain the privacy of her own apartment before seeing for herself. She'd thought about it in the hospital but was afraid someone coming for yet another blood sample would catch her in the act. She hadn't even unpacked her valise before dashing into the bedroom, stripping off her clothes, and going straight for her nightstand, where sure enough, the vibrator was just where she had left it. It was one of those G-spot vibrators with the bent tip, designed to hit that magic place within the vagina. She remembered that it had felt better than a standard bullet-shaped model, but she'd never achieved anything with it like the tsunami that had happened in her hospital room. Maybe that would change. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. She felt the warmth and weight of her breasts as they pressed against her rib cage. They didn't spread out much, not as much as they used to. Not only were they getting bigger, they were getting firmer, too. She brushed her fingertips against her nipples, which were now a full three-quarters of an inch long and as big around as her little finger. A pins-and-needles feeling spread from the tips of each breast, down her tummy to her cunt. On impulse, she pinched both nipples between thumbs and forefingers and tugged. The tingles intensified, and she could feel herself getting wet. She began stroking, kneading, squeezing her breasts. She was amazed at the feeling -- the flesh didn't feel like what she was used to, and that was incredibly exciting for her. She returned to massaging her nipples, tracing slow circles around the wine-red areolae (they'd continued to darken during her stay in the hospital). She could feel her hips beginning to rise and fall of their own accord, so she clamped her legs tightly together to intensify the slow burn that was beginning in her clit. She pulled her nipples so hard that her breasts rose from their resting place, and that put her over the edge. A wave of ecstasy rolled across her body, and sure enough, the floodgates opened. Her legs were pressed so tightly together that her juice sprayed forcefully straight into the air and down into the mattress. She opened her eyes to find everything below her navel dripping wet. Oddly enough, her fingers were wet, too. She looked down at her breasts and was mildly shocked to find a yellowish fluid seeping slowly from her still-hard nipples. Her joy overcame her shock, though. She had just brought herself off without even having touched her clit. That was *really* unusual for her, and that first squirting orgasm hadn't been a fluke after all. Somehow she was now able to ejaculate. Chris remembered having seen a porn film featuring an actress named Fallon who shot juice from her pussy, and remembered how she'd been convinced she was only peeing. Now she knew better. The session hadn't ended there, though. The vibrator had yet to be touched. Chris turned it on and guided it slowly along her waist and across the insides of her thighs, feeling the vibrations merge with the trembling of her muscles. She reached her clit and pressed the head of the vibrator just above the hood. Suddenly she felt an overpowering urge to have that thing inside her. She flung her legs wide and with a single motion buried it to the hilt in her sopping wet snatch. The bent tip was facing forward, and Chris felt it nudge a swollen area of tissue deep within her vagina. She came immediately, and more forcefully than before. She felt hot liquid splash along her calves as she rode the crest of the wave. When she came down, she saw that the fluid from her distended nipples had formed rivulets that coursed down into her armpits, and her bedclothes were wet all the way to the foot of her bed. Lost in the wonder of the fantastic and as yet unexplained changes that had happened to her body, Chris masturbated for hours that day, eventually losing count of her orgasms, each of which produced liquid both above and below, but in ever-decreasing amounts until she was finally spent. And very thirsty. Those two weeks had brought on numerous repeats of this activity. Chris was completely taken up in reveling in this new body of hers, which had continued to change. She became more svelte; her skin, loosened by the weight loss, tightened around a tummy that was now washboard flat. Her hips became more defined. Her bush had proliferated considerably, to the point where Chris decided to shave it completely off. *That* had been quite an experience; she barely had kept from nicking herself with her shaking hands. The sight of her bald beaver had so excited her that she'd had three orgasms in rapid succession from only the slightest of manipulations. By then she had learned to put a plastic drop cloth on the bed. Her breasts continued to change. They now leaked this same yellowish fluid more often, not just at orgasm. They also continued to grow and get firmer. Chris had had to make two trips to the store for bras as she continued to outgrow them. She finally seemed to level off at 38D, but she was having to use the last set of hooks and even those cups seemed a trifle confining. Her thoughts returned to the present, for Sheila had completed her examination of the lab results and was looking up at her. LACTOGENESIS IV: THE BEGINNING "This has been a truly fascinating case for me," Dr. Sheila Ellis said in genuine awe as she regarded Christine across her desk. "We both know you've never had a child, but if I didn't know better, I'd swear your blood chemistry was that of a postpartum woman." With the enthusiasm of a new med student, she launched into a long speech punctuated by phrases like "This is going to make one hell of a paper." Chris heard words like prolactin, alpha-lactalbumin, progesterone, hypothalamus, lactogenesis, oxytocin. "Your body has been fooled into thinking it has to feed a baby," Sheila said. Chris was beginning to grow impatient. She had heard plenty of *how*, and now