Herbal Remedy

Older and run-down, the storefronts went dark and stopped coming back on. For the national chains, the stores would close, and within days, the signs would be taken down.  For local places, such as Barry’s Bake Shop, the blue sign remained dark forever. The real estate sign out front announced larger and larger numbers for available square footage.

Over a couple of years, the number of lighted signs reduced to two: American Pawn and Serenity Herbs. They were on opposite ends of the strip mall.

They hung on, except that Serenity’s sign started to flicker and some of the lighting burned out, making it read as ‘Srnity Hrb’.

James was out with friends one Friday, and I got bored. I checked their website, curious what kept them going. They sold the standard treatments for energy, memory, mental sharpness, etc. And, at the bottom, they said they had supplements that promised to ‘make you last longer’ and another ‘increase bust size’.

James loves me. He sees me and gets that same look he had when we first met. And when sitting together or working close in the kitchen, his hands find me, both as a kind of reassurance and subtle gropes that send a shiver up my spine.

I knew he had a thing for breasts. You live with someone, and you notice. Cleavage would catch his eye, and he’d slap his laptop shut with a guilty look when I walked into a room. We were going to get breakfast one Sunday, and he typed ‘br’ into the search engine to see when it opened. “Breast’, ‘breasts’ dropped down.

I criticize my body in the mirror, even as my rational brain tells me I work out and manage my weight. I feel pretty, and James’ reaction reminds me. But no one would ever type ‘br’ into a search engine and accidentally come across a picture of me.

Frida and I had lunch, and I told her about the ‘br’ thing and ‘Srnity Hrb’. Frida stayed in school and is about to defend her dissertation in organic chemistry; she reminded me that none of that kind of thing works. Sure, monthly hormonal changes have temporary effects, but your body is your body as long as you treat it right.

“Give me a boyfriend who looks at me the way he looks at you, and he can be into whatever he wants,” Frida said.

“I know,” I said.

But. We want what we can’t have, don’t we?

Driving home on a Friday, I got caught at the light just before Serenity Herbs. James was bowling with a couple of friends. I turned in, telling myself that I wanted to see this dying strip mall before it vanished forever, and as the car bumped over the cracks in the asphalt, I stopped and looked into the fluorescent light illuminating the herb shop.

A young man, probably an undergrad, sat behind the counter tossing a rubber ball into the air and catching it.

You’re silly, Claire, I told myself. Forget this, order a deep-dish pizza, and watch gossipy TV. I told myself that even as I opened the car door, walked to the entrance, and stepped inside.

Then I smelled the hemp and discovered the reason why the store still existed.

The student didn’t look at me, just kept tossing the ball in the air.

“Get you anything?”

I scanned the display cases with sun-faded signage. A few cellophane bags waited with herbs that had turned from green to gray. I started to leave.

“We got peach,” the student offered.

I turned back. He’d caught the ball and was looking at me.

“Peach?” I asked.

“Gummies. Fresh batch.”

I started to refuse, but  my brain told me that I always retreated, always backed off. Not this time. I turned around. The student had gotten up from his chair and leaned on the counter, the ball still in one hand. As I approached, he reached under the counter.

“Was reading your website. Herbs for increased breast size?” I asked.

He’d already grabbed something under the counter, probably the gummies, then stopped. Of course, his eyes went to my chest. He blinked, then returned to my eyes.

“Ok. Sure,” he said, and began searching.

He dug into the space under the counter, squatting behind it. A light dawned, and he turned towards the door to the back.

“One second,” he said.

He flicked a light on, and the rustling continued before he returned with a box, still taped shut. He produced a pair of scissors, cut the tape, and opened the box.

A pleasant scent of lavender came from the box, and he scanned an invoice before setting it aside. Then, he lifted out two plastic boxes.

Sleek, gray, and unmarked, he lifted the cover on one. I’d expected loose herbs to brew into a tea, but instead, they were small pills of faint violet. A card lay atop the pills: Once daily, each morning. Avoid caffeine for maximum effectiveness.

The top of the box was etched in gold leaf: Eidolon Therapeutics. The logo below was an abstract of curved lines converging on a central point.

“How much?” I asked.

He knitted his brow and lifted the invoice from the box. Lifting out a third box, he set it beside the other two.

“$8.79. They’re three for one right now.”

I did a rough count. Each box had about thirty pills.

“That’s it?”

He showed me the invoice. “It’s what it says.”

I slid a $10 bill across the counter. He made change and bagged the pill boxes. I took them all and turned to go.

“You’re our first customer for that,” he said.

I looked at the faded display cases and graying herbs. He followed my gaze and shrugged.

“Tell me how that works out,” he said and gestured to the bag, his eyes wandering.

I narrowed my eyes. “Right.”

The car smelled of lavender by the time I got home, and I did order a deep-dish pizza and watched gossipy TV. I also took one of the pills.

I’d fallen asleep in front of the TV, pizza box on the coffee table. James came in from bowling and found me. I drifted back to wakefulness to discover him next to me on the couch, eating a slice of the leftovers. He’d switched to something with guns and motorcycles, and he’d arranged himself so our legs were touching.

He was picking the onions from the pizza and tossing them into the box. I caught the scent of cigar smoke.

I looked at him without fully opening my eyes. The light of the TV played across his face, and his square jaw had a coarse stubble that made him look so… male. He finished a slice and reached for another. As he did, he caught me watching him.

“What?”

I shook my head, pretending to be drowsy. But I really wanted to just hug him and rub my cheek against his stubble.

He shook his head. “Had to get onions on it.”

“My pizza, my way,” I said.

He turned back to the TV and flicked an onion back in the box. “All hail the word of Empress Claire.”

I stole a kiss.

I took the pills each day, switched to drinking water instead of coffee, and didn’t notice a thing for about two weeks.

Taking a shower, I followed my routine, and as I wiped the sponge over my breasts, I shuddered. I’m sure everyone gets a flush from time to time when they touch themselves the right way, but this was different. My knees buckled. I dropped the sponge and braced on the shower wall.

Frozen in place, I waited for it to pass like a storm of sensation had shot lightning bolts of pleasure into me. I bent forward, head bowed, while water ran over me. It didn’t feel good. It felt addictive, like chocolate-covered sex while eating soft serve ice cream.

When it passed, I traced a finger across my nipple, and it happened again. I grunted, afraid to touch myself again. Settling down, I made tentative movements and lifted. My breasts were heavy, and I heard Frida. During a month, the body adjusts all the time, but it had never done this.

I finished washing, dried, and got dressed. The bra caused another shudder. Paralyzed by how good it felt, I looked at myself in the mirror. Fuller, heavier, I convinced myself that the bra was tight around my chest, too. But the stimulation was too good, too intense.

James knocked on the door. “Heading out.”

I looked myself in the eyes and watched myself say it. “No kiss?”

The door opened, and I turned to face him. He smiled, then glanced. Then glanced again. That look, that desire. I walked to him, sauntered really, and pressed my breasts against his chest.

He felt my hard nipples, and as we kissed, he pulled me against him. Breaking from me, he glanced down.

“Nice bra.”

Then, he turned away. I grabbed his arm.

“The girls deserve better than that,” I said.

I traced a finger in the valley between them.

Uncertain, he leaned forward and placed delicate kisses on each breast. Better than when I did it, I closed my eyes and sighed. Instead of being frustrated, it relieved the need, like a little pressure had come loose inside me.

“Going to need to finish that tonight.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he replied.

He stole another kiss on each breast, took a look, and tore himself away. I went to my nightstand and swallowed that day’s pill.

We both got home early. He beat me by a few minutes and was waiting. I’d debated teasing, but when I saw him, that went out the window. I locked the door, and we were on each other.

He undressed me, his mouth on my chest as he did it. I struggle to describe it, both because of the sensation and because writing it down reminds and charges me up again. It felt good, yes, with waves of warm, syrupy pleasure focused on my nipples, but it was him, too. His weight, feeling the size of his hands on my skin. And, I felt powerful. Feminine with a capital F. The kind of feminine that builds statues and ancient temples.

