In It To Win It
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I paused and looked at the star on the door in front of me. It
was a wooden cutout, painted gold, and nailed to the door. The
words "Dressing Room A" were painted in black underneath the
star. The ticket in my hand was going to get me into that room,
where a world famous singer was doing whatever world famous singers do
after a concert. I couldn't believe this was happening to me, and
I realized I was panting, as though I had run half a mile. In
fact, all I had done was walk down a hallway that was thirty feet long.
As the security man beside me reached to open the door, flickering
images replayed themselves in my mind, of how I came to be in this
I had gotten tickets to the Victoria Anderson concert in a radio give-away,
where I was the tenth caller. They gave me four VIP tickets with
backstage passes. It was late August, and I had just graduated
from high school the previous May. Most of my friends were
already off at college somewhere. My family didn't have the money
to send me to college, and my grades hadn't been good enough for
scholarships. I knew enough people who owed a hundred thousand
dollars in student loans, and had crappy jobs, that I wasn't thrilled
with going the government loan route. As such, I was stuck
delivering pizzas for Luigi's. Not that I was complaining,
exactly. Tips were good enough that I had been able to get my own
place. It was kind of a rat hole, but it was
my rat hole, and I was enjoying my
freedom, even if I wasn't doing much with it. It was while I was
delivering a pizza, in fact, that I won the tickets to the concert.
Randy, the guy I was going out with for most of my last semester of
high school, was one of the people who had gone off to college, and I
hadn't found anybody new to date. The truth was that Jackie
Witherspoon was the only one of my girlfriends who hadn't gone to
college too, so I offered to share the tickets with her. Jackie
did have a boyfriend, and of course
she wanted to bring him, so that accounted for three of the four
tickets. I still had the extra ticket two days before the concert
when my dad had his annual Labor Day cookout. I went, of
course. I was standing there eating a chilidog when somebody
slapped my right ass cheek. I knew who it was before I even
"What's up, sweet cheeks?" asked my Uncle Bob. "You holding up
Uncle Bob was, perhaps, my favorite adult, other than my parents.
He had always treated me as grown up as I was willing to act.
When I was around him I was willing to act very grown up, because he
didn't enforce stupid little kid rules on me like everybody else
did. Like if I cursed, for example, and it was something that
needed cursing about, he never said a word. He gave me my first
(and last) sip of beer, and helped me learn how to say "Beer tastes
crappy," in a way that my peers just nodded at, instead of giving me a
hard time for not drinking. He also gave me my first hard liquor,
and taught me how addictive that tipsy feeling can be. He also
treated me like a little girl sometimes, and I needed that too.
"It's hard losing all your friends," I said, feeling sorry for myself.
"Had to happen sooner or later," he said. "Besides, it will build
character. Now you get to make new friends, try new things."
"I liked my old friends," I said, grumpily.
"Sounds like somebody needs a visit from Mr. Buzz Buzz," said Uncle
Mr. Buzz Buzz was nothing more than Uncle Bob's finger, weaving and
bobbing as he made a buzzing sound, until he darted his finger to
tickle me somewhere. He'd been torturing me with Mr. Buzz Buzz
since I was six. I loved it. But not in front of all these
people. I reached and grabbed his finger.
"Do you want to go to a concert?" I asked on impulse.
"I have an extra ticket to the Victoria Anderson concert Friday night."
"And you would let an old fart like me go with you?"
"I hear it builds character to try new things," I said.
"Victoria Anderson?" he mused. "She's pretty good, I guess."
"She's awesome!" I
corrected. "And I have VIP tickets - and backstage passes too!"
"Then I obviously have to come," he said gravely. "Who will
protect you from all those men with devious plans to seduce you, if I
I laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. He had always been
good at making me feel pretty, even though I was sure I was too short,
and that my boobs were way too big, and that my glasses made me look
geeky. I actually looked forward to it. I knew Uncle Bob
would be cool to be around, and I didn't have to play any social games
with him. I could just be myself and enjoy the concert.