she demanded to know *why*. "As near as we can figure, something happened to your pituitary gland as a result of the accident. Part of the surgery you had was in that area of your skull, and although the pituitary is buried pretty deep, it's possible that a piece of bone or other trauma has disturbed the neurochemical connections between your pituitary and the rest of your body. The hormones the pituitary produces have been going crazy, and they've been what's triggered the changes in you. Increases in breast size and vascularization, pigment changes in the nipples and areolae, discharge of colostrum -- that yellowish fluid that leaks from your breasts -- elevated serum prolactin...all of these are consistent with stage I lactogenesis. Your breasts have undergone a tremendous proliferation of secretory alveoli, lactiferous tubules, and myoepithelial cells...." Yeah, yeah, it's all Greek to me, Chris thought. I sure wish she'd stop with the technobabble. She started fidgeting in her chair. She was becoming rather uncomfortable. She had noticed a slight ache in her breasts when she arrived at Sheila's office, and it had been steadily growing worse. Now she was beginning to feel real pain, her breasts felt even larger than ever (if that was possible), and she began to feel like she might burst the confines of her bra. This was new; it was also very disconcerting. Sheila was in the middle of explaining how Chris's hormonal changes had also triggered a proliferation of cell growth in her Grafenberg Spot, which in turn was responsible for her ejaculations, when she noticed Chris scrunching her shoulders together and wincing slightly. "What's wrong?" she asked. "I'm not sure. My breasts really hurt all of a sudden." "Let's take a look." Chris hurriedly removed her blouse and unsnapped her bra. Her breasts sprang free from their confinement but barely sagged at all upon removal of their support. They looked absolutely huge to her -- could I really have once been a 34B? she thought absently. The skin was stretched taut, and the veins beneath glowed purplish blue. The areolae looked puffy and had small patches of dried colostrum on them. Her nipples, now exposed to the cool air of the office, sprang to life. Her boobs felt heavy and hot, and they *hurt*. Sheila came around her desk and lightly ran one hand around the side of one breast. She felt the heat, saw the distention, and knew immediately what was happening. "You're engorged, my dear. Your milk has come in." Chris wasn't surprised to hear it; she felt full. All she wanted now was to be emptied. Despite the pain, she felt a familiar stirring in her crotch. It had been fun watching the colostrum leak from her breasts during her sexplay, but now she was going to be able to gush liquid from her nipples, just as she had been doing from her pussy. I'm going to be a damn human fountain, she thought. She looked up at Sheila, who was still staring, almost transfixed, at her chest. After a few seconds Sheila looked up into Chris's eyes and saw an unspoken question, "What now?" Sheila turned back to her desk and picked up an empty coffee cup. "I don't have a breast pump in the office; you'll have to pick one up on the way home. We can express some of that milk, enough to relieve the engorgement. Here." She handed Chris the cup. Chris leaned forward slightly, placed the lip of the cup under one swollen nipple, and squeezed. Nothing happened. She tried again with the other breast -- same result. Jeez, she thought, you'd think I'd be spewing milk by now. Sheila watched her for a few seconds, then blinked and said, "I'm sorry. I forgot you'd have no idea how to do this. Let me show you. It's easier if..." and she walked behind Chris's chair. Sheila reached down past Chris's shoulders and cupped her right breast. Her hand was too small to hold all of it. She moved her hand forward slightly until her thumb and fingers bracketed Chris's half-dollar-sized areola. Chris closed her eyes and involuntarily tipped her head back slightly. Sheila's cool hand on her hot breast felt good. "Now hold the cup up," Sheila said, and with that pushed her thumb and first two fingers back toward Chris's chest wall while simultaneously rolling the areola forward. She was rewarded by a few drops of pale bluish-white liquid dripping from Chris's diamond-hard nipple. Sheila repeated the motion, and this time the drops became a weak stream. Again, and this time two streams emerged. Chris was getting caught up in the feeling of Sheila's hand on her. The milking motions she was applying were very much like the nipple-tugging she liked to do while masturbating. Through barely open lips she murmured, "Something's happening." And it was. Through the heat and heaviness of her breasts, Chris could feel a new kind of warmth, a sort of pleasant burning sensation that started up high, near her ribs, and spread downward toward her nipples in an ever-intensifying swell. Within seconds it felt like she was going to explode. Her lips formed an "O", and she exhaled in a soft, long moan. At that moment, Chris's breasts erupted. At least a half dozen needle-thin streams of hot milk sprayed from each throbbing nipple, arcing several feet into the air and splashing across Sheila's desk. Sheila immediately snatched her hand back from Chris's breast, but the torrent continued unabated. Chris, completely transported by the ecstatic feeling of sudden release, unconsciously moved her hands up to her streaming breasts, grabbed them, and began imitating Sheila's milking motions. The sprays of milk were doubly renewed; seeming gallons shot forth. Sheila valiantly tried to catch as much as she could in the cup, but wasn't very successful. Finally she simply stood back and stared in wonder at the spectacle before her. Chris squirted and moaned, squirted and moaned for what seemed to her to be several minutes until finally the intense pressure abated and she was able