He’s stronger than me, but when absorbed with my body, he’s all mine. Feeling his desire, both in how he lost himself against my breasts and the hard insistence below, I felt I had all of him for the first time. He needed, and I fed it all.

As his desire drove him, I absorbed it all. The ‘br’ searches on his laptop would go away because he had so much better, so much prettier, so much more real, and so much more intensity with me.

I came the first time with just the nipple stimulation, and if he’d stopped there, I wouldn’t have wanted anything else, but he kept going. Three more after? Maybe two. Maybe four. I don’t remember and don’t care. What I got was complete.

He grunted and froze above me, staring into my eyes with such vulnerability and relief before collapsing beside me. Then, even after all that, his hand found my breast and stroked. It would have driven me insane that morning, but my need was fulfilled, and I relaxed and enjoyed every second. Even after his orgasm, my body still made him want to touch. ‘Br’ searches would be forgotten forever.

The following night was the same, maybe better. The night after that, then the night after that. James wanted, and I wanted him to want.

It might have been the fifth or sixth day. We were in the living room. We’d kissed, both knowing what we wanted. He slipped my blouse over my shoulders, then unhooked my bra. It had become undeniably too small. It felt silly, but I thought that taking it off was like letting my breasts out of their cage.

He traced down my throat and found my cleavage. Yes, cleavage. Not when I pressed them together, no. Now, all by themselves, a valley of enticing flesh came together with a fascinating swell that I would watch in the mirror and lose track of time. It invited James to explore. He did, finding and pulling my nipple into his mouth.

The bliss they promise with enlightenment or heaven followed. I didn’t track what James was doing because I didn’t care. It was good, and I wanted him to keep going.

Then, he stopped.

The haze of pleasure melted and tried to turn to anger. I looked down. He was looking up at me.

“Claire, are you ok?”

I nodded and closed my eyes, pulling his head to me. He resisted, and the tinge of anger rose again. He needed to keep going.

“No, Claire,” he said.

He licked his lips, and I followed his eyes. A sheen of white liquid glazed my nipple.  

Without thinking, I tried to pull his head towards it, but he refused. Anger again.

“Claire,” he said.

It was James, not an enthralled, needy boyfriend. James reached out to me.

I blinked.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I feel wonderful. Come back.”

“But,” he glanced. “Are you pregnant?”

I did the math. “No, not pregnant.”

“Then what?”

Tell him anything. Throw some ‘girl stuff’ explanation that’ll confuse and freak him out. But James looked at me. I sighed.

I told him everything. Showed him the pills, talked about the ‘br’ thing, ‘Srnity Hrbs’.

“Claire, why?” he asked.

“I want to be everything you want.”

“You are.”

Tears started, and I hated it because he’d think it was his fault. It was me, all me. “I know, but I see them, and I want so much to be that for you too.”

He backed down. If I hadn’t cried. I don’t know. He might have pushed, and things might have been different.

“I can go to the doctor. I’ll talk to Frida. It’s probably something else,” I pleaded and gestured between him and me. “This has been so good. I want it.”

“I do too. I want Claire.”

“I know. I’ll make sure everything is ok.”

He relented because he was James, and he meant it. We didn’t have sex that night, even though I still wanted it. Instead, he spooned me, and I stared at the wall, wishing he would just give in.

I called my doctor and arranged a tele-doc session. I told her that I’d had a small expression of milk and that I wasn’t pregnant.

“Any other changes? Prescriptions?” she asked.

“Stopped drinking coffee and caffeine in general.”

She shook her head. “That’s good, but it wouldn’t cause that. Can you think of anything else?”

I pretended to think. The gray box lay on the desk next to the laptop. I shook my head.

“Umm. Kind of embarrassing, but my boyfriend is really into…”

Bemused, her eyes sparkled, and she nodded. “Something you all engage in often?”

“Every day. He admitted that it was a fantasy, and we ‘ve been playing with it each night.”

Still bemused, her clinical expression turned into a kind of ‘you go girl’ knowingness. “Each night?”

I nodded.

“Well, consistent stimulation over time could lead to expression,” she said, eyebrows raised, emphasizing the ‘could’.

She actually blushed. “It would need to be vigorous, though, and consistent.”

“It’s both.”

She almost laughed, put a hand over her mouth, before she was able to put the professional mask back on.

“That’s probably it then. And you feel fine otherwise?”

“I feel great.”

She stifled her smile and looked thoughtful. “And you’re sure about your diet? Oh, what about any herbal supplements?”

I lied, feeling the swell of my boobs. I shook my head.

“I wouldn’t worry then. You will probably experience some expression if you continue, but it’s not harmful.”

“Anything else I can do?”

“You’re enjoying each other, and it’s creating an unusual side effect. That’s all. If something else happens, contact me, and we’ll do some blood work.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled and nodded, and as she ended the call, she turned away from the camera and put a hand to her mouth. Her cheeks were crimson.

I looked up Eidolon Therapeutics and found nothing except a notification of an LLC formed in Oregon two years prior. No website. No e-mail. The company's principal was listed as Liam Garvey. The address was a P.O. Box in Eugene. I couldn’t find anything about Liam Garvey.

I stopped at the herb shop on the way home. The clerk jumped up and waved away a mist of vape smoke. It took a minute, but his face dawned with recognition. His eyes went to my breasts and stayed there.  I leaned on the counter and tapped the glass. He broke from my chest and met my eyes.

“You remember me?”

He nodded.

“Eidolon Therapeutics. Are there side effects from the supplements?”

His grin was lascivious. “Effects, or side effects?”

“Side effects.”

He shrugged.

“Can I see their invoice? I need to talk to them.”

Hesitant, he drifted to the back and returned with a paper. I saw the logo through the page, an abstract of lines all converging on a central point. He read, then shook his head.

“Confidential, I can’t give you the number.”

I glared. “Ok. I’ll sue you first, then.”

He blinked and looked at the invoice. “There’s a phone number.”

“Give it.”

He shook his head. “I could call them for you? It’s explicit about giving information to customers.”

I should have pressed, and looking back, it wouldn’t have taken much. The way his eyes went to my breasts. A couple of loose buttons would have done it. But I was tired, and I needed James. Needed. We’d not touched each other since the prior evening, and I wanted to get home.

“Call him,” I said.

He reached under the counter and retrieved a ragged cellphone with a cracked face. He dialed and tried to pretend he wasn’t feeling me up with his eyes.

“Hello. My name is Tyler Bennett. I work at Serenity Herbs in- “

He listened. “Yes, Serenity Herbs.”

He listened some more. “A customer using your supplement…”

He read the invoice. “XK379. She’s asking about side effects.”

He nodded and listened, then looked at me. “Are you sick?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Not exactly.”

“She says not exactly.”

He listened further. “Ok. Right. I’ll tell her.”

He moved to end the call, then stopped, returning to the phone to his ear. “Of course I’m loyal, sir.”

He ended the call, then looked at me.

“Loyal?” I asked.

He ignored my question.

“I can offer a refund, and if there are concerns, he recommended seeing a doctor. Otherwise, he said you might consider stopping the supplement. The package does say the effects aren’t FDA certified.”

James was waiting at home. I hoped he was. I shook my head and went to the door.

“Ma’am,” he called from behind. “I don’t want to be rude, but it’s working, like really working.”

I knew I should get mad, especially how he was eyeing me up, but I didn’t. I flushed and felt an ache to be touched. I left and headed home, trying to be angry at Eidolon, the clerk, everyone, when all I could think of was James and pulling him to my breasts.

Jame pulled into the driveway just as I arrived, and I almost sprinted after him. I told him what the doctor had said. I left out my lie about the supplements and what had happened at the herb store.

“Continued stimulation can do that?” he asked.

