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.