The concert was
awesome. I sang along with the star, and watched Uncle Bob
dancing next to the stage, doing dance steps that were twenty years out
of date. Nobody cared. In fact, he had some people copying
him near the end. He didn't care what people thought, and I
wished I could feel that secure in myself.
After the last encore people didn't seem like they were in a hurry to
leave, and it took us a while to figure out where we were supposed to
go to use our backstage passes. We ended up at the end of a long
line to go backstage. There must have been fifty or sixty other
people who were very important for whatever reason. Not only was
the line long, but it was kind of unruly too. People without
passes were trying to sneak in, but security was tight. Uncle Bob
said he'd pull up the rear, and he put Jackie and her boyfriend Rick
between him and me, so that no one could break into our little group.
A guy, maybe in his early twenties was examining passes at the stage
door. He had two burly security people with him, one on either
side of the door. He eyed me openly, running his eyes up and down
my body. It gave me the creeps, but I extended my pass to
him. He looked at it, and then at me again.
"I need to see some ID," he said.
"What?" I asked. The pass didn't have my name on it.
"I need to check your birthdate," he said. He looked impatient.
I fished out my driver license and he looked at it. Then he
turned his head and said something over his shoulder to one of the
security men. He turned back to me, handed my license back, and
smiled. "Have fun," he said.
As I went past him one of the security guys shoved his hand out at me
and said "Here. You might be interested in this."
I accepted what looked like a shiny gold, oversized business card from
him and was almost immediately shoved in the back as Jackie and Rick
were passed through the door. I turned to see Uncle Bob's pass
being examined, but then it was handed back and he stepped through the
I found myself in a large room that had tables spread with snacks and
glasses of what looked like champagne. People were chatting and
obviously trying to look important. Victoria Anderson was nowhere
to be seen, though I did see one of the members of the band, eating a
sandwich. I felt a hand in the middle of my back and looked over
my shoulder to see Uncle Bob, looking around.
"Quite the party," he said loudly. "Isn't that the
drummer?" He pointed. I nodded and his hand went to
my elbow. "Well let's go talk to him," my uncle said.
I started to say we couldn't just go up and talk to a band member, but
nobody stopped us and then we were standing right next to this guy, and
I was suddenly wondering why nobody else was already talking to him.
"Great show," said Uncle Bob. "Did I hear some Chris Frantz in
some of what you were doing tonight?"
The man stopped eating and stared at Uncle Bob. He chewed,
swallowed, and then grinned. "I cut my teeth on Talking Heads,"
"And I'd swear I heard some of Dave Lombardo's double bass licks on
that next to last song she sang," said Bob.
"Dude, you know your drummers," said the drummer, whose name I had no
idea of. Nor had I heard of either of the names Uncle Bob had just
dropped. "It's nice to know somebody pays attention," the guy
said. "You play?"
Uncle Bob laughed. "I wouldn't know which end of the stick to
use. I just love drums. They get my blood going."
The man's eyes drifted to me and I saw them drop to the card that was
still in my hand.
"Hey! You got a golden ticket!" he said.
"That invitation," he said. "We're calling them golden tickets
... after that Willie Wonka movie ... you know?"
"What?" I held up the card. "This?"
"Yes, they're only handing out six, and only at this concert.
Haven't you read it yet?"
"No," I said. "We just got here. And then Uncle Bob
wanted to talk to you. I haven't even had time to get anything to
"Uncle Bob?" asked the drummer. He looked back at Bob. "You're her uncle?"
"Far out, dude. Well, don't worry. The offer is
legit. This isn't some scam."
"I'll take your word for it," said Bob, "as soon as we figure out what
you're talking about."
"The golden ticket," the drummer repeated. "It's an offer of
employment ... with Vickie. I can't tell you more, because it's
all a secret. But I can tell you it's legit, and that she needs
to go to the interview. Everything will be explained there."
"Interview?" I asked. "To work for Victoria Anderson?" I
felt like my voice sounded about six years old.
The drummer's eyes darted around like he was afraid someone was
listening. "I really can't say more. It's a contest, sort
of. Six tickets are being handed out, but only one will get the
job. That's really all I can say, except that it's for
real. It's not a joke."