“It’s what she said.”

We walked into the house together. When we got inside, he locked the door.

“Claire, I have to admit something.”

I prayed that he would tell me that he’d been obsessed and needed me as much as I needed him.

“Anything,” I said.

“I was thinking about you all day.”

I relaxed. “Me too.”

“No, not that. Well, that too, but something else,” he said.

I touched his forearm. “Anything. It’s ok.”

“You tasted good. Like really good.”

I kissed him and took his hand, pulling him behind me to the bedroom.

I’d never seen him like that night. James was always kind, but he’d never treated me as though I was delicate, precious even.

I sat on the bed. He knelt before me and unbuttoned my blouse, pulling it off my shoulders, and I thought he was teasing because he was so careful. He undressed me, his face inches from my breasts, but without touching. I wanted to grab a fistful of hair and slam him against me, but he removed my blouse, then my bra.

“I want you so much,” he said and breathed me in before kissing.

I felt like a goddess being worshipped. His kisses were like butterflies, the intensity on a slow incline as he grew more desperate, testing at each step to see if I might shove him away. That would never happen. I was trembling with need.

He latched somewhere in the midst of it all, pulling my nipple into his mouth and pressing it against the roof of his mouth. The first pulse of his suckle threw me over into orgasm.

As it pulsed through me, a tiny voice started repeating that I’d lied. I’d lied to the doctor and James. I told it to shut up.

I didn’t feel a flow. That came later. Instead, I felt a kind of energy moving between us. Warm, safe, double pleasured. It might have lasted minutes or a lifetime.

James was on his knees, his mouth on my breast, pulling me into him, one hand cupping the breast he suckled, clinging to me with the other hand. I eventually broke from him, and he looked up at me with such loss.

I slid onto the bed and lay on my side, patting the bed beside me. He slid up next to me and relatched.

My breasts had grown, and when I lay on my side, their weight swayed with my movement. Just try finding this on some website, I whispered to James in my head. You’re mine. All of you. And I’m yours.

After he’d finished with both breasts, he broke away. I’d stroked him to orgasm in the midst of it and had several of my own.

He looked up, and at the corner of his mouth, a white fleck of me remained. I touched my mouth, indicating it. He licked it away, his eyes closing in bliss.

We fell asleep twined together, waking up somewhere after ten. Hungry, I got up and made a plate of leftovers for us both. He shuffled into the living room and picked up his plate, joining me on the couch. I’d started some reality show from my playlist, one of the ones where wealthy, attractive women are horrible to each other. He leaned against me and ate.

I was halfway through when I noticed the show.

“Don’t you hate this?”

He shrugged. “You like it.”

We shuffled off to bed after a couple of episodes and didn’t talk about what had happened. My conscience reminded me that I’d lied.

I got home early the next day. I had to do something about my clothes. My bras had passed tight. I had red tracks on my shoulders at the end of each day that had begun to chafe. Telling myself that I needed them now, I went to a lingerie shop and felt a rush as I breezed past C and D cup labels and into the ‘I dare you not to notice me’ lingerie.

I stood before the dressing room mirror. I’d become stacked, an exaggerated hourglass with a tiny waist, curved hips, and swelling breasts. I winked at myself and wagged a finger, saying that I would only use my powers for good.

I wore one of the new ones as I left, not buttoning the top button of my blouse. Some heads turned, and the ache for James’ touch had a special fire when I got home. When he saw the lace lifting my breasts, he hesitated. I felt the first tinge of power. Of course, he went slack-jawed, I thought. I pulled him to me because I needed relief and because he was helpless to refuse.

Frida and I had lunch that Saturday, and it was the first thing she noticed.

“Claire, what? Did you?”

I leaned across the table. “Supplements.”

Her eyes went wide. “You didn’t?”

“I was curious,” I said and threw my shoulders back. “Turns out they work.”

“I guess they do.”

She looked at the menu, then back at me. She folded the menu closed. “The herb thing? Really?”

I nodded as the waiter approached. He set two glasses of water and a bread basket down. He talked about specials, his eyes lingering. I met his eyes, a knowing scold on my face.

Frida shook her head. “What’s James say?”

“I give his mouth better things to do than talk,” I shot back.

It took a minute for her brain to absorb that and start working again. “You have some of it?”

“Jealous?”

“A little, sure. More curious what’s in it.”

I reached into my purse and handed over a folded piece of parchment, feeling like a dealer. Three of the supplements were inside. She looked at them and sniffed.

“Lavender?”

I nodded.

“And no side effects? You feel ok?” Frida asked.

“The instructions say no caffeine.”

“Anything else?”

I almost lied, almost. “There is one thing.”

She leaned forward.

“I’ve started, umm, expressing,” I said.

“Like emotional stuff?”

I shook my head. Her eyes searched, then it dawned on her. She made a protective move across her chest.

“Milk?”

I nodded. “I talked to the doctor. She said consistent, vigorous stimulation can do that.”

Her concern turned to knowing. “Vigorous, huh?”

“Told you his mouth was busy.”

She looked at the pills. “Weird though.”

We talked about other things, and she put the supplements in her purse. But her eyes drifted to my chest like it had a gravitational pull. Her brain was already working on what my body was up to, and I also imagined she’d become a little curious.

And she confirmed it in the parking lot. We’d separated by my car. She took several steps and came back.

“I have to ask,” she said and glanced at my blouse. “How big?”

“G,” I said, feeling  flush.

She shook her head and went to her car.

James was home when I arrived. He didn’t seem to be doing anything. I found him sitting on the couch.

“You and the guys were bowling?”

“Begged off. Was thinking about you.”

I sauntered. I had the body for it now. I stood by the couch with a hand on my hip and looked down at him. The ache in my breasts replied to his look. The emotional need had started to become physical. My breasts would swell during the day until they ached, and his mouth on me became relief on top of how good it felt.

“Oh? And what were you thinking?”

“Would you let me?”

Hand still on my hip, I traced the other over my blouse. I brushed a nipple, and the pleasure was exquisite. My eyes fluttered.

“Let you what?”

“Please, Claire. I need you.”

Please. His tone. The word. He wanted. I had. I decided.

“Try that again,” I said.

“Please.”

I crooked a finger and walked before him, hips swaying. Captive audience in the palm of my hand. I sat on the edge of the bed. He approached, and I put my foot against his chest, holding him away, then traced a finger over my breast.

“Tell me what you want. I’m intrigued, but not convinced.”

He held my ankle up with both hands, and I leaned back on my elbows, feeling the weight of my breasts shift. I traced with a fingernail.

He stammered; he was actually at a loss for words. My beautiful James got tongue-tied.

“I-. I-. It’s just that you’re,” he exhaled and tried to gather himself. “You’re so hot, Claire. I feel helpless. It’s like you’re a drug I can’t get enough of.”

“Just the same Claire as always. Lying here,” I said and ran a fingernail over my nipple. “not doing anything.”

It hurt him. For a second, I wanted to keep going, but he’d passed need. I lowered my leg and beckoned. “Come here.”

He slid next to me and kissed my neck. “I need you, Claire.”

I shushed him, and he unwrapped me like I was a gift, and he wanted to save the paper.

My pretense of power vanished when he latched, and the blissful, warm flow began. I petted his hair. The need had become more than emotional. I fed him. Part of me flowed into him. That meant he belonged to me.

He didn’t react to it, just drank. His throat worked, and his tongue pressed me against the roof of his mouth. He came without me touching him, and I floated somewhere in and out of orgasm for what might have been hours, like it stopped being a peak but was a state I could visit whenever I wanted.

Both of us empty and filled, he settled into the crook of my arm.

“We could have done this after bowling,” I said as I stared at the ceiling.

“You’re so much better. All I want.”

The next month was bliss, surrounded by the barest necessities. I went to work, returned, and James fed on me. He offered more and more of himself, taking over grocery shopping, laundry, and anything else.