to regain control of herself. Had she come? She was so hazy from the intensity and newness of the experience that she wasn't sure. When she finally opened her eyes and sat up, she gasped. Puddles of milk were seemingly everywhere. Sheila was wiping off the folder containing Chris's lab results, shaking her head in disbelief. "That was the most astounding letdown reflex I have ever seen. You must have shot ten feet." The good doctor was obviously beside herself. Was she breathing a little heavily? Chris wondered as she fumbled with her bra. Sheila smoothed the front of her white coat (which had some small wet spots on it), chuckled slightly, and said, "I think you've gone past stage II and are in full lactation." No shit, Chris thought wryly. LACTOGENESIS V: THE DECISION Dr. Ellis took a Kleenex, wiped off her chair, muttered something about how long this was going to take to clean up, sat down, folded her hands, and looked serious. "We need to discuss how you want to handle this," she said. Christine didn't like the tone in her voice, and instantly her brain kicked into overdrive. She's right, she thought. What am I going to do about this? Am I going to be making a mess everywhere I go, spewing milk like a Guernsey cow? What if I'm traveling, or on a date, or in a store, and I...what was the term Sheila used?..."let down" like that? Am I going to be engorged all the time? Am I going to have to wear those ugly nursing bras? Am I always going to be washing milk stains out of my blouse? What are *guys* going to think about this? At the same time, another part of her was almost panicked. Ellis is going to suggest something like surgery again to correct this, or hormone therapy. She remembered a friend of hers who had undergone hormone therapy to treat endometriosis. The drugs had completely changed her personality, transforming her from a pleasant, ordinary type to a weepy, bitchy bundle of nerves. Chris shuddered at the prospect of becoming like that. Her body was screwed up enough now; she didn't want Sheila or anybody else compounding the problem. And did she really want to go back to her old body? No doubt when the milk dried up, her breasts would return to their previous 34B, maybe even less. They'd probably droop and be covered with stretch marks. The calories that were going into making milk now would redeposit themselves on her hips, and she would once again be a slave to her Stairmaster. Hospital nurseries needed mother's milk; perhaps she could donate hers. Lastly, dammit, she realized, she liked it! *Really* liked it! Since her transformation began, her degree of sexual fulfillment had been orders of magnitude greater than anything she had previously experienced -- and she smiled inwardly when she realized that this was in spite of the fact that she hadn't gotten laid in months. Her orgasms were more intense, frequent, and yes, even multiple now. She was beginning to open up to herself sexually, too -- would she have shaved her pussy on a whim a year ago? She thought not. Being able to give milk and to squirt at orgasm somehow made her feel like she had attained a new level of physical and sexual development -- almost as if she had been in "standby" mode all these years and only now was becoming a fully functional sexual being. After all, weren't tits *designed* to have milk? All the gushing, squirting, and spraying was an exquisite form of release for her -- it felt so much more *thorough* than what she had experienced before. She also liked her profile in the mirror; she liked the feel of her big new breasts, new baby-smooth mons, newly talented pussy. She was sure that most guys would kill for a night with a woman who could do the things Chris could now do. Besides, hadn't she read somewhere that lactating tits were less likely to develop breast cancer than the regular models? The decision was quickly made: Chris would keep lactating as long as her extraordinary pituitary and mammary glands would let her. What Sheila said next made Chris wonder if she could read minds. "I hesitate to recommend doing anything invasive at this stage," she said. "It's possible that the pituitary is damaged somehow -- we could do a MRI scan to see for sure -- but surgery in that area is a tricky prospect, and there's a good chance we could do more harm than good." Sheila paused for a few seconds, then continued. "Obstetricians have been giving 'dry-up' drugs like bromocryptine to postpartum women who didn't want to breastfeed for decades, but some new studies indicate that they can be very harmful, and the FDA just recently banned their use for that purpose. That leaves us with a third option of doing nothing. Normally, if a lactating woman does not drain the milk she produces, the pressure produces a feedback mechanism that signals the machinery to shut down, and she dries up within a few days. It's an uncomfortable few days during which there's a lot of engorgement. Some women even develop a mild fever. We could try that if you want, but frankly, the way your hormones are raging, I doubt the feedback mechanism would work. You'd just be miserable. Let me ask you this: does the prospect of producing a lot of milk for the foreseeable future bother you?" Chris pretended to mull it over for a while, then shook her head no. Sheila went on. "In that case, I can put you in touch with the local milk bank regarding donations if you'd like to do that. I've already mentioned a breast pump; that will become one of your closest companions, I'm afraid," she added. Yeah, right up there with my G-spot vibrator, Chris thought with amusement. "I can also give you the number of the local La Leche League chapter; they can give you a lot of tips as to the daily care and feeding -- pardon the pun -- of those lovely breasts of yours." She handed Chris a slip of paper. "I want to see you regularly over these next weeks and months. I'll be honest with you. You would make a