Then some other people crowded in, asking if he was Donny something or
other, and Uncle Bob pulled me back from the crowd.
"Maybe you should read that," he said into my ear.
I looked at the card in my hand for the first time since it was handed
This card entitles the holder to a
job interview with Victoria Anderson. Please present it to a
security representative to be escorted to your interview.
And now, here I was, outside Victoria Anderson's dressing room ...
about to meet the great woman herself ... in person! And not only
that, I had a chance to get a job
with a world famous singer!
The first thing that shocked me was how small the room was. And
how the paint on the walls was faded and chipped. Somebody had
carved words into one wall. But I only saw that in passing,
because my gaze was drawn to the woman sitting in front of a mirror
surrounded by large, round light bulbs. That it was Victoria
Anderson was no doubt. She still had on the same outfit I had
seen her in during her last encore. But without the wig, as the
last of the makeup came off, the disturbingly plain visage that looked
back at me through the mirror was surreal. She looked so ...
normal! The face in the mirror smiled.
"Hi. Have a seat. I'm almost finished here. Thanks
for waiting a little bit."
"Waiting?" Again I was afraid I sounded like I was about ten or
"All the others stampeded in here as soon as they got their tickets,"
said Victoria. "I should have told Security to have them wait
until I was dressed again, but it was too late. Some people are
very pushy. I'm still not used to that, I guess."
"I can't believe this," I whispered. "You're Victoria Anderson!"
"I say the same thing every time I look in a mirror," said the star,
smiling. "But on to business. Tell me about yourself."
I was tongue tied, at first, but later I would realize that she had
skills other than singing, and that by asking questions, she was able
to draw all kinds of things out of me, like where I had grown up, and
what school had been like, and what other bands and artists I
liked. At one point I suddenly realized I was telling her all
about how Randy, one of the cooks at work, had named my breasts Frick
and Frack, and routinely asked me how Frick and Frack were. I was
horrified, until she laughed.
"I suspect Douglas gave you that ticket because of Frick and Frack,"
"Never mind," she said. "So if I order a pizza later, will you
deliver it?" Victoria threw the last tissue in the wastebasket
and spun the stool around to face me directly. I couldn't help
the hiss of air I pulled in as I leaned back in the straight-backed
chair she had offered me. Victoria held up one finger and waved
it back and forth. "Look," she said. "Let's just forget for
the moment that my last two albums went platinum, okay? I'm just
Vickie, and you're just Amanda, okay?"
"Mandy," I sighed automatically. "Everybody calls me Mandy."
"Okay then, Mandy. I'm not going to bite. I just need to
ask all these questions, because if you get the job you're going to be
working very closely with me, and I need to be sure that our
personalities mesh, okay?"
"I can't believe this," I gasped.
"Well maybe this will bring you back down to earth," said Victoria, not
smiling. "The position I need to fill is what they call a
I blinked. "What?"
Victoria still didn't smile.
"It used to be called being a wet nurse," said Victoria. "I'm in
the middle of adopting a baby. And I want her to be breast fed,
but I can't do it myself. So I need a surrogate mother for a year
to make sure she gets a good start."
I blinked several times. "But I'm not a mother. I'm not
married. I mean I don't have a baby. I can't breast feed
anyone." I felt like crying for some reason.
"Actually, that's not a problem," said Victoria. "If you want to
try for the position, there will be a physical, and a doctor will give
you all the information you need. Lactation can be induced in
most women. Science can assist. What matters the most is if
you have the personality to be around me, and a bunch of people who
think they are important, and still stay grounded so the baby's
experience will be as normal as possible."
"Wait," I said. "You want me to feed a baby with these?" I
cupped Frick and Frack.
Now she finally smiled. "I know this is coming at you out of left
field, but take it easy. All I'm doing is offering you a chance
to do this. If it's not right for you, then that's fine.
Two of the other women have already said they're not interested.
That's okay. I thought this whole golden ticket-contest thing was
stupid, but my manager insisted that it would work."