I didn’t think much of it then. It felt like a progression. His need for me gave me the right to him and whatever he offered. I didn’t ask. He gave because he wanted to.

He needed me, but I needed him too. My body filled and ached as the day progressed, and nothing but James would give it release. Milk filled my breasts and would not let down until he came to me.

Lost in his own desire, I don’t think it occurred to him how dependent on each other we were. I didn’t either until later. He just expressed his passion with such fervor that it became its own drug. His adoration fed me, and I grew to need it as much as I needed him to feed on me.

I admit that I did take advantage. I bought some outfits that I wouldn’t have before. Sleek, form-fitting, and low cut, I had the confidence for them, and I silenced a few rooms just because I existed. It was fun, especially teasing men whose confidence withered with a raised eyebrow or when I scratched a non-existent itch where my leather top met my breasts. But it reminded me that James was the one who did it. The attention was fun. I needed James.

Frida invited me to lunch three weeks after I gave her the pills. Serious, she became alarmed when she saw the leather pants and tailored blouse, which looked vacuum-formed to my body.

The Matre’d gave us a great table after I batted my eyelashes, and Frida handed me a stack of papers.

“Claire, you need to stop taking the pills.”

Looking at the pages, I remembered part of the reason I quit after getting my master's: phenylpropane, aminobenzene-1,2-diol, 2-aminopentanedioic acid. My eyes swam with it as my mind tried to construct the molecule diagrams.

I shook my head and put the paper down.

“This isn’t somebody shoving gingko into a cellophane bag. It’s fabricated. Sophisticated fabrication, beyond pharmaceutical stuff, and it’s not just one thing. It’s a cohort of neurotransmitters, along with some potent hormones and stuff I don’t recognize beyond what the chromatograph tells me it is.”

She looked across with me with that same anxiety I saw when she entered our freshman dorm. Like a scared mouse, she’d looked at me and double-checked the number on the door before asking if she was interrupting.

I’d introduced myself, asking if she was Frida. The university had sent me her name when I got my dorm assignment.

“How did you know that?”

“Well, if you’re in the right room, you should know my name,” I’d said.

She pulled out the slip and looked from it to me. “Claire?”

I nodded.

It took a while, but she got better without ever losing that timidity when stressed.

“Frida, easy. Tell me what  you think.”

She took a breath. “Right. Ok.”

She searched, her brain working.

I reached across and put a hand over hers. “Start with the hormones.”

“Prolactin, a heavy dose of it. That explains the lactation, but there’s no oxytocin to go with it. So, your body would produce milk but struggle to release it. It would also explain some of…,” her eyes drifted to my breasts. “Your growth, but not all of it.”

I nodded and continued to hold her hand. “Ok. What else?”

“Wait, you said you expressed. Is that still happening?”

My breasts answered all by themselves. Full, heavy, and beginning to ache, I thought of James. Then, I looked at Frida, and I imagined her being pulled towards me, transfixed on my breasts. I had to close my eyes.

“Tell me the rest,” I said.

“The neurotransmitters. Not really neurotransmitters, mostly. Like it’s going for a paradoxical effect. It’s not pushing reward. Instead, it might be reducing inhibition, and your brain might reward you for being more…,” she searched. “Something.”

Her eyes drifted over my cleavage again. I shivered.

“Go on,” I said.

She shook her head and reached for the report, flipping down some charts showing gas chromatograph spikes. “Nothing in it is filler or an accident. Trace cellulose and sugar compounds are almost nil, but at least a third is pure something.”

She held up a sheet showing an impossibly long organic chain. “Pure, whatever it is, but the literature doesn’t have anything on it.”

“Where’s the smell come from?”

“Right, the lavender. It’s not lavender. It’s in the same aromatic family but something else, not naturally occurring or no known natural source.”

The waiter appeared. I’m not sure he realized Frida existed until after I’d ordered and gestured towards her. He tore his eyes away for an instant and listened while glancing back at me.

“Claire, you’ve not said anything,” Frida said. “If James is, um, drinking… he might be absorbing some effect of this too.”

I flashed anger. “What happens with James is private.”

I didn’t want her to get any ideas. James was mine.

Frida shook her head, confused but still thinking like a scientist.

“Doesn’t make sense,” she said. “There’s a missing piece. And the lavender. Why put it in at all? Everything else is so pure.”

She looked out the window, her face unguarded. She could have been that eighteen-year-old freshman again. A trembling rabbit.

“Frida, how long have you been grinding on this?” I asked.

“Couple of days.”

“You sleep at all?”

She shook her head. “Never seen anything like this.”

“Frida,” I said.

She continued shaking her head.

I dropped my voice, the same one that calmed James. Easy, smooth tones, just above a whisper.

“Frida, look at me.”

She did. I tilted my head and smiled. “Everything is fine. You’re fine. James is fine. I’m fine.”

She nodded slightly.

“I know. I worried.”

“Of course. We’re friends, and you warned me. I’m so glad that you looked into all this.”

“I was worried,” she repeated.

“It’s ok now,” I reached across and squeezed her hand.

She returned a tired smile. Her eyes drifted down, and she sighed. “I was worried.”

“I know.”

She blinked, her eyes clearing partially.

“You do look amazing.”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes lingered, and I matched my breathing with hers, her eyes rising and falling with the swell of my cleavage.

“That’s it,” I whispered.

The waiter reappeared. Frida blinked.

We’d kissed once in our sophomore year. Bored on a Saturday night, we’d talked about girls. She admitted to curiosity, and I did too. She’d giggled as our lips approached and had sighed when they met.

Nice, her lips were soft, and the feminine shape next to me was nice, something I could have been talked into, but not enough to seek out. Frida hadn’t wanted to discuss it again.

A waiter arrived with our food.

I pretended not to notice Frida’s glances and how they became more frequent while we ate. It wasn’t like with men who were like leading dogs around with a leash. Frida was a shy woodland thing, and I let her furtive glances remain furtive.

We finished, and the waiter returned. He slid a slice of cheesecake onto the table after taking our plates.

“Did you order that?” Frida asked me.

I looked up at the waiter, eyes wide. “No, I didn’t.”

“On the house,” the waiter said.

“Aren’t you sweet,” I replied.

He blushed and retreated.

“Doesn’t try to hide it, does he?” Frida asked.

I smirked. “Are you jealous?”

Her face turned crimson, and she stabbed a fork into the cheesecake.

We finished, and she insisted on paying. I let her, and we walked out together. She slipped her hand into mine. I let her, and we walked to my car even though it was at the outer rim of the lot.

“You’re going to stop?” she asked.

I nodded and pulled her against me. Her entire body softened, and I didn’t scold her when her head lay against my breasts.

“Thanks for being such a good friend.”

She sighed and would have stayed there forever, but I needed James. I patted her back.

“I’ll call you,” I said.

She tore herself away, glancing over her shoulder at me as she walked towards her car.

I drove home. James waited in the bedroom. Eager and trained, he vibrated with desire while waiting for my permission. I approached him, aching, before guiding his hand along my flank. Blank need answered, and when I guided his hand to the top button of my blouse, he did the rest.

He latched once I was naked, and for a terrifying instant, he suckled and nothing happened. Like a swollen river pressing against a dam, my need crested but wouldn’t cross over. Frustrated, I willed myself to release, but that collided with nothing.

James became insistent, his pull intensifying.

This wasn’t going to happen. I would fill to bursting and explode. I heard Frida. Oxytocin. What had she said?

James released and looked up at me, as helpless and needy as I was.

“Claire, please. I need it.”

Relief, perfect relief followed. He saw it and fell on me. Better than anything, he drew and drained me. Oxytocin be damned. He needed me. Of course he did. I closed a hand with a fistful of his hair inside it. He would feed until he burst.

Satisfied and trembling, he settled beside me.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ll do anything.”

I sighed. Everything was fine.

Then, it wasn’t.