terrific research project in lactation without pregnancy. You are definitely a rare find. Would you consider helping out in that regard?" Chris was mildly surprised but answered yes. "Great," Sheila replied happily. "Call me if you have problems, otherwise, I'll see you in...two weeks," she said, glancing briefly at her calendar. "Goodbye now." Sheila briskly walked over to a paper towel dispenser, pulled out several, and began mopping up the puddles of milk Chris had deposited on her desk. Chris mumbled some thanks and stood up to leave, somewhat perplexed by the suddenness of her dismissal. She thought she had seen a twinkle in Sheila's eye similar to Frankenmuth's when he had witnessed her sexual uniqueness. For a split second she had imagined that there was more than just a professional interest there, but evidently she was wrong. Chris had never been with another woman before, but with everything that had happened, it seemed nothing was outside the realm of possibility now. She thought it might be interesting, and Dr. Ellis was actually fairly attractive. She shook her head slightly as if to drive the thought out. Boy, do *you* need to get your ashes hauled, she thought. As she started to walk to the door, she felt a trickle of fluid run down the inside of both thighs. Her panties were absolutely glued to her. I guess I must have come after all, she thought. Thank God I wore a skirt today. She stole a glance at the chair she had been sitting on. Sure enough, there was a puddle there, too, and it certainly wasn't milk. As she looked up again, she caught Sheila dipping a finger into some of the milk on the desk, putting the finger in her mouth, and smiling blissfully. Just then she caught Chris's eye and turned away as if embarrassed. Chris smiled and left the office. I am going to have *fun*, she thought as she approached her car. LACTOGENESIS VI: THE ADJUSTMENT Christine came through the doorway of her apartment, loaded down with grocery bags. She went straight to the refrigerator, opened the freezer compartment, and began loading pints of Ben & Jerry's into it. Four different flavors this time. Blast those guys for inventing this stuff, she thought. It's more addictive than cocaine. She smiled as she remembered all the hours she had had to spend on the Stairmaster as a result of her addiction. She still used the machine fairly often; she still enjoyed the endorphin rush from it, but at least now she didn't *have* to use it. One of the fringe benefits of her new ability to lactate was that she could easily turn all those sinful calories back into milk instead of wearing them as fat. In fact, Dr. Sheila had recommended that she increase her calorie intake substantially to compensate for the increased activity of her mammary glands. In the weeks since the day when Chris accidentally soaked down the desk in Sheila's office with her first blasts of milk, that activity had increased considerably. She had found out early that the more often her breasts were drained, the more milk she produced. She had had to graduate from the small battery-powered breast pump she had bought at the drug store that first day to a plug-in model that could do both breasts at once that she rented from a medical supply house. The local milk bank had a standing order with her; she had become their most prolific donor. On a good day she could deliver close to two liters of fresh milk to them on her way to work each morning. She didn't mind the work involved in expressing all this milk; in fact, the breast pump had replaced the vibrator as her main source of masturbatory assistance. She couldn't get enough of the rhythmic pulsing of the suck-release-suck-release cycle of the big pump, and the wonderful, warm, tingling sensation of the milk letting down would always set up a similar feeling in her crotch. She was grateful that her nipples had not become tender and sore as a result of all the stimulation. On the contrary, they had become her primary erogenous zones, sending electric shock-like sensations through her even in such non-erotic situations as being in the frozen food section of the grocery store and having the cold air from the freezers bring on the inevitable response from "nature's thermometers". She was coming so much these days from the thrice-daily act of relieving the pressure behind her nipples that she had taken to wearing maxi-pads most of the time to soak up the gush of fluid that accompanied each orgasm. She had little other use for them, as she had stopped menstruating -- Sheila had told her that was not unusual in an actively lactating woman. Between her breasts and her vagina, Christine amusedly likened herself to the goddess statues on the big fountain in the park, who constantly spewed water from practically every orifice. Now that having milk had become such a big part of her life, Chris decided to become an expert on the subject. In these last weeks, she had spent a lot of time in the local college's medical library, reading every treatise on lactation she could lay her hands on. She found out about the close relationship between milk production and emotional state: women who had a positive attitude about lactation produced more milk. No problem there, Chris thought. It's getting so I can't remember what my body was like before the accident. Conversely, she read that the flow of milk can be stopped completely by relatively simple distractions. Mind over matter, she thought, and was intrigued. Armed with this new information and some stress control exercises she remembered from the treatment she'd received for a bout of depression some years before, Chris embarked on a program whereby she was eventually able to completely control her milk production by force of will. By clearing her mind and concentrating on her wondrous mammaries, Chris was able to summon up that familiar pleasant burning sensation that always signaled letdown at a moment's