She stood up and unzipped her outfit. She shrugged her shoulders
and suddenly, Victoria Anderson was standing in front of me wearing
only black panties. She reached for a pair of jeans that were in
a pile of stuff on one edge of the dressing table and pulled them
on. Then she reached for a bra. Before she put it on,
though, she cupped her breasts, which were exactly the size I wished
mine were, about a B cup.
"I wish I could feed Angelina with these," she said. "But I'll be
on tour, and in the recording studio and it just wouldn't work.
Maybe someday I'll meet a man who isn't a complete asshole, and
even have my own kids. Who knows? But for now I need to
take care of my career. That doesn't mean, though, that I can't
start a family. And Angelina needs a mommy. I can give her
that. And if you win the contest, you can give her the best food
"This is so strange," I sighed.
Victoria put on her bra and a shirt, and then took my golden
ticket. She handed me a regular looking business card. I
looked at it and saw a doctor's name on it.
"All you need to do for now is talk it over with your boyfriend.
I understand he can help with the process. If you decide you want
to try for the position, then make an appointment with the
doctor." She took the card back from my limp fingers and
wrote a phone number on it before handing it back. "And call this
number so I know you're in the competition. The way it works is
that the first woman who can lactate two ounces in my presence gets the
job. She'll live with me for a year. Room and board are
included, and the salary will be a hundred and fifty thousand for the
year, plus room and board.. When I tour, she'll travel with
me. If I go on
vacation, she goes with me. You need to make up your mind within
a week, because the offer is withdrawn at that time. We're on a
timetable, and if everything works out well, the baby will be here on
the twenty-sixth of next month. I need my surrogate mother in place
before she gets here."
"But that's only a month away!" I yipped.
"The doctor assures us that at least one of the contestants will be
able to induce lactation well within that time frame," said
Victoria. "Just go home and think about it for a day or
two. I hope you decide to try it. Of all the girls I talked
to today, I like you best. I know that doesn't mean a lot,
because we don't know each other at all, but I get good vibes from
you. Think it over and give me a call, okay?"
Uncle Bob had not been allowed to go see Victoria Anderson with me.
After all, he didn't have a golden ticket. As I saw him waiting
for me, looking a little anxious, all the emotion of the last twenty
minutes rushed out in laughter, of all things. Of
had offered him a golden ticket. He could never lactate. I
went up to him and hugged him. At least he was something normal ...
something I could understand and hold onto. My world had been
turned upside down, and I held him tightly.
"You okay?" he asked in my ear, through her hair.
I nodded and looked up. "Let's get out of here," I said.
"You want to leave?" He looked surprised.
I nodded again.
Jackie and Rick hadn't been ready to leave yet. We had all come
in one cab, though, so it was no problem for the two of them to find
their way back home when they were ready to go. We had planned on
going out to eat after the concert, and Uncle Bob asked me if I still
wanted to do that.
"Let's walk for a while," I said. "Maybe we can find something
I didn't know what to do, exactly. That's because one of the last
things Victoria did was make me sign a form that said I wouldn't talk
to the press or anybody other than my "significant other" about the
contest. She knew I wasn't married, but I'd never actually told
her I didn't really have a
significant other. Even as weirded out
as I was, I took the time to read the form before I signed it, and it
basically gave her the right to sue my socks off if I let the press get
wind of what she was doing before the baby got there.
So I wasn't sure whether to tell Uncle Bob about all this or not.
He was clearly curious, and I wanted
to tell him, because I knew he'd
give me the best advice.
"Must have been an interesting meeting," he said.
"Strange," I said back. "If somebody had told me what would
happen in there, I'd have said they were insane."
"You okay?" he asked again.
"I'm fine. I wish I could talk about it."
"I'm not sure. I had to sign a non-disclosure thing."
"Really!" he said. "How fascinating. And she actually offered you
"No, she offered me the chance to compete for a job. There are
three other women who I would have to compete against."
"I thought the drummer said they gave out six tickets," he said.
"Yes, but two women already said they weren't interested."