Three nights later, he latched, and nothing happened. He was torturing me, and I felt real anger towards him. Then that tiny voice reminded me. This was James, beautiful James, who loved me, wanted me, and respected me. He wouldn’t torture me, not even accidentally.

In the dark of our bedroom, he pulled away and looked up at me, eyes blank and wide. I waited. My body waited. Just say you want me. That’s all. If you want me, all of this works. I know, and my body knows.

But he stared up at me, waiting for me to tell him what to do.

I think I know now, but I didn’t then. James had gone. The spark, the last remnant of will that gave him a choice, had drained away. More helplessly mine than ever, he’d crossed over into my possession.

My body needed him, James, to give himself.  But, he couldn’t. He would do anything. He couldn’t give anymore because I already had him. My body needed someone who came to me and made their own decision. James could no longer decide anything.

“Say it,” I said.

“Tell me. Anything.”

“No, what do you want?”

“I want what you want.”

The swelling river stopped rising and began to hurt. I still needed, and the man who fed me couldn’t anymore.

I didn’t understand that then. I got angry, and he took it, not defending himself. Enraged, I ordered him to get dressed, and we drove.

We passed ‘Srnity Hrb’, and I saw the undergrad inside. He became the first thing to take care of after the emergency room.

Standing in line, James looked at me with patient adoration, and when we got to the front, I drew a blank. No, it wasn’t life-threatening. Soul-threatening, maybe, not life-threatening. They shuffled us to the waiting room.

I had time to unravel the first pieces of it all sitting in that miserable place. Frida and her analysis, my new body, and I felt the first wave of many waves of guilt when I realized how I’d manipulated her at lunch. Then, through the ache, I realized that she would agree if I pushed her a little. She’d feed if I wanted her to. I could go to her place. It was late, but she wouldn’t mind once she felt what I was bringing her.

James touched my arm. I glanced in a burst of anger, then saw his eyes. Anger flipped to tears. He looked at me with pure adoration.

A doctor in a white lab coat approached.

“James, Claire?” the doctor asked.

He stood before us, medical clipboard in hand. I stood. James followed me. Even in that state, the doctor took a look, and I had a fleeting thought of how easy it would be.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Follow me, please.”

His lab coat was stuffed with every kind of instrument. Stethoscope, Otoscope, and a prescription pad. It swayed like a pendulum under its weight. He led us through the waiting room and down a hallway past the noise.

Searching, he found an examination room and flipped on a light. No nurse came with us. I didn’t care.

We stepped in, James holding my hand, and the doctor traced his eyes over the chart.

“Ok. Rapid onset catatonic state,” he said. “Any drugs, alcohol?”

“No,” I replied, reciting another lie. My body produced the drug.

He set the clipboard aside and smiled at James. “Can you hop up on the examination table for me?”

James looked at me, and I nodded. James did as he was told. The doctor felt James’ neck.

“A fall?” he asked.

“No. We were going to bed.”

“Did you all eat the same thing for supper?”

“Yes, rotisserie chicken from the grocery store and a salad.”

“And you feel ok?”

My breasts throbbed. “Yes.”

He checked his vitals, listened to James’ heart, and examined his tonsils. He noted everything and sat on a little stool. His badge said Dr. Liam Garvey. A small logo with curved lines converging to a single point was in the lower-right corner. I’m such an idiot. I didn’t connect the name to the invoice from the herb shop or Eidolon Therapeutics.

“His body looks ok, but his pupils are slow to respond, and his actions are severely inhibited. Anything you can point to that preceded this? Something maybe a day or so ago?”

What could I say? I’d enslaved my boyfriend because of a neurochemical cocktail that gave me huge boobs and lactation? I shook my head.

“I can’t think of anything. Is there anything you can do?”

“Half of the patients I see think I’m a genius. Half think I’m an idiot. Things clear up on their own. Otherwise, they take a minute. James could be either, but he’s young and healthy. It’s just a matter of when his body realizes that.”

“What now?”

He looked at James, then at me. His expression became odd. “Feel free not to answer, ok?”

I nodded.

“Do you love him?”

My heart swelled and ached at the same time. “Yes.”

“And he loves you?”

Tears tried to form. I managed to nod.

“Loyally?”

The odd expression remained, and I didn’t understand what he was asking, but I answered anyway. “Yes. We’re loyal to each other.”

It satisfied him, and he turned back to the chart and began to write. “I usually don’t do this, and please don’t make me regret it.”

He extended his hand. It was a business card with a phone number written on it. “My personal number. Call me, and I’ll catch you up.”

He glanced at the chart and searched. He held it up for me to see. “Is this your number?”

It was. I nodded.

“Ok,” he said. “We’ll admit him for observation, do some tests. I’ll call and update you. If you don’t hear, call me. Fair?”

Willing to do anything and also desperate to feel the release my body screamed for, I agreed.

“That’s it then,” he said.

I rose and hugged James. He looked at me with such adoration, such helpless love.

“Love you,” I whispered.

“Love you,” his voice replied.

Garvey walked me out and stood under the hospital's awning. He reassured me, even as his eyes checked me out. Then, he looked irritated and went inside.

I went to the car and got in.

Once inside, I started the car and tore out of the parking lot for ‘Srnity Hrb’. The parking lot was empty, save for what looked like an old Chevy Lumina from the 1990s. The undergrad was still inside.

The door rattled as I snatched it open. He jumped to his feet.

“Tyler,” I said. “Need to see what you have on Eidolon Therapeutics.”

“Eido-“, he said. “Oh, right.”

I reached the counter. He took a step back. Even when I wore a sweatshirt and gym pants, his eyes wandered over me. After drinking me in, he shrugged.

“Don’t sell it anymore. The man took everything.”

“What man?”

“Some doctor. Garvey.”

My heart clenched. “Garvey?”

“Something like that. Bought out the stock and took everything a few days ago. Said the trial worked.”

“Anything else?”

A bad liar, he pretended to think. Then, he shook his head.

“Tyler. What else?” I asked.

“Nothing. He bought the stock. That’s it.”

His eyes wandered again. I didn’t even think. I just stretched my shoulder a little. Like a dog who heard a strange bark, he tilted his head, fascinated by the play of shapes under the sweatshirt.

“Tyler, what else?”

“He asked if I’d taken any. I said no.”

“And?”

“He asked if you’d done anything to me.”

“Done anything?”

“Said I’d know you. You’d be super hot by now. There’d be no mistaking what you were.”

He had that much right. “What did he say I’d do?”

“He said to say no to anything you ask. That I needed to remain loyal.”

His eyes traced over my chest, trying to wander but not managing it.

“Loyal?”

He nodded, his jaw going slack.

“What do you think I’d do?”

His laugh started as a laugh, but it deteriorated into an adolescent, lascivious giggle.

I put my hand to my stomach, stretching the fabric over my breasts. “Well?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want me, Tyler?”

“No-,nn..”

“Honest?”

“Yes.”

Crude, it was enough, and I let down, my knees buckling with relief. Tyler didn’t notice. He was already gone. I came around the counter and led him by the hand.

The dirty storeroom had a broken couch covered with an excuse for a sheet. I led him to it and lifted the sweatshirt over my head. I guided him by pulling the back of his head down to me.

His instincts didn’t fire at first, but when I gathered my nipple and pressed it into his mouth, the primal memory took over. He suckled with growing ferocity. I lay back, not caring how dirty the couch was.

I guided him to my second breast, and he continued. My body didn’t care who he was and rewarded me with rolling bliss. He’d said yes. It was enough.

The bliss faded, and I thought of James. I opened my eyes. Tyler had slid to the floor. I put my bra and sweatshirt back on.

“Tyler,” I said.

He opened his eyes. Blank, glassy, he stared up.

“What did Garvey tell you?”

“Say no. All I have to do. Be loyal. Don’t consent. Ever.”

“And what else?”

“Better supplier if I kept my mouth shut. Higher THC.”

