LACTOGENESIS X: 

THE NIGHTCLUB 
 
 Christine stood in the hallway outside Sherri's apartment. She rang the 
doorbell, then checked her watch. 9:07 pm. She glanced down at herself 
to take final stock of her appearance. She and Sherri were going to a 
nightclub to drink and talk; she wasn't in the mood for cruising the 
place for cute guys. She was dressed accordingly: an understated outfit, 
characterized by loose-fitting fabric that de-emphasized her figure. She 
didn't want some drunk asshole slobbering all over her chest tonight. 
God, she thought, I feel like I'm going on a blind date or something. 
Relax! It's only Sherri; this is only going to be a couple of girls out 
on the town. She reconsidered. It was never again going to be "only 
Sherri", not after what had happened in Chris's apartment earlier that 
day. 
 The door opened to reveal Sherri brushing her hair. Chris's eyebrows 
arched when she saw what Sherri was wearing. The phrase "hunting outfit" 
came to mind: high heels, sprayed-on slacks, a form-fitting short-
sleeved striped top cut to reveal roughly a mile and a half of cleavage, 
lots of jewelry, and just slightly exaggerated makeup. The two of them 
looked for all the world like a librarian and a hooker going out 
together. Sherri motioned Chris inside. 
 "Before you say anything, this is how I like to dress when I go out," 
Sherri said. Chris was beginning to realize just how good Sherri was at 
reading facial expressions -- hers must have been telegraphing "slut". 
"And don't you dare dash off to change. You look nice. I figured one of 
us would have to look outrageous so that we can get into this place." 
She checked her watch. "Better get going. I'll bet this place will be 
filling up fast about now." 
 A fifteen-minute ride downtown, a half-block walk from the parking 
garage, and a ten-minute wait in line at the door later, Chris and 
Sherri were sitting at a small table to one side of a stage in a club 
called Decade Eight. The band onstage was doing eighties covers at a 
volume that did not exclude the possibility of conversation. They 
weren't bad. 
 Almost before she knew it, Chris was on her third gin and tonic, and 
was working on a decent buzz. She hadn't been on a night out since well 
before the accident, and she realized that she had sorely missed her 
social life. 
 Sherri was terrific company. She kept the conversation light, regaling 
Chris with tales of horrific-then-funny-now sexual encounters with 
members of both sexes that left Chris's sides aching with laughter. 
Sherri's storytelling was as colorful as a sailor's. 
 "I remember going down on this girl once," she recalled. "She was a 
squirter too, though I didn't know it then. I was down there munching 
away when without warning she came like a freight train. I thought I was 
going to fucking drown! Juice went up my nose, down my throat, hell, 
into my ears! 
 For a while I thought I was eating out Buckingham Fucking Fountain!" 
Sherri stopped to take a swig of her Manhattan, and went on almost 
without taking a breath. 
 "Oh, God, speaking of eating. I once made it with this guy who was into 
food during sex. I remembered getting turned on during the refrigerator 
scene in '9-1/2 Weeks', so I was game. Son-of-a-bitch practically 
covered me with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Licked it all off me, 
all up and down. Really fucked up the sheets. Anyway, when it came time 
to finally get down to it, he had such a stomach ache he couldn't keep 
it up! Can you imagine? I'm lying there, all hot and bothered and sticky 
as hell, and he's in the john popping Rolaids!" 
 Chris was howling, but her imagination was working overtime. How 
*would* it feel to have somebody suck a maraschino cherry out of my 
pussy? she thought. She'd had no idea that Sherri was this sexually 
rambunctious; it was no wonder her husband had left her. Sherri seemed 
to prefer the single life, and was living it like a woman fifteen years 
younger. Chris's own age, now that she thought of it. Was there a hint 
somewhere here? 
 Chris had been so engrossed in her conversation with Sherri that she 
hadn't really taken a good look at the club. As the fourth round arrived 
and Sherri excused herself to use the restroom, Chris had an opportunity 
to check out her surroundings. Not a bad place, she thought. I've been 
to better, but this place has a nice ambience. What's that banner over 
in the corner say? Her jaw dropped slightly as she read it. She had just 
finished when Sherri returned. 
 "Sherri! What the hell is this?" Chris pointed to the banner, which now 
seemed to scream out, OLD-FASHIONED WET T-SHIRT CONTEST *TONIGHT*! FIRST 
PRIZE $250, SECOND PRIZE $100, THIRD PRIZE $50. COME GET WET AT DECADE 
EIGHT! How the hell had she missed it? 
 Sherri laughed and clapped her hands together. "Isn't that a hoot? I 
haven't done one of these in years! I wonder if I've still got a shot at 
some of that money?" She looked at her watch and had to blink a few 
times. 
 She was getting drunk. "Oh, shit, we almost missed the registration. 
Come on!" She grabbed Chris's wrist and tried to pull her out of her 
chair. 
 Chris pulled loose from Sherri's grasp. "Now wait just a damn minute," 
she said, then stopped briefly as the room swam around in response to 
her rapid movement. She knew then that she was also half in the bag. "I 
came here to talk and have a couple drinks, not prance around onstage in 
front of a bunch of strangers." 
 Sherri made a razzing sound. "Oh, lighten up, Chris. I get a kick out 
of these contests. Musta won a couple of grand over the years. Great way 
to vent frustrations, too. Besides, I've always been a breast woman. 
Like to check out the merchandise. Why should the guys have all the 
fun?" She winked. "Come on, it'll be a blast! You do community theater, 
don't you? 
 It's not like you've never been on a stage before. Believe it or not, 
Chris, you need to do something like this. You've been locked away in 
your apartment, just you and your breast pump, for weeks now. I'm 
willing to bet you're still a little intimidated by your recent... 
developments." She waved a hand drunkenly at Chris's torso. "You need to 
start feeling better about this gift of yours. If you've got it, flaunt 
it, kid, and believe me, you got it! You're a lock on first prize! Take 
it from somebody who's been there!" 
 The three and a half drinks, the ever-present pituitary hormones, and 
Sherri's exhortations proved to be a deadly combination for Chris. She 
had already started down the road of sexual exploration as the result of 
her new abilities, and now here was somebody willing to be a guide. The 
gift horse, and all that. And hey, the $250 would be nice. Her last 
inhibitions vanished with Sherri's persistent tugging on her arm. She 
grabbed her drink off the table and downed it almost in a single gulp, 
in classic movie cliche fashion. Banging the glass back down, she even 
quoted a movie as she said defiantly, "'Sometimes you just got to say 
'what the fuck.' So, what the fuck!" 
 "That's the spirit! Come on, registration's over here." Giggling like 
girls a fourth their age, the two headed for the table at the back of 
the club.