Later that night, while they were eating dinner, Jim stumbled on the way to bring some bread back to the table. Luckily, he was just carrying the empty plate over to the oven, so he clapped it to his chest and nothing got broken or spilled on the floor. As he straightened, Sharon noticed him wince. "What's wrong?" she asked.
Jim laid the plate down and raised his arms above his head, stretching. "Ah, my chest's a bit sore. I'm sure it's nothing, just too much . . . exercise." Sharon grinned at him.
The test of their hypothesis turned out positive: while all Sharon's fluids seemed to take on a strawberry flavor when she turned her skin pink, as Jim had discovered earlier, she didn't start to lactate again. As she made ready for bed, Sharon changed back to herself, planning to sleep that way, but then Jim begged her to start slow breast growth and change her skin pink again. At first, she was skeptical, but then Jim convinced her it would a be good test of their theory that the sequential changes caused the lactation. Jim also admitted the real reason: he had enjoyed his breakfast and was looking forward to repeat performance. However, by mutual agreement, they decided to rest their bodies that night by not having sex.
The next day, Sunday, Sharon's breasts again woke her with an insistent demand to relieve their pressure. She was less patient than the previous day, and since Jim had asked for them, she figured he would get to pay for them. She thought, though . . . curious, she applied gentle pressure to her right breast, creating a small puddle in her palm. She raised it to her face and drank, dribbling milk down her front as she did so. While she didn't like strawberries as much as Jim, she had to agree that it had a pleasant flavor, warm and sweet. However, drinking her own milk would be an awkward affair, and besides, Jim would get more enjoyment out of it than she would. Jim slept on his side; she spooned against his back and breathed into his ear, "Oh, Jim. I have something that needs your attention." He grunted and stretched, but didn't open his eyes, so she took her hand and began running it across his chest and arms. He stirred and blinked at her.
"Whuh?" he asked. She didn't say anything, just pressed her breasts against his back. She feel her nipples leaking, dampness spreading onto his skin.
"Oh!" he said. She laughed and rolled onto her back as he started suckling. He made a production out of it, gazing into her eyes and stopping every so often to lick his way across from one breast to the other. She stretched, relaxing and enjoying the gradual easing of pressure. While she wasn't too happy about waking up to a bloated bosom every morning, she could get used to the process of deflating it. Maybe she could find a way to control her milk production, so that her mornings wouldn't be so uncomfortable.
After Jim had finished, they took turns in the shower, Sharon going first. She changed back to her normal form, both for the convenience of smaller breasts and so she wouldn't drip pink milk all over Jim's apartment. As she was toweling off her hair, she noticed a couple of pink spots on the bed. "Bother," she muttered. She yelled to Jim, "We're going to have to change your sheets, or else they'll stain."
"I hear you," Jim shouted back.
Sharon got dressed and met Jim coming out. Jim had his shorts on but wasn't wearing his shirt. Jim said, "My chest is still sore." He stretched, upraised arms tugging his pectorals.
Sharon examined Jim's chest, then said, "Hold still." She walked around him, and said, "Jim, I think we have a problem."
"What?"
Sharon said, "Well, I . . . I think . . ." Her voice cracked and she stopped.
Jim said, "Spit it out, Sharon. You're starting to worry me."
Sharon took a deep breath. "I, um, think you're, um, growing breasts."
"What?!"
"Back when I was a teenager and my breasts first started to grow, they felt tender. If I put any pressure on them, they hurt. That's what you're feeling now, isn't it? Not a muscle ache, but a tenderness. And if go look at your chest in profile . . ."
Jim did so, and Sharon heard an exclamation of, "Holy shit!" from the bathroom. He came out again with a wild look in his eyes. "You're right. And . . . if you look carefully, I think my nipples are a little . . . pinker than they were before.
"Sharon, you have to help me here. I'm trying to remain calm and not panic, but I don't how long I can go without freaking out."
Sharon grasped Jim's shoulders and guided him to the kitchen table, where she pushed him into a chair. She went to get him some water, then thought better of it and broke out the vodka. She poured a shot glass for Jim, then watched him down it in one gulp. He gagged, then croaked, "Thanks."
Sharon sat down across from him and said, "We need to calm down and consider this rationally." She paused. "I'll bet it's the milk you've been drinking."
"I wouldn't bet against that for any odds."
"The real question is, what do we do now? You could try using the ring, but I'm not sure that's a good idea, given the problems we've had so far."
"It's worked well enough for you, but you're right, I don't want to risk it."
"I wonder . . . do you think normal breast milk would turn you back?"
Jim thought about that. "It's a possibility, but I think it's more likely that you'd just give me normal boobs, rather than pink ones.
"My impulse is to just wait and see. Maybe the growth will stop once your milk works its way through my system. You're the med student, you should know: the breast growth is caused by female hormones, right? Maybe your milk just pumped me full of estrogen."
Sharon nodded. "In a normal case, you'd be right. But this is magic. I wouldn't have believed in it before I tried this ring, but it's undeniably unnatural. Plus, there's no way natural breast development could have happened this fast.