I rose, leaving him on the ground, and exited the store.

I found Garvey’s number and dialed. Garvey answered.

“Claire, it’s very late.”

“I spoke with Tyler.”

A beat passed.

“I warned him,” Garvey said.

“What now?”

“You can have everything you want. James, all the changes. We’re well financed.”

“That’s not James.”

“You’re not Claire.”

I knew debating was a waste of time.

“James isn’t at the hospital then?”

“No.”

“What if we meet and talk about this?”

“No, we won’t share the same air. Even knowing everything I know, I felt the temptation, and you weren’t even trying.”

“Same air?”

“A figure of speech.”

Frida had talked about the chemicals. Aromatics. The lavender.

“Pheromones?”

“Shall I give you the address where you can join James? Since you’ve been with Tyler, you’ll still be able to negotiate a good deal. That won’t be true in a day or so. You’ll agree to anything.”

“Let’s meet. Then, you’ll agree to anything.”

He laughed. “You have no idea how tempting that was at the hospital. Even knowing how it works doesn’t protect you. Loyalty is fascinating, isn’t it? Ferocious and delicate at the same time.”

“You asked about loyalty. Tyler mentioned it too.”

“Loyalty and being able to induce can change the world. Look at the gift you have. We’ll show you how to use it.”

I hung up. The phone beeped a moment later. He’d sent a text: When you’re ready.

I drove home, and my steps echoed. I sat on the couch and smelled James. Putting a pillow to my nose, his scent saturated it, and despite my fear, it relaxed me. Staring into space, pulling the pillow to my chest, even in that despair, I felt the first tension of my body refilling itself, preparing for James or what had been James.

He was somewhere, and I needed him. He needed me.

I don’t know how long I stared. I just know I woke up, and the sky outside had begun to lighten. I read Garvey’s text again, imagining how things would have been different in that examination room if I’d remembered.

Then, I thought of Tyler. He might still be lying on the floor. He hadn’t deserved that, and I hated myself. He hadn’t deserved it, and I hadn’t cared.

Maybe calling Garvey was best. Without James, a string of Tylers waited for my need to overwhelm them.

Then, I thought of Frida. Maybe there was a way to control it?

I dialed her number. Her drowsy voice answered after several rings.

“Claire?”

“I deserve everything you’re about to hate me for, and I still need your help.”

“I can’t hate you, Claire.”

“Wait until you hear.”

I told her everything. The lies. James. Garvey. Tyler. She stopped asking questions a few minutes in and let the story spill out like the mess it was. When I was done, I stopped, feeling empty inside but with no satisfaction to go with it.

She didn’t reply for long enough that I prepared to hang up.

“Pheromones, it fits,” she said.

“He didn’t confirm, just said that we wouldn’t share the same air.”

“Right, right, but I wondered.”

I let it sit.

“Claire, I have to admit that after lunch the other day, I went home and thought about you.”

“I thought about you, too.”

“No, thought about you.”

I paused. “Oh.”

“I wondered why the next day. You’re beautiful, and I remember sophomore year. But, after lunch, I just wanted and couldn’t explain why. Then felt weird about it, like something broke loose and started rattling around. Like I was someone else.”

Frida went silent again before speaking.

“How long before your body makes all this irresistible?”

“Not sure. More than a day becomes torture.”

“And you need some kind of consent to let down?”

“Yes, I need them to want me,” I said.

I wanted to cry, but held it back. “I need someone like James.”

“Claire, will you trust me with something?” Frida asked.

“What?”

“I’m going to the store. I’ll get you some food and a breast pump.”

“No, Frida. Don’t come here.”

“I’ll put it on the porch. I won’t come in. I’ll text you when I’m gone.”

I remembered her eyes at lunch, and my body gave the rush. A few words, and she’d drift towards me, eyes glassy and full of need. I imagined her body against my breast. I sighed.

“Claire?” Frida asked.

“You have to promise. You won’t try to come in. I’ll invite you if you ask, I know it.”

“I promise.”

I called in sick only because telling them I was never coming in again would have prompted someone to come see me. Needing noise, I turned on the TV and watched nothing.

I jumped when I heard the rustling on the porch a few hours later. Then, it was over, and my phone vibrated.

“All safe.”

I cracked the front door. Grocery bags were laid on the welcome mat. I scanned the front yard and driveway. Nothing moved. I lifted the bags.

Frida stood on the sidewalk. I pushed the door closed.

I put the food aside and pulled the breast pump out. It took a minute, but I figured it out. My body refused to cooperate. Plastic suction wasn’t James. It wasn’t even Tyler.

I put it aside and ate. Frida had gotten macaroni and cheese. Best comfort food ever. She liked mashed potatoes with gravy.

As my body began to ache, the phone rang. It was Frida.

“I kept my promise.”

“You always do.”

“How hard is it getting?”

“No worse than I deserve.”

“Claire, I need you to listen.”

“Don’t come here.”

“Listen. That kiss sophomore year. I think about it a lot, all the time, but I wasn’t sure you wanted it as I did. And, the more I think about it, the more I realize how much I love you. You know every secret. You’re the one I like telling things to, and what broke loose at lunch was that I felt it come back at me. You wanted me, and I felt it. I’d dreamed that I fell into your breasts and disappeared.”

“Frida, please stop.”

“I wanted to hate James when you all met, but he was so into you and was so nice, I had to accept that I’d missed my chance.”

“We can’t do this.”

“What’s your body say?”

It said yes.

“I know what’s happening, Claire. Right now, before anything happens. No drugs. No pheromones. I wanted you way before your body chemistry did what it does,” Frida said.

I hung up the phone.

The phone beeped. It was from Claire: When you’re ready.

I didn’t know what was right. My body wanted. I worried Claire didn’t know what she was getting into. She’ll cease to be, but the end together would be bliss.

I typed: Ready.

She didn’t respond, but I heard footsteps on the porch.

I unlocked the door and pulled it open a sliver. Then, I stepped back.

I thought the wind moved the door, then it opened wider. Clair peeked.

“Ok to come in?”

I didn’t respond, hoping she would. She glanced around and found me. The expression on her face said everything; she wanted this, and my body replied.

Pushing through the door, she closed and locked it behind her. I turned and walked towards the bedroom. It felt like one of those stories from mythology, like I was the monster Frida couldn’t resist following.

Her footsteps followed, and in the bedroom, I went to the bed and sat down.

With James, I’d grown so confident. I could dress up and watch his reactions, feeling how much I affected him.

Sitting on the edge of that bed, I imagined I wasn’t much to look at. Worried and needy, no form-fitting clothes or sharp makeup, it was just me. Frida came towards me. She looked down and bent for a kiss. I answered, and we held it without moving.

Everything since sophomore year returned, the shape of her mouth, the softness of her lips. I took her hand and guided it to my chest. Her breath caught as I put her fingertips on the buttons of the shirt.

Unbuttoning, her mouth slid down my chin, across my neck, and down to my cleavage. I unhooked the bra.

“I want you so much,” Frida said.

I guided her. She latched. My milk flowed into her.

Like James, she softened, and her breathing slowed. Unlike simple stimulation, that primal part of her brain took over, and her suckling became insistent. I touched her cheek and separated from her.

Eyes unfocused, expression slack, she looked up at me like someone who had been kicked out of heaven.

“Claire..”

“Shhh…,” I replied and slid onto the bed, lying on my side.

I held my arms out, and she came to me, and I closed my arms around her. She latched again, and I closed my eyes.

Arousal fired deep inside. I put a hand in the small of Frida’s back and pulled her against me, needing our bodies to touch in every way. She molded herself to me, and as she did, I felt the slow movement of her hips.

When I slid my hand between her legs, her suckling faltered. I matched the rhythm of my hand with her mouth’s. It put us back into sync, and she drank.

I lost track of time. My body had been so trained that I wove in and out of orgasm several times. Frida’s rising need inclined upwards, and when I shifted her from my left to my right breast, her hesitation became unmasked need. She pressed into me, drinking and thrusting against my fingers.