notice. Without even touching herself, she could, if she so desired, shoot her milk several feet. On the same hand, if she knew she was going to be in a situation in which she could not easily drain herself, she could consciously halt her milk production at a state of pleasant fullness until such time as she could be alone. Sheila had called it the most remarkable case of conscious control she had ever seen. Contrary to what Chris had read, occasionally halting the flow of milk from her breasts did not cause a diminution of the supply. She had even taken to occasionally sampling some of her own milk and had found it sweet and really quite tasty, without worrying about depriving the orphans for whom her donations to the milk bank were intended. Chris had, in short, become master over this wonderful new ability of hers. Gone were the painful episodes of engorgement when she felt her breasts might explode from the pressure. Gone were the hideously ugly maternity bras stuffed with always-wet nursing pads. She was able to wear sexy lingerie again (and now that her bust had leveled off at 40DD, she looked absolutely devastating in it) and with the extra firmness imparted to her breasts, she often went without any underwear with no fear of a sudden letdown causing embarrassing circles of moisture to form on her blouses. Despite their enormous size, Chris's breasts stuck almost straight out from her chest, resisting gravity in a most aesthetic way. Sheila had said that somehow the supporting ligaments and musculature had proliferated right along with the extra glandular tissue -- another side effect of the hormonal treasure trove caused by the head injury. The hormones had also imparted a new lustre and smoothness to her skin, and with the veins barely visible under the taut skin of her bosom, Chris now looked almost as if she had been carved from fine Italian marble. Chris was a very lucky woman. Instead of her run-in with a reckless driver rendering her a twisted lump of broken flesh, it had sculpted her into a heartbreakingly beautiful definition of pulchritude. So why hadn't she had so much as a date, let alone a sexual liaison, since the accident? Surely the guys at work had noticed the change in her figure. She'd gained six inches along her bustline; such a thing does not go unnoticed! She'd felt the eyes on her in stores, on the street...was it that her incredible new figure was actually intimidating men? Did they think she had been artificially enhanced? What was the deal here? Chris was thinking just such thoughts as she sat alone at her kitchen table, with an open pint of Cherry Garcia in front of her, when she heard her doorbell ring. LACTOGENESIS VII: THE NEIGHBOR Christine quickly replaced the ice cream in the freezer, and hurried to the door. As she peered through the peephole, she felt a pang of embarrassment. Standing in the hallway was her neighbor Sherri, who had taken care of Chris's apartment while she was in the hospital. Chris's embarrassment stemmed from the fact that in the weeks since she'd been home, she had not once visited Sherri to thank her for the work she had done to keep the place up and for generally being the kind of neighbor most people wished they had. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a proper apology. It was several seconds before she realized she hadn't opened the door yet. As the door swung open, Sherri held up a set of keys, which she jingled. "Just returning these," she said. "Sorry I've taken so long to get them back to you." "Oh, Sherri, it's me who should apologize. Please, come in." Chris stood aside to admit her neighbor, stammering out poorly chosen words of apology as she did so. "I'm really sorry I haven't been by to see you. I've been meaning to thank you for helping out while I was hurt. The place really looked great, and I appreciate..." Sherri simply waved one hand. "Listen, glad to do it. If I were laid up like you were, with no family around to help out, I know I'd want to have somebody keeping an eye on my place while I was gone. I just wanted to drop by to see how you were doing. You look...er...you look...uh, great." Chris suddenly realized that Sherri's gaze was riveted on her breasts. Chris had chosen a body suit and jeans that morning; the skin-tight outfit accentuated her outrageous figure more than usual. Of course, Chris thought, she hasn't seen me for a while. God, I'll bet I really look different to her. Sherri, at 5'2", was a full five inches shorter than Chris, which made her staring at Chris's bosom all the more comical, like someone who had been hypnotized. Chris felt the awkwardness level in the room growing, so she decided to use a little levity. She passed one hand rapidly in front of Sherri's face, playfully shouting, "Hello? Hello?" Her breasts jiggled slightly as she did so. Sherri shook her head slightly, tossing a mane of thick, reddish-orange hair. She blinked a pair of huge, gray-green, long-lashed eyes and then immediately covered them with her hand. "Jesus, I'm sorry," she said softly. "I can't believe I did that. It's just that you're so...so *different*..." "Hey, no problem. Look, I had to do *something* to compete with you. I couldn't let you get *all* the stares." They both laughed, and the tension in the room was broken. Chris hadn't exaggerated. Although Sherri was pushing 40, there was nothing in her smooth, lightly freckled face to betray her age. Her slight frame had thickened slightly over the years, but she still had a drop-dead hourglass shape and a chest that turned heads. In fact, Chris had had to borrow some tops from Sherri while she had retooled her wardrobe to her new dimensions. They had fit quite well. As she motioned for Sherri to be seated, Chris could see the questions in Sherri's eyes, and decided to save her further embarrassment by beating her to the punch. "Little fringe benefit from the accident," she said simply. "They tell me