"More and more fascinating," he said. "Please tell me it isn't
I laughed. "No, it's nothing like that."
"So why can't you talk about it?"
"Because you're not my boyfriend," I said.
He was speechless for ten or fifteen feet. Then he took my
"Want to be my girlfriend?"
I laughed again, and put my arm around him.
"Yes, but my mother would freak out."
"We could keep it a secret," he said.
"You just want to know what Victoria Anderson wants with me."
"I just want you to be happy and make the right decision," he said.
I squeezed him. "I know. That's probably why I wish you
really could be my boyfriend."
He let me think as we walked. I looked down at the front of my
shirt, and thought about what was pushing that shirt out. I had
gone through a number of different relationships with my boobs.
First, I was impatient to get them. I was sure once I got boobs
that all my problems would melt away. Don't ask me why.
Then I got them and they were tender and sore, and I couldn't
roughhouse with my brother or friends any more. At least I had to be
careful if I did. And then they kept growing, until they were the
biggest in my class, and everybody stared at them. I felt like a
freak. Then there was the first time one of my nipples itched and
I squeezed it, and about fell out of my desk chair at school.
That night I had spent a lot of time squeezing both of them, and my
relationship with them changed again. When I got in high school,
I was quite sure no man knew what my face looked like - even my
teachers - because all they seemed to look at were my breasts.
There were times I hated them. I even asked my mother if I could get a
breast reduction one time. She said we'd talk about it when I had
a job and my own medical insurance.
Uncle Bob's hand tugged at mine and broke my concentration.
"How 'bout this place?" he asked. I looked and saw we were
standing in front of a Mexican restaurant.
"Good," I said.
We went in and they seated us. He just looked at me and I
realized he hadn't said a word in probably half an hour. That was
what was so great about him. He always seemed to know just what I
needed, and if that was peace and quiet, to think, then that's what he
gave me. I felt a rush of emotion for him. I watched him
open a menu, and suddenly wondered why
he didn't have a girlfriend.
"Why don't you have a girlfriend?" I asked.
He looked up, a smile on his lips. "Couldn't find one who could
compare to you."
"I'm serious," I said. "You're a great guy. Why aren't you
He stopped smiling. "Well," he said, closing the menu, "I
guess I'm kind of picky. I like my freedom. Some of the
women I've gone out with have called me opinionated, and
stubborn. One woman said I was homicidal, when we got into an
argument about whether there should be a death penalty or not. I
guess I've just never met the right woman. Relationships are hard
"I don't understand that. I like you," I said.
"You have to like me," he grinned. "I'm your mamma's brother."
"I don't' have to like
you," I said. "I want
to like you."
"Why can't you tell me about this job?" he asked.
I looked at him. "I guess it kind of has the potential to make
headlines," I said.
"You? Working for her? How could that possibly make headlines?"
I wanted to tell him. I wanted his advice. I didn't
actually need his
advice. I mean on the surface of things, it was
odd, but it was also a no brainer. Victoria Anderson wanted me to
get my breasts to make milk so the baby she was adopting could drink
it. And for that she was going to give me a place to live (that was a
heck of a lot nicer than the rat hole I was currently living in), and
food to eat (of a wider variety than the kinds of pizza Luigi's made),
as well as a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, most of which I could just
bank. In addition, I'd get to see the world and hang out with
amazing people, not the least
of which was Victoria Anderson
herself! And it wasn't dangerous. I'd have access to a
doctor. It was just an amazing opportunity. Except for the
fact that it was just fucking bizarre!
"You have to keep it a secret," I said.
"Okay," he said, leaning forward.
The waitress showed up. Uncle
Bob opened the menu and pointed at something. "This for me and
..." he pointed at something else, "that for her." He looked up
at the waitress and said "water for both of us." She left and he
looked back at me. "Now, where were we?"
"We were at the part where I tell you it's easy to say you won't tell
anyone, but you're going to want to tell someone," I said.
"You're going to want to tell my mother, especially if I decide to do
this and you don't think it's a good idea. So don't make promises
you might not be able to keep."
