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 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.