my pituitary gland got kicked into overdrive. I had no idea that little thing could cause all this. If I'd've known this would happen, I'd've jumped in front of a bus years ago." "Well, from the looks of things, maybe you'd better give me that guy's license number." More laughter. "Seriously, I can't get over what's happened to you. You look, well, fantastic! I gather you didn't have to take in any of the clothes I lent you. Even looks like you might have me by an inch or two. Who'd've thought I'd have the *second* biggest set in the building?" It was true. Until now, there had never been a problem getting Sherri's underwear mixed up with anyone else's in the laundry room. Anything with a tag that said "38D" had to be Sherri's. Chris smiled. She had always admired Sherri's slightly earthy, no-bullshit personality. Sherri was clearly envious of Chris's new bustline, and was making no bones about it. "Speaking of clothes, before I forget, I want to give you those back," Chris said, as she rose and quickly strode toward her bedroom closet. She quickly returned with a small handful of hangers from which hung several blouses. "I meant to get them to you earlier, but I had to send a couple out to get some milk stains removed. They did a good job; you can't even tell..." She stopped herself. She hadn't meant to say "milk". The stains had happened before Chris had gotten conscious control over her ability to lactate. She'd gotten so used to having milk that she hadn't thought about how other people would react. Had she said too much already? "That's OK. I thought you didn't like to drink..." Sherri stopped in mid-sentence. Her pale features became even paler and her big eyes widened to almost cartoon-character size. "You don't mean...you don't mean those actually *work*?" The way Sherri put that, Chris couldn't help herself. A quick, nervous spasm of laughter escaped her lips. She recovered quickly. "Yeah. They sure do. Pretty wild, huh?" Sherri was glancing around the floor, trying to find a place to fix her gaze. Her eyes were still wide as she said, "Well, that explains those funny rhythmical noises I've been hearing from in here. You're using a pump, aren't you?" Chris cursed inwardly. The walls in this building are thinner than I thought, she said to herself. Maybe I'll have to do that in the kitchen from now on. She looked up at Sherri, trying to think of something witty to say. Suddenly she noticed how Sherri's demeanor had changed. Her hands were clasping and unclasping in her lap; she seemed to be fidgeting; her eyes were darting everywhere; and she actually looked a little flushed. It didn't quite look like embarrassment -- it looked like...My God, Chris thought. She looks like she's *excited*! I'd best tread softly here... "Are you all right? Should we change the subject?" "Oh, no! No!" Sherri burst out. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. It's just that..." She glanced down, afraid to meet Chris's eyes. "It's just that, I've always wanted to be able to do that. It's been a long-standing fantasy of mine. I've always been proud of these boobs of mine, and men have always appreciated them. I've just been wanting to give them, and myself, more..." She looked up. "Oh, boy, I've said too much. I'd better go..." She stood up quickly. "No, wait. Sit down, hon," Chris said soothingly. "I'm not offended. Frankly, I'm intrigued, and flattered that you'd want to confide in me like that. You know, I haven't really talked to anybody about this except my doctor, and she's so *clinical* about it. Stay. Let's talk. I'd like to get this off my chest." She realized the double entendre just as Sherri did. The two friends stared at each other for a few shocked moments, then dissolved in helpless laughter. Chris knew in that moment she had found a confidante, someone she could tell anything to. LACTOGENESIS VIII: THE SECRET REVEALED Christine and Sherri laughed for a long time over Chris's "get it off my chest" line. As the laughter began to die down, Chris impulsively reached out and hugged Sherri to her. She immediately felt the unfamiliar but pleasant sensation of another woman's body against hers. It was the first time Chris had had close physical contact with another person since her body had changed. Sherri had gone up on tip-toe, and Chris became acutely aware of her breasts pressing against her own. Seventy-eight combined inches of mammary tissue squashed together, creating a huge soft cushion any man would have been more than happy to suffocate in. Chris found herself holding the embrace longer than she thought she would have. It felt soft and safe in Sherri's arms. It was Sherri who broke it off. "Oh, I shouldn't have squeezed so hard, but I haven't laughed like that in weeks. Did I hurt you?" "No, don't be silly," Chris replied. "They're full, but it's not like they're going to pop or anything." Sherri sat down again abruptly. "Oh, Chris. Tell me what it's like. Is it uncomfortable? Do you like it? Is it inconvenient for you? Does it make you feel sexier?" A flood of questions followed, and Chris answered as best she could, when she could get a word in edgewise. She decided to be honest, and not hold anything back. She told Sherri about the incident in Sheila's office, about how much she enjoyed using the pump, even about how the letdown sensation always enhanced her orgasms and how she was now able to ejaculate. She found herself going into painstaking detail. She also discovered that relating these experiences was proving to be extremely arousing for her. She was reliving her sexual awakening. The memories of how she had received the new sensations her body had provided were actually reviving those sensations. She couldn't help noticing Sherri's reactions, either. As Chris went on, Sherri occasionally would reach up a hand to absently stroke a breast, or she would rub her thighs together gently. The look on her face was one which