"Does she want you to murder somebody?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.
I kept it simple. "She's adopting an infant. She wants a wet
nurse to feed it."
He blinked. He frowned. "And she wants
you ... to find this
... wet nurse?"
"No, Uncle Bob," I sighed. "She wants me to
be this wet nurse."
Then, and even since then, I've tried to think of another time before
that when my Uncle Bob was speechless. I haven't been able to
come up with one. Eventually I said "You're staring at my
breasts, Uncle Bob."
"I am," he said. Then he looked at me. "Don't feel bad.
Isn't the first time."
I laughed, until I realized he was telling the truth. I think he
was still a little addled by the whole idea, and had just admitted
something without thinking about it first.
"You've stared at my boobs a lot?" I asked.
"Constantly," he sighed.
"Uncle Bob!" This wasn't funny any more.
"Look, Princess," he said, his face completely straight. "You're
a beautiful young woman. Every man who sees you looks at your
breasts. It's just the way nature works, so don't bust my chops
merely because I'm normal. And at the risk of being astonishingly
indelicate, I have even imagined your breasts ... um ... being used for
their intended purpose. But you can't just decide they're going
to make milk and ... presto ... they make milk." He looked
There was a lot going through my mind at that point, not the least of
which was his confession that he thought about my breasts rather ...
intimately. I mean that was weird enough. But what somehow
made all that okay was that he was even more uneducated about how
breasts worked than I was. And he was an adult, so that made it
seem funny somehow.
"There are things you can do to get the breasts to lactate," I said,
trying to sound wise about such things.
"Like get pregnant?" His voice rose.
"Other things," I said. "They have a doctor. There are
hormones ... medicines ... stuff like that."
"Oh," he said. He blinked. "Wow. This is blowing my mind."
"So I guess you're not the right person to ask if I should do this or
not," I sighed.
"Give me a minute," he said. "I just need to let the world calm
down. I keep expecting purple unicorns to emerge from the table
top, speaking Chinese, asking me if I need my toenails clipped or not."
I laughed again. This was part of why I liked this man so
much. "It's not that
bad," I said.
"Easy for you to say," he said.
"Well they're my boobs!" I
"Point taken," he said. "It's just that ..." He stopped
again and looked uncomfortable. "Never mind," he said then.
"So how is all this supposed to work?"
"I have to get a physical at this doctor," I said. I got in my
purse and got out the card she'd given me. "If I pass that, and
want to try it, I guess the doctor will do things. The way it
works is that the first girl who gets her breasts to lactate gets the
job. It lasts for a year and you get room and board and a hundred
and fifty thousand dollars."
His face went very still for a long time. Then he snorted and
coughed. He picked up his napkin and blew his nose.
"Sorry. I was just imagining four women, sitting around in a
room, topless, straining and grunting, and trying to make their breasts
"I don't think that's how it works," I said, taking him completely
"I know," he said. "But it's all I could come up with on short
notice. How do you feel about all this?"
"Part of my brain is screaming at the top of its lungs for me to start
right now," I said. "But another part of me says this is the most
ridiculous thing I've ever heard of."
He reached for my hand.
"Well it's not ridiculous. There have been wet nurses for
thousands of years. It was an honorable profession throughout
history. That's about all
I know about it, but at least that's
the impression I've gotten.
"Yes, but would my mother agree?" I asked.
He grinned. "Your mother would have a conniption fit, leading to a
heart attack, followed by an emotional outburst on the level of Mount
Vesuvius blowing its top again."
I let my shoulders slump. "Yeah. I know."
He squeezed my hand. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it."
I called for an appointment with Doctor Richards. When they asked
what the complaint was, I said I needed a physical for a job
application with Victoria Anderson. The instant I said it I was
afraid I'd broken some rule, but the woman on the phone said "Oh
yes. Yes. Let me get you a date." Apparently they
were being paid well for this, because she told me to come down the
next morning at eight.
I don't want to bore you with all the details of how induced lactation
works, but some of it is important, because of the decisions I made.
