LACTOGENESIS XXI: THE INVITATION Chris and Sherri lay facing each other, nipples only millimeters apart, the flush of a mutual orgasm fading from their necks and chests. They were gently caressing each other, fingertips blending the droplets and rivulets of breast milk which dotted their bodies in the aftermath of their ardor into a thin film of moisture which they rubbed like lotion into each other's skin. They had noticed on several occasions that Chris's milk was thicker and whiter, while Sherri's tended more toward a bluish tinge, like skim milk. A new bead formed on Chris's nipple and began to run downward toward her cleavage. Sherri leaned in and deftly caught it on her tongue before it disappeared into that moist, velvety cleft. She smacked her lips exaggeratingly, savoring the sweet taste. "Now I know why kittens are so crazy about milk," she said. Chris rolled over onto her back, her still leaking breasts now looking like miniature volcanoes, white lava trickling down their considerable slopes. Sherri moved to finish sucking her dry, her hand petting Chris's mons, still sticky-wet from her last ejaculation, in a soothing rather than stimulating motion. Chris sighed deeply as she felt the last ounces drain from her breasts. Sherri could empty her more completely and more pleasurably than any pump could; and she was pretty good at returning the favor. She shifted her weight and heard the waterproof sheets between them and Sherri's bed crinkle softly in response. She stroked Sherri's hair and languidly regarded the ceiling as Sherri released her pulsing nipple and rested her cheek on one fleshy pillow. "I've really come to enjoy these times," Chris mused, "and I have to admit that what we've been doing is unique and very special, and you're about the most talented partner I've ever had..." "But..." Sherri said. When Chris didn't respond right away, she added, "Come on, hon, drop the other shoe." "Oh, Sherri, what it boils down to is, I need a *man*. I know that doesn't sound very 'Nineties', and I don't want to offend, but even though I think this is great, most of the time I like the feel of a little razor stubble on my neck or between my legs, a hairy chest, wrapping myself around a good thick hard cock. You know what I mean, don't you?" "Of course, Chris, and no offense taken. I know women are more the exception than the rule for you. Me, it's six of one and half a dozen of the other." She sat up and looked down at Chris. "You've had pretty rotten luck lately in the male department, haven't you?" "You said it. Ever since the paper ran that series on sexual harassment in the workplace, my male coworkers have steered a wide berth around me." She indicated her breasts. "I think these basically scare the shit out of them. Anyhow, I think most of them subscribe to that old adage, 'Don't get your pussy and your paycheck in the same place.' As for chance encounters, forget it. I'm not going to pay for spontaneity with a disease that could kill me. As for the guys in my building, those who aren't gay or married run screaming from the room when they find out I'm lactating." Sherri frowned chidingly. "Okay, I'm exaggerating. Bottom line is, I think my standards might be too high." Later, as they soaped each other down in the shower, Sherri suddenly said, "I think it's time for me to put my Yenta hat on." "Oh, God, Sherri, the last thing I need is for you to play matchmaker. What if our tastes in men don't mesh? Something like that could ruin a friendship." By way of admonition, Sherri tugged gently on Chris's nipples. "Hey, it's not like I'll be trying to find you a husband or anything. It just so happens that I'm seeing a guy that I think you would really like. I'd like to introduce you, that's all. If there aren't any sparks, no big woop. If there are, then we'll go from there." As they were toweling each other off, Sherri picked up the thread again. "His name's Jeremy, and unlike that jerk Carl you told me about, he happens to think mother's milk is the nectar of the gods itself. He can't get enough. I've been fantasizing lately about what it would be like to share him with you. Might actually finally quench his thirst. Whenever we get together, he drains me dry and just wants more!" "Sounds intriguing," Chris said. The sudden erection of her nipples showed she wasn't lying. "Tell me more. What's he like?" "Let's see. He's in his early thirties, kind of short, maybe five-six, five-seven. Thin, but not skinny. Dark hair and eyes. Hair everywhere, even on his shoulders. Has to shave twice a day. Nice prick, seven inches easy. Nice sex drive, too -- he keeps up with me pretty well." "Better and better. What does he do?" "Runs a travel agency. Very well connected. A lot of his clients are upper-crust types, from the North Side. The kind of people who just up and fly to the Riviera on a whim, you know? They've lined his pockets well. Has a nice place on a few acres outside of town." "Personality?" "He has one. Sharp wit, pleasant conversationalist. A bit of a brown- nosing type attitude, but that might be a result of the business he's in. 'The customer's always right', you know the type. Not the most brilliant guy you'd ever want to meet, but he's nice enough, and he's a great lay. Come on, Chris, I don't have his damn resume with me. You want to meet this guy or not?" "I'm game. What do you propose, 'Yenta'?" Sherri threw on a robe and began to gather up the sheets from the bed. "Ever been to a good old-fashioned orgy?" Chris was taken aback slightly by the question, even though that, as far as sex was concerned, she'd grown to expect just about anything from Sherri. "In this day and age? I thought those went out with Plato's Retreat." "This is very discreet. The group's fairly small, about 15 to 20 people tops. Jeremy runs the show. Hand-picks the participants, makes sure everybody's clean, and has a crystal bowl filled with condoms parked at the front door. I've already mentioned you to him, and he's very anxious to meet you. He's set up the next party for a week from Saturday, and it's going to have a Halloween theme. We're to dress up in a costume that exemplifies our special sexual talents and desires. Sounds like a hell of a lot of fun. What do you say?" "I don't know, Sherri. Sounds a little out of my league." "I've been to a couple of these. They're very relaxed. No pressure to fuck anybody you don't want to fuck. Jeremy's place is big enough so that you can go one-on-one with somebody in a private room, or just sit and talk somewhere else, or play strip Twister with a dozen people if you want to. The people are very cool, very low-key. Hell, there was even one time when nobody even got naked. We just sat around telling stories and getting each other hot." "But the idea of doing it with a total stranger, or two, or ten..." "Hey, Chris, don't wimp out on me now. Ever since you and I first started bumpin' uglies, you've been wanting me to help you broaden your horizons. Look how far you've come already. You turned a wet T-shirt contest into a near-riot; you've been strapped to a table and ravished by a couple of sex-crazed doctors; you blew your old boyfriend away; you've discovered what making love with a woman can be like; and you've helped turn me into a lean mean lactating machine. Seems to me that a simple Halloween orgy should be a natural progression. I haven't steered you wrong yet, have I? You do want to meet eligible men, don't you?" "I guess I do need to lighten up a little." Chris paused, her face scrunching up as she struggled to make a decision. "You're thinking about it too much," Sherri said. "This is not for your head, it's for your gonads. Go with your gut." "All right!" Chris burst out. "I'll do it. You just promise to get me out of there if I start getting uncomfortable." "I promise." Sherri gave Chris a quick hug. "This is going to be great. This is a week from Saturday, remember. You should start thinking about a costume." "Do you have any ideas yet?" Sherri went to her closet and opened it. Inside hung a partially finished costume. It was still in its early stages, but the color scheme, white with large black spots, made it clear what it was going to be when Sherri finished it. "Omigod," Chris laughed. "A *cow*?" "Why not?" Sherri shrugged. "Seems only natural, don't you think?"