a man marooned in a desert would have when his eyes beheld a drinking fountain. Finally, as Chris was describing a particularly intense orgasm she had had in the shower, when the blasts of water, vaginal juice, and breast milk had combined just before disappearing down the drain, Sherri could contain herself no longer. "Please, show me." She was almost begging. "I must see what it's like. Show me, please, Chris." Chris was so turned on by her own narrative that Sherri's request actually sounded reasonable. Her excitement had cranked up her hormone levels, and her breasts were in need of relief. Why not, then? Without a word, Chris stood and walked to the kitchen cupboard, from which she produced a large drinking glass. She walked back over to the sofa, put the glass on the coffee table, and began unbuttoning the top of her bodysuit. She pulled the stretchy fabric down over her shoulders and allowed it to bunch at her waist, revealing a lacy, sheer, half-cup bra that seemed to only barely hold its contents. Chris unfastened the front clasp and the cups swung to the sides like the gates of heaven. She thought she heard Sherri gasp as her bosom came into full view. "Oh, Chris, they're beautiful." Sherri suddenly leaned forward to touch her neighbor's swollen breasts. Gently, almost with a feather touch, Sherri's hand traced the smooth curves, brushed the extended nipples with butterfly-wing tenderness. Chris found herself moaning softly, captivated by the softness of Sherri's touch and how totally electrifying it was. She felt a hard coolness in one hand and opened her eyes to find that Sherri had pressed the glass into it. She looked up and met Sherri's eyes, which wordlessly were pleading Do it, do it. Chris placed the rim of the glass along the lower margin of her left areola. With her left hand she pressed in and down, and was immediately rewarded with a gush of milk. The thin fluid streamed freely, pulsing anew with each press from Chris's fingers. The glass began filling quickly. Sherri sat transfixed, her eyes never blinking. Her hands were busy however; one rubbing a tit while the other was buried between her legs, fluttering like a wounded bird against the fabric covering her pussy. Through the buzzing of pleasure in her head, Chris felt the now-unequal pressure on her chest, and almost unconsciously switched breasts. Now her right breast sprayed hard and long into the glass, while a thin dribble continued from her left breast, dripping onto her thigh. Chris knew that if she continued, the glass would soon overflow, so she started the mental exercise that would slow the flow without taking away the pleasure. As the bluish-white jets from her turgid nipple became slow droplets, Chris felt Sherri grab the glass away. Sherri was like a woman obsessed. "I *have* to taste this. I simply must..." Her words were cut short as she thirstily slurped at the contents of the glass. Without taking the glass away, she began murmuring, "Oh, God, it's so sweet and warm. I had no idea how good..." Her voice sounded strangely hollow as she spoke through the bottom of the glass. Abruptly she stopped drinking, lowered the glass, and stared at Chris with a look that practically screamed "please". Somehow, Chris knew what Sherri wanted, and somehow, she welcomed the idea. Sherri quickly dropped to her knees next to Chris, leaned forward, and fastened her lips to Chris's dripping nipple. Chris inhaled sharply at this new sensation. This was not some inanimate plastic cup applying a suction like the vacuum of space itself, this was a live, warm, human being. Her body reacted intensely to the feel of skin on skin, a feeling it hadn't experienced for months, and never in this incarnation. Sherri sucked like a starving woman, and Chris's breast responded in kind. Sherri's breathing became erratic as she tried to handle a flow so strong that she could barely swallow fast enough. Her right hand went up to fondle Chris's free breast, and for a moment Chris lost her mental hold, allowing fresh milk to cascade over Sherri's kneading fingers and down her arm. Sherri's left hand was firmly entrenched in her crotch, her fingers a blur as she masturbated right through her clothing. As she neared orgasm, Sherri's mouth lost its grip on Chris's nipple. Milk still blasted forth, hitting the back of Sherri's throat as she opened her mouth wide to scream forth her pleasure. Her orgasmic yell became a choking cough as the milk went down the wrong pipe, but Chris was too far into her own orgasm to hear it. She felt the maxi-pad between her legs swell with the liquid being poured into it, and the extra pressure that created heightened the sensation even more. Her body was actually trembling as she reached for a tissue to dab some errant drops of milk from her pulsing nipples. The maxi-pad had reached its limit, and a dark spot was forming on her jeans. Sherri's outfit fared little better. LACTOGENESIS IX: THE FAVOR Sherri coughed a few more times, then straightened up, her eyes watering. She accepted tissues, which she used to wipe off her mouth, throat, and hands. "Christ almighty, that was unbe-fucking-lievable," she mused. "I don't come like that, even with a cock in me. You are truly a wonder, you are." Chris sat very still, numbed by what had just transpired. She had just had an orgasm as the result of an encounter with another woman, something that just a few short months ago she would have considered unthinkable, repulsive even. It slowly dawned on her that the hormonal changes had affected not only her body, but her mind as well. She suddenly felt as if a great stone gate had been torn away from a hidden place in her psyche, allowing a whole new world of possibilities to be entertained. Is this what it's like when a blind person regains her sight? Chris thought. In a rush, she grabbed Sherri's head and pressed it to her still-wet chest, tears beginning at the corners of