Basically the hormones that govern lactation are prolactin and
oxytocin, which are made by the pituitary gland. What that means
is they actually have nothing to do, directly, with the ovaries or
other female parts. A woman who has had a hysterectomy may still
be able to lactate. Prolactin, as the name might suggest, is the
hormone responsible for the making of milk in the breasts.
Oxytocin is the hormone that lets the milk be released. Both are
produced in response to nipple stimulation.
Now the other part of the equation is that during pregnancy, estrogen
levels are very high. Then, at birth, they plunge, and when the baby
stimulates the nipples by sucking, the pituitary kicks in and things
get all milky.
So, to stimulate lactation in a woman who is
not pregnant, what they
basically try to do is use artificial hormones to make the body think
it's pregnant, and then reduce estrogen levels dramatically and start
stimulating the nipples.
Sounds easy. But the fact is that it's a complicated mix of
various medications, that have to be taken at just the right times and
in just the right doses, because every woman's body is different, and
what happens naturally is not all that easy to work out artificially.
Which is why Doctor Richards said I might want to try doing it the old
fashioned way, that women had been using for centuries.
That involves extensive nipple stimulation on a timetable, in the
form of both massage and suckling. He said this could be done
either by a partner, or with a hospital grade breast pump.
He also said it was quicker than the medical procedure that was first
described ... and that in fairness to all the contestants ... we had
all been given the exact same information.
While the studies were not completely reliable, induced lactation using
medications was expected to bring a woman's milk in between one and
four weeks. Some studies suggested that using only direct nipple
stimulation had produced milk in five to thirteen days.
The choice, in terms of the four of us competing for the job, was
I don't know what prompted me to ask the nurse a question before I
left, but something did. The question was "How many of the others
have been here already?" Her response was "You're the first."
So I needed to jump right on things, if I was going to do this.
The problem was that, according to the information the nurse had given
me, which I scanned rapidly, I needed a live human being to stimulate
my nipples eight times a day, for twenty minutes each session.
That included both what they called "manual reservoir emptying
exercises," and sucking.
And I had no boyfriend.
Of course there were mechanical means of doing the same thing, but all
the literature said it didn't work as well, or as quickly.
So I needed a boyfriend. And I needed him quickly.
I didn't actually consider doing it, but I did think about an ad in the
paper. I could just imagine it:
Wanted: Man to stimulate my nipples 8
times a day. Must have good
fingers and ability to suck steadily for five minutes at a time. Will
hopefully only be needed for five to thirteen days.
Maybe I'm homophobic, but it never crossed my mind to try to find a
female to do this. Obviously it would work just fine with either
a man or woman doing the stimulation. I mean stimulation is
stimulation. And the first man
I thought of was Uncle Bob, but so
help me, I swear I'm telling the truth when I say that it was only
because I thought he might have an idea about how I could go about
finding a man to do this for me.
Now I couldn't just call him on the phone and ask him "Hey, Uncle Bob,
you wouldn't just happen to know some guy who might want to suck my
nipples for a week or two ... would you?" But I could call
him and say "I have an emergency and I need help. Can I come over?"
Now, you need to know a couple more things. First is that Uncle
Bob has his own business. He's a glass blower, and he has his own
studio at his house. He also creates the most beautiful stained
glass windows and hangings and that kind of thing. So he's home
most of the time. And the second is that I can't remember the
last time he said "No" to me if I asked him to do something.
You're probably way ahead of me, here, but the fact is I did
not go to
my Uncle Bob's house with the idea of getting
him to help me
lactate. I went there because I had this problem and I thought he
could help me solve it.
And while I was telling him my problem, I was looking at his
lips. And I liked his lips, and suddenly imagining them sucking
on either Frick or Frack just didn't seem like a horrible thing at all.
Which is how I arrived, somewhat indelicately, at the point where I
said "So I was wondering if you'd help me win this contest and be my
sort-of-pretend-temporary-kind-of boyfriend until I can lactate."
Imagine that! Uncle Bob ... speechless ...
END OF PREVIEW
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