She moaned, and it vibrated through my chest. Then, she tensed and went still. Unlike James, her orgasm did not slow her pace. Instead, she returned to my breast with more determination and need, her hips becoming wanton.

When she tensed a second time, the ache of my body and my need to feel that connection with another person had retreated. I’d climaxed some number of times. I wasn’t sure, and Frida’s drinking slowed.

Drifting towards sleep, she pulled away, laying her head against my breasts and snaking an arm around my torso, pulling me to her.

“Claire, let me do something for you,” Frida said.

I petted her shoulder. “You did.”

“No, something to please you.”

If I’d not been so floaty, I would have told her that she did, but even in that state, I understood. Just like James, she wanted me to be pleased, to reassure her. I’d tried to explain to James, but he’d not understood, and he acted as though I’d rejected him when I told him I didn’t need anything since he’d already given me so much.

I petted Frida’s hair. “Sleep first.”

She sighed. “Ok.”

I fell asleep, not sure if she had.

When I opened my eyes, the sun had set, and the light in the bedroom had become that blue twilight after the sun had set. Claire wasn’t against me, and I smelled cooking smells. Dressing, I padded to the front of the house.

Frida moved between the stove and the counter. The cooking smells differentiated into roasting chicken and onions sweating in a pan. She opened the oven, retrieved a browned chicken, and set it on the counter. She saw me and smiled.

I moved to help.

“Please, Claire. Let me. I want to.”

I nodded and sat at the table. She poured me a glass of ice water, offering it as if I were a queen or goddess. I thanked her, feeling guilty when she turned back to cooking. When I’d thanked her, her face brightened to something quiet and joyful. I’d approved of her.

She made a rice pilaf to go with the chicken and set it before me. When she came to the table, she set her own plate down, then hesitated by the chair. I didn’t say anything, and she sat with a touch of disappointment. She’d wanted me to grant her permission.

We were halfway through when I remembered James. Chicken soup with rice. His favorite comfort food. I set my fork down and put a hand over my mouth, trying not to cry.

“Is it bad?” Frida asked.

I shook my head and blinked the tears back. “No, it’s delicious.”

She hesitated before resuming her chewing.

We would get James back.

“Did you find out anything else about the drug?”

“A couple of hints,” Frida replied. “There’s a biotech firm in Eugene, Oregon, which has filed some patents for boutique chemical fabrication. Another one in Austin, Texas.”

“They could make it?”

“Maybe. They have the patents. They’ve not licensed it or seem to be using it.”

“Eugene, Oregon?”

She nodded.

“Eidolon is based in Eugene,” I said. “The LLC was formed there.”

“I thought of something else, Claire. The reason he wants you and James. No matter how good his tech is,” Frida swallowed and glanced at my breasts.

Her eyes became unfocused.

“Frida,” I said.

She nodded and tore her eyes away. “Biological sources are still way better. Your… hormones, pheromones. They are way beyond anything he could produce. He’d need them before he could try to replicate them.”

“James’ blood?”

“Yes, and probably sweat from you, along with your milk.”

I set down my fork and thought. He’d told me that when she was ready, he’d be waiting. With James.

I looked at Frida.

“Will you help me?”

Frida nodded, “Yes, m…”

“Ma’am?”

She blushed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Frida, I need you, brilliant and independent, not following because I tell you.”

She took a deep breath and pushed the sleepy drift from her eyes. A touch of disappointment crossed her face, like when I’d pushed her away from my breast. Then, she looked at me like Frida.

“Claire, what you are is potent. I’m not sure you understand. Every part of me wants to lie at your feet like a supplicant while you luxuriate on a throne. Just being near you makes it difficult to think. If you told me to do something, I’d probably do it. I understand James and what he went through now. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“I don’t want a batch of thralls.”

“Too late, Claire. You have at least one, and it’s so hard to disagree with you. I’m terrified you’ll send me away, get angry, or disapprove. But I want you to know that there’s no conflict. I want you. I have since we were roommates, and after today, my body and mind want to give in and belong to you.”

I wanted to run. I’d only wanted to be James’ everything, and as I heard Frida’s words, I realized I had. And I had to deal with it.

“And my friend, the one since college, wants to help?”

“Yes. I told you that before this afternoon.”

Still doubting, I got up and got my cellphone. I dialed Garvey’s number.

“Claire, a pleasure,” he answered.

“You need samples, right? Blood, sweat, milk?”

“I need you to participate, Claire.”

“You’re not getting that. Blood, sweat, milk, and I get James.”

“You can’t let down without him, Claire. I just saw him, and he misses you horribly.”

I swallowed, tears pooling at the bottom of my eyes. My James is in pain. I took a shuddering breath.

“Last chance, or I’m hanging up and calling the police.”

I felt the smug, knowing smile. “Did you use Tyler again?”

I hung up the phone.

I set it on the table, my hand trembling on top of it. Frida tried to hug me, but I threw her off. I deserved how rotten I felt.

It took five minutes before the phone buzzed.

“Blood, sweat, milk, and saliva,” he said and began reciting quantities. I put the phone on speaker.

“Say that again so I can write it down.”

He repeated it. Frida listened and nodded towards me.

“The original offer stands, Claire. It’s so much more.”

“A friend will arrive in the parking lot at the herb store tomorrow. They will give you and only you the samples. If James is not returned, I will call the police.”

His voice became muffled as though he’d covered the microphone, then it cleared.

“I’ll be there. Make sure the samples are.”

“And James,” I emphasized.

“And James,” Garvey replied.

I ended the call.

“Are you going to be ok?” Frida asked.

I shook my head. “We need to get going.”

At the university, she gathered saliva and sweat and packed them up. A nursing student friend of Frida’s helped with the blood. Afterward, we returned to the house and put it all in the refrigerator.

I didn’t speak, but I picked up the breast pump and went to the bedroom. Frida followed. Feeling like a cow in an industrial farm, I attached the pump to one breast and pulled Frida to the other.

Her courage and attempts to be strong melted. Her eyes glazed over as she fell into her milk trance and began to suckle. I sat on the edge of the bed, hating myself and watching the liquid flow out of me while Frida vanished into easy bliss.

The bottle on the pump reached the fill line, and I put the pump aside, letting her drink while I stared at the ceiling. I hated that it still felt so good and that my body pulsed with orgasm when Frida’s body froze beside me as she came.

Sated, she broke from me. Pure adoration looked at me with dilated pupils and a slack jaw. I deserved none of it. I pulled Frida against me and petted her hair.

I didn’t think I had fallen asleep, but I must have because I woke up, and it was light outside, and more cooking smells came from the kitchen.

Feeling dirty and like a biohazard, I showered before dragging myself to the kitchen. Frida worked at her laptop, but when she saw me, she jumped up and presented me with a plate of grits and scrambled eggs.

I wanted to go into the bedroom and curl into the fetal position and let the universe swallow me. Instead, I sat straight and began to eat. It was the moment I realized I had the power I did, and I needed to learn how to use it.

Frida fixed a plate for herself and ate, checking on me with furtive glances. I imagined ways Garvey could double-cross us during the exchange and how I could counter them.

When I finished eating, I slid the plate to Frida. She took it and her own and began cleaning the dishes.

“Once you’re finished, I’ll walk you through how we’re going to do this,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Pushing my nerves down, I ruminated all day. Frida hovered, working on her laptop, half-devoted, half-fearful. By late afternoon, my body began to remind me that it needed release, and Frida’s eyes lingered on my blouse.

I rose and beckoned. She followed.

Stripping off my shirt and bra, I lay on the bed. Frida climbed to me and latched.

Instant bliss followed. Her warm shape against mine tried to distract me, along with the waves of pleasure that came with it. Frida had drifted into her haze of milky, submissive need. I guided her to drink from both breasts, my mind on ‘Srnity Hrb’.