"I don't what to do, other than to seek medical treatment. I think you should have a blood test to check your hormone balance. Then we can consider surgery or maybe estrogen antagonists like tamoxifen."
For better or for worse, Jim's unexpected changes had put a damper on their happiness and Sharon's desire to use the ring. She changed back to her normal form, then put it away in her dresser.
The next day, Monday, Jim went to his doctor, asking to get worked into the schedule for an "urgent problem." Later that night, after Sharon got off work, Jim described the visit to her.
"Dr. Gentry couldn't stop asking me if I was taking drugs. He implied it or asked at least three or four times. He couldn't seem to believe that this had happened spontaneously, especially since I'm not overweight. Of course, he was right, but I couldn't tell him that. If I'd mentioned that damn ring, I have no doubt he would have called the men in the white coats.
"Anyway, his suggestion was that I not panic and take a wait-and-see approach, like I thought earlier. He said it's possible it will go away on its own, but he did have me take a blood test to check my hormone levels."
At this point, there was little either of them could do other than watch and wait. Jim bought a tape measure and recorded his breast development on his PDA. Sharon noticed that he seemed to have become obsessed with his breasts and nipples: when he wasn't measuring them, he was touching them or admiring them in the mirror. Sharon thought this was unhealthy, but then, she had her own problems.
Sharon found herself obsessed by the ring. She'd always been fascinated by transformations, but she'd never indulged her interest until the ring had arrived in the mail. Now that she had it, she kept thinking of transformations she wanted to try, but she was afraid. She was worried that it was gaining a grip over her mind, like the One in the Lord of the Rings. However, eventually she decided that it wasn't the ring, it was her: something had fallen into her hands with the potential to make dreams come true, but she was too afraid to use it.
Jim's breasts continued to grow. He went to the doctor again and got a prescription for an estrogen antagonist, tamoxifen. However, it didn't help: every day, Jim went into the bathroom and discovered his breasts a little larger, a little pinker than before. They talked it over and decided that surgery was the best option: just as for women who had mastectomies, once Jim's breasts were removed, they shouldn't grow back.
A couple days before he was scheduled for surgery, Jim came back into the bedroom, where Sharon was reading on the bed. He stuck his between her face and her book and kissed her, then began running his hands down her body. "Please, honey?"
Sex, since that wonderful weekend, had been tepid. The edge of excitement that Sharon's changes had brought, the touch of the exotic, was gone, or rather inverted: Jim's breasts were strange, but Sharon found them a turn-off. Moreover, she couldn't help but feel awkward around Jim. They talked about his breasts, and even sometimes the ring, but they didn't talk about them. They dealt with the superficial details but avoided their feelings.
"Listen, later this week, my breasts will be gone. I want to try them out once. Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to play with someone else's breasts?"
Sharon hadn't, but when she thought about it a moment, the idea wasn't unappealing. She'd been avoiding Jim's new endowments out of guilt, but the possibility of touching them held a certain allure. In a hesitant voice, she said, "Ok."
Her hands trembled as she reached over to undo the buttons on Jim's shirt, then slide it over his head. He flipped over her, with his breasts dangling down near her face. They were pink and round; she reached up to cup them, and found her hands just covered them. Jim didn't quite need a bra, but if it weren't for the surgery, that day would not be far away.
Her boyfriend's breasts . . . they were warm, soft, pliant beneath her fingers. Sharon began to see some of why males were so obsessed with breasts, though she had to admit it wasn't doing much for her arousal. Still, giving pleasure in love was at least as important as getting, and so she raised her head and began sucking on Jim's nipples. He shivered, and Sharon noticed a trace of sweetness at the nipple's tip, with a hint of strawberry.
She switched from breast to breast, sucking, while running hands down to Jim's pants, which she undid and pulled over his ass. She caressed his buttocks, then tickled his erection. Jim decided to do something about her teasing: he kicked off his pants, sat up, undid and flung aside Sharon's blouse and bra, then slid her jeans and panties down her legs. He knelt and began to lick her pubis, first with gentle touches on her labia, then slow circles around her clitoris, then quick urgent laps on her button. Sharon was gasping as he crawled his tongue up her abdomen, over her breasts, and to her mouth.
With a careful thrust, he entered her, and soon they were both lost in the immanence of ecstasy; Sharon could not help but notice delightful friction their breasts generated as Jim thrust. Sharon came first with a scream, then Jim shuddered and grunted, coming inside her. After he had recovered, he whispered in her ear, "It's better sometimes if you let go. I know I've been self-involved recently. It's not your fault, nor are my breasts. Don't try to carry all our burdens."
Despite feeling tired, a relaxed tired that flowed from past pleasure, Sharon had trouble falling asleep that night. She thought about Jim's words, and made a decision to let go.
The next day Jim went in for surgery. It was done on an outpatient basis, so several hours after dropping him off Sharon left work early to pick a groggy and bandaged Jim up from the hospital. She spent the next couple of days nursing him back to health, until he could move around without staggering from the ache in his chest.
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Sat Oct 04 13:19:58 2003
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