[fair_lady350z]

Laurie died just hours after giving birth after she developed a massive pulmonary embolism. The sheer joy of the new baby became lost in the despair of a mother's death.

"Sarah, you must help your brother through this difficult time," my mother softly to me after the funeral.

"Yes, Mother, so I must."

* * *

I didn't take me long to begin producing milk. A friend of mine with no neck hooked me up with his drug dealer, an unscrupulous Scottish pharmaceutical executive who was in the States to peddle "Stiffy" in the black market (that's the subject of my next story, "Size Matters, But A Stiffy Matters More"). But no steroids for me. I took massive dosages of Domperidone.

Russell named the baby Laurence. "Just don't call him Laurie," I cautioned. "It's Larry."

I moved into Russell's house to take care of the baby. Russell took a few days bereavement leave and then went back to the office. My father thought it best that Russell immerse himself in work and Dad immediately gave him a big case.

Larry slept a lot and hardly fussed, except when he was hungry. But when Russell would try to feed the baby the bottle, Larry wouldn't drink it and my brother wondered why. I didn't tell him what Larry liked to suck on. My mother watched the baby during the day while I worked. But only being a few blocks away, I shook loose several times a day to feed Larry. Or Mother brought him there and I gave him a drink in her car in the parking lot.

My parents and I hounded Russell to go out with his friends some time and have a little fun. He just seemed so depressed. Finally, Russell agreed.

Russell's friend Brian came over to pick him up. He came in for awhile and had a beer.

"Where are you guys going?" I asked Brian as Russell finished in the shower.

"Hooters at Station Square is having a big bash. Free wings with every pitcher of beer. But I don't like wings."

"Oh, you don't?" I inquired, just making conversation.

"No, I like the breast."

"Just like Russell," I muttered knowingly.

"What, Sarah? I didn't hear you."

"Why is it that the male of the species is so fascinated with breasts?" I snapped irritably, partly because he had been trying diligently to look down the front of my brand new AIX Armani Exchange white silk open-back halter dress. I hadn't worn a bra. The boss had told me to get all dolled up for work that day to impress some important clients. So I did. But I couldn't party with them that night I had insisted because I had to care for my infant nephew. The dudes looked so disappointed.

"Huh?" Brian blurted.

"You know--boobs--tits."

"Well . . . I . . . uh . . . it . . . uh . . . they . . ."

Just then Russell walked in the living room and saved his friend from further embarrassment. They, at Brian's urging, left in a hurry.

I looked through Russell's collection of old movies and decided on The Pawnbroker with Rod Steiger. I had seen it before and really liked it.

Soon I slipped off my dress and lounged around in nothing but my panties. I crashed on the couch and fell asleep watching the movie. Hours later I heard Larry fussing and went and got him. Immediately he latched onto my nipple and went at it greedily. I took him to the living room, started the movie over, and fed him on the couch.

And then Russell walked in.

"What the . . . Sarah . . . what . . . what are you doing?"

"Watching The Pawnbroker. Rod Steiger was nominated for an Oscar for this flick. Do you remember that 'blood on my hands!' final scene?"

"I kind of . . . uh . . . well . . . after I saw . . . uh . . . the rack on that black chick . . . I can't remember what happened after that."

"True, the movie did set a new industry standard for frontal nudity," I expounded. "Russell, is that all you think about--boobs?"

"Uh . . . well . . . I must . . . uh . . . say that yours are rather impressive, my dear sister. But why are you lying on the couch with Larry in nothing but your panties?"

"I'm teaching him how to please a woman, Russell," I joked. "It's best a dude gets started learning early because many men don't seem to be able to grasp the fundamentals." I snickered, thinking of my last lover. He had never performed cunnilingus until he met me, and once I "taught" him he never wanted to stop. Which was fine most of the time but people do have to sleep. Unfortunately he got transferred to San Francisco and phone sex just didn't seem an adequate substitute for what we had together in person. So I got a dog instead.

Larry had lost my nipple when he fell asleep. Now he opened his eyes and looked at his father with what I swear seemed like a twinkle in his eyes. "He's the one who looks pleased," Russell remarked.

"Russell, you remember that picture of you and Mother when you were a baby and she was breastfeeding you? The one I always laugh at every time I look at it. Mother says she didn't wean you until you could talk. According to her, the first sentence you ever said was, 'I want the breasty!' Like father, like son."

"Why yes, of course I remember, Sarah." He stared at me even more intently, focusing his eyes on the area between my neck and navel.

Just then Larry latched onto my nipple again and began to gobble hungrily.

"Yes, that's right, Russell, I'm breastfeeding your son."

"But . . . how . . . what . . . how . . ."

"Oh, don't be so naïve, Russell. Many adoptive mothers are able to breastfeed. Why, even some men breastfeed. Don't you listen to Rush Limbaugh?"

"You know, I do recall him talking about it. I don't think he likes the idea."

Russell sat beside me on the couch as I nursed Larry. He looked at me so . . . so . . .

"What is it, Russell? You are looking at me quite oddly."

"Not oddly, my dear sister--lustfully. I want the other one."

"Huh?"