I curled her against me when she finished, arm possessively around her shoulder. She slept, and I continued thinking while the sky darkened.

When it became fully dark, I listened to the quiet sounds a house makes, along with the air conditioner turning on. Frida hadn’t moved, quiet and content; she was mine now, too.

Turning my head, I checked the clock. It was time.

I shook Frida. She drowsed and woke, her eyes glistening as she looked up at me in the faint light.

“We need to get ready,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She balked for an instant, nuzzling against my shoulder, then rolled away. I rose and dressed, then brushed the tangles of bedhead out. I looked at myself in the mirror.

You don’t deserve Frida and James, I told myself. But I had them anyway.

“Frida,” I said.

“Yes, Claire.”

“Time to go.”

I drove. Frida sat in the passenger seat, the pack of samples on her lap.

The American Pawn sign glowed at one end of the strip mall. ‘Srnity Hrb’ glowed at the other. I passed by the parking lot once. Tyler was behind the counter in the herb shop. I circled and returned, parking in the shadow between the two signs.

Putting the car in park, I shut it off and dialed Frida’s number. Her phone buzzed, and she answered it, putting it on speakerphone.

A dark van slid from behind the herb shop. It waited in the glow of the shop’s sign.

“If you think anything’s wrong, just speak. The phone will pick it up,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re very brave, Frida.”

Her eyes closed, a wave of my approval washing over her. She pulled the door open.

Once she’d crossed half the distance, I started the car and moved it so it faced the van. I left the car in gear, my foot on the brake. Garvey wasn’t getting away.

Frida’s footsteps and random noise filtered through as she walked. When she entered the halo of light before the herb shop, the van door opened. Garvey stepped out.

Frida stopped. “Is that him?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Keep going.”

His smugness radiated through the darkness, and he smiled at Frida, arms spread.

“Another of Claire’s thralls. What’s your name?” Garvey asked.

Frida stopped and said one word. “James.”

Garvey looked past her to me, although he couldn’t have made me out in the dark. He leaned toward her. His voice dropped and became difficult to hear through the phone.

“You know the effects are permanent, right?” Garvey asked.

“It’s a hormone release, doctor,” Frida retorted.

“Genetic activation, Frida. If you’d ever gotten to your dissertation, you might have learned about that.”

Frida faltered, and she looked over her shoulder.

“Might be time left, though. How many times has she dosed you?” Garvey asked. “Takes time for them to activate.”

He stepped closer. Frida jerked back, turning back to him. She shook her head.

“James.”

He tilted his head and made a helpless gesture, going to the van. He pulled the door open. James, his hands cuffed, sat on the van’s floor.

I almost lifted my foot off the brake and slammed the accelerator to the floor. If my aim were perfect, I could have shaved Garvey off the van like peeling an orange. If my aim were perfect.

James stepped onto the ground, his shoulders hunched. Garvey inserted a key, and the cuffs came off. His eyes found Frida, and she gestured towards the car. James began to walk.

Frida turned sideways, holding the samples out. She looked like she was feeding a wild animal and trying to keep it from taking her hand. Garvey took it and slid the van door shut.

“Be sure to tell Claire that she’s this way forever,” Garvey said.

Frida backed away, eyes on Garvey. I got out and closed my arms around James.

Shivering, he clutched at me, kissing my neck and face. I needed to let him, but hardened that need and led him to the car's back door, guiding him into the seat. Frida had crossed the distance before turning away from Garvey and trotting to the passenger door.

“Be sure to tell her, Frida,” Garvey called. “Forever.”

Once Frida was in the car, I backed away. Garvey didn’t pursue. He stood in the light of ‘Srnity Hrb’ until it disappeared from the rearview mirror.

The drive home took forever. James didn’t speak, didn’t complain, and distress radiated off him in waves. Frida glanced to the back seat and to me, her eyes catching the light of the dashboard. When her phone beeped, ending the call between us, my body jerked.

“Sorry,” Frida said.

My guard still up, I pulled into the house's driveway. Frida started to get out, and I put an arm across her chest, looking at the front door.

“Wait,” I commanded.

Getting out and going to the porch, I peeked through the windows. Nothing stirred. I unlocked the door and walked into every room before returning to the porch and beckoning Frida and James.

They walked towards me together, her arms around him. I continued watching the street until they were both inside, and I could bolt and lock the door.

And, when I turned, James had crept behind me, his arms closing around me, his head against my breast.

“I love you, Claire. I need you.”

Even with feeding Frida, my body responded, and his desire washed over me.

“I need you,” I whispered in his ear as I felt my milk let down.

I led him to the bed. No pretense or teasing. He needed me, and his hands shook too much to undress me. I felt guilty, remembering when I’d teased him, and despite his desperation, he waited until I lay back on the bed. I took his hand and pulled him to me. Instinct took over, and the strength of his pull and the ferocity of his embrace hurt. I let it.

When James had fed, he fell asleep, his face placid. Frida stood in the doorway to the bedroom.

“No one followed us,” she said.

I nodded, and she turned to go.

“Come here, Frida.”

“No, it’s ok.”

“Come here, Frida.”

She came to me, sliding to the side opposite James. I made room and pulled them both against me. James stirred when I adjusted to make room for us all, then settled back to sleep.

Frida’s breathing settled, and I thought she had fallen asleep, but as I began to drowse, her voice broke the silence.

“I worry that he’s right,” Frida whispered.

“Permanent?”

“Yes, gene therapies can do that. I should have thought it.”

“You did everything right, Frida.”

She shivered against my side.

“I just wish I had thought-“

“Shh…”

I stared at the ceiling, petting them both until their breathing told me they slept.

I’d begun to suspect. I’d stopped taking the supplements, and nothing had changed. I’d hoped it was lingering effects.

But I’d asked to be James’ everything, and it had been given to me, all of it.

And now that  I had it, I was not giving it back.

Epilogue

The train trip was long, and I relaxed into it, enjoying how the scenery changed to thick forest, marked by ancient, dormant volcanoes.

The time James had been separated from me gave him something of himself back. Like an addict, the withdrawal had been horrible, but it gave me a chance to apologize. He wouldn’t listen to it. He told me that he’d known as much as I did and had made his choice.

He also told me that his decision hadn’t changed. He loved me. He wanted me. I’d thought the sensation of his feeding on me felt good. You should try hearing someone tell you that you are their everything and feel it, body and mind.

I have to refuse him from time to time. The desire to let me consume him and fall as we both did before remains in him and me both, and I have to be the responsible one. I have the power over him and Frida, and the pleasure it gives me must be tempered by the self-discipline to control it, for all our sakes.

I see the effect my presence has on rooms. I feel like a virus when we go out to the movies or  a restaurant. Over an hour or two, I become the center of gravity, and it is fun to tease and watch that desire strip people’s masks.

Past that, the masks can become volatile and even dangerous. People don’t realize how much my pheromones and the rest tilt the space.

Like now, when I’m riding on this train. The space is close, and over a long trip, when the scenery changes to thick forest, my influence becomes more than attraction. It becomes obsession.

When James talked about Garvey holding him hostage, he struggled to recall details. He’d thought he’d dreamed at first, but as time went by, he became certain. Garvey had taken him on a train and had said how much he loved them. I checked, and with Frida’s help, we found some security footage. James was right. Garvey loved trains.

The porter glanced at me when I moved towards Garvey’s compartment. He approached to confront me, and I smiled. He sighed, his smile going soft.

“This is ok?” I asked.

He nodded, even unlocking the door. I touched his cheek and thanked him.

Garvey watched the scenery when I stepped in, the hum of the rails beneath my feet hiding my approach. When I sat, he jumped.

Surprise, recognition, disbelief, and desire chased over his features. Then, his eyes went to my body.

“I wanted people to connect,” he whispered, his gaze turning from desire to hunger.

“Of course, doctor,” I smiled. “Like we are now.”