her eyes. "Thank you, Sherri, thank you," she repeated over and over. "You have no idea what you have just done for me. If there's any way I can repay you..." Sherri allowed herself to be rocked in Chris's arms, blissfully unaware of what she was talking about. Through her post-orgasmic glow, however, she clearly heard Chris's last sentence. Her eyes brightened as she sat up, took both of Chris's hands in hers, and said, "Actually, there is something..." Chris blinked away the tears and smiled. "Honey, after that, you can have anything your lil' ol' heart desires." Sherri wasn't smiling, and there was a look of earnestness on her face. "I'm serious here," she said. She paused a few seconds as if framing a very important question. "Chris," she said finally, "I want you to show me how to do that. I want *my* tits overflowing. After seeing what it's like, I just realized I've never wanted anything so much in my life. Teach me how to get milk in these babies. Please." Chris sat back against the sofa. She had not been prepared for this. She began refitting her bra and bodysuit as she tried to think of how to respond. Presently she said, "Sherri, I don't think this is anything I can *teach* you. You forget, I had to get my head practically smashed in for this to happen. This is a fluke, a one-in-a-million thing. My doctor's still not sure why or how I'm still like this, or how long it will last. There are just too many unknowns here." Sherri's shoulders drooped and her face fell. "I know, I know," she said resignedly. "I shouldn't have asked such a silly thing. I guess it was just the tail end of my orgasm talking. Forget I said anything." Chris was surprised; Sherri was genuinely disappointed, and seemed almost on the verge of tears. Chris couldn't let such a marvelous sexual experience end on such a note. "Now hold on a minute, I didn't say it was impossible. You know, I've been doing a lot of reading lately, trying to figure out what's going on in this body of mine, and I seem to remember...hey!" Chris jumped up and hurried over to her bookshelf, from which she extracted an imposing-looking volume, one of the books on lactation she had borrowed from the college's medical library. She checked the index, then started paging through the text furiously. She stopped suddenly, and triumphantly stabbed a finger halfway down one page. "I knew I'd seen something about this." She scanned the page quickly, half mumbling to herself, while Sherri sat bolt upright in anticipation of some great revelation Chris was about to reveal. "It says here that it is possible to induce lactation in a woman who has never been pregnant. Guess I'm living proof of that! Evidently adoptive mothers have been able to produce enough milk to nurse their babies, at least somewhat. God, it even says it's possible for *men* to make milk. Let's see. How to do it? Hmmm...OK, here it is. Looks like you need to have your breasts sucked on several times a day for a long time, maybe even months. I'll lend you this book so you can read the details for yourself, but it looks like frequent stimulation is all that's really needed. No drugs or anything." Sherri was smiling again. "Frequent stimulation, huh? Sounds like something that's right up my alley. Thank God the boyfriend likes to nibble on me anyway. Several times a day, though, I don't know. Guess I'll have to get me a pump, too. 'Course," she said, cupping her breasts, "these are big enough for me to suck myself. I just hope my nips don't fall off." She looked up and her smile took on a wicked quality. "I wouldn't mind a little help now and then, if you're willing." Sherri read the expression on Chris's face, and added with a slight shrug, "Guess there was no way you could have known I was bi. Never came up in conversation, did it?" She snorted softly. "Main reason Kent divorced me. Didn't want to share me with a woman." Chris shook her head. This was rapidly becoming more than she could handle. First the realization that she could enjoy sex with a woman, then Sherri's outrageous request, then her bombshell that she was bisexual...Chris's head was swimming. Sherri sensed her friend's confusion. Somehow she put the pieces together. "This was your first time with a woman, wasn't it?" Chris nodded gently. Sherri almost laughed, but thought better of it. "Hell of an initiation. Well," she said softly, reaching out to stroke Chris's hair, "I'm glad it was with me. If you find this kind of thing to your liking, maybe we could get together once in a while. In the meantime, I hope we can stay friends." "What? Of course, we're friends! I'm sorry, Sherri, this has just been a very eventful day for me." "Sure, I understand. I remember my first time with a woman. Blew me away. For a long time I wasn't sure of my sexual identity. Took me a while to sort it out." "Tell me about it?" Chris said earnestly. Sherri stood up, tucking Chris's book under her arm. "It's a long story, best told over drinks. Tell you what. There's a new club opening across town tonight, an 80's retro kind of place. Why don't we go out and get wasted, and we can talk about, well, *everything*. What do you say?" "Sounds great. I need to talk. These last weeks have been so crazy..." "It's a date, then. Come by my place at nine." Sherri moved to the door. "Thanks for the book. I've got a feeling the next few weeks are going to be crazy, too." Before Chris had a chance to react, Sherri stood on tiptoe and kissed her on the mouth. Chris was taken aback, but not so much that she didn't appreciate the softness of Sherri's lips. Before she knew it, Sherri was gone. Chris touched her lips lightly, her head still cloudy from the last few minutes' events. She'd been living in the same building with Sherri and had known her for quite a while, but never in a million years would she have thought... As Chris closed the door, she had a feeling the day still had some interesting things in store.