Dr. Elias Mercer’s office smelled like lavender and antiseptic, a combination that somehow made the framed diagrams of mammary glands on the wall feel less intimidating. The silver-haired endocrinologist leaned forward in his chair, steepling his fingers as he studied James and Jennifer with warm, crinkled eyes.

“Let me start by saying,” Dr. Mercer began, “in fifteen years of helping transgender women lactate, I’ve never had a cisgender man walk into my office with this level of commitment. It’s… refreshing.”

James sat up straighter, grinning. “Yeah? So you think it’ll work?”

The doctor chuckled. “Oh, it will work. The human body is remarkably adaptable. But,” he raised a finger. “let’s be very clear about what you’re signing up for.”

He slid a pamphlet across the desk titled Induced Lactation: Protocols and Realistic Expectations. Jennifer’s fingers tightened around James’ as Dr. Mercer walked them through the process:

Hormone therapy (starting soon): Progesterone and estrogen to mimic pregnancy, followed by domperidone to stimulate prolactin.
Physical stimulation: Regular pumping sessions to “train” the breast tissue.
Side effects: Tenderness, possible weight gain, mood swings, noticeable breast development, loss of libido.”

“How noticeable is ‘noticeable’?” Jennifer asked, voice strained.

Dr. Mercer sighed. “Honestly? It’s hard to tell. Some transgender woman see incredible results after six months. Some don’t even see significant changes after two years. On average, I would say your husband wouldn’t get away with wearing a fitting t-shirt after everything is said and done.. Of course, there are procedures that we can consider down the line remove excessive tissue if need be.”

James swallowed. Right. Okay. Temporary sacrifice for long term gain.

“And the timeline?” Jennifer pressed.

“If you want milk production established by the due date, we’d need to start as soon as possible, latest within the next two weeks,” Dr. Mercer said. “A six month run up gives us the best shot at full supply.”

Two weeks to decide. James’ pulse thudded in his ears.

The doctor softened. “Look, medically, this is safe. You will read about chemical castration, but that’s generally reversible once we get off the hormones. But it’s a marathon, not just for you, James, but for both of you.” He nodded at Jennifer. “You will each be experiencing the pregnancy hormones in your own way, and you will have to be each other’s support system through mood swings and frustration.”

James squeezed Jennifer’s hand. “Still in?”

She exhaled. “I’m still… processing. But if this is what we decide on…” She turned to Dr. Mercer. “How successful is it, really?”

The doctor smiled. “With compliance? I’d give him a 70% chance of producing enough to exclusively feed. And 100% chance of becoming the most interesting parent at daycare.”

They left the office clutching pamphlets and a business card, the weight of the decision settling over them.

“So,” James said as they stepped into the parking lot. “Do I get, like, a ‘World’s Okayest Dad’ mug now? Or do I have to earn it with my soon-to-be acquired milking skills?”

Jennifer burst out laughing, the tension snapping like a rubber band. “God, we’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

James kissed her temple. “Only if you’re with me. All the way.”

She nodded slowly, watching the sunset paint the clinic windows gold. Two weeks to choose their adventure.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel impossible.

* * *

The baby superstore was a fluorescent-lit maze of pastel-colored gadgets, each aisle a reminder of how their lives were about to change. Jennifer trailed her fingers over a display of impossibly tiny socks while James examined breast pumps with the intensity of a man preparing for a NASA mission. He had gone back to Dr Mercer’s earlier in the week to get bloodwork done to establish the dose of his upcoming hormone regime and had also made a precautionary deposit at the sperm bank.

“This one says ‘hospital-grade,’” he announced, hefting a sleek machine that looked like it belonged in a lab. “Might as well go big, right?”

Jennifer snorted. “Just remember, you are the one who’ll be hooked up to it at 3 AM.”

James waggled his eyebrows. “Worth it.” But then his grin faltered as he caught her expression. “Hey. You okay?”

Jennifer blinked hard, staring at a onesie printed with little rockets. “It’s just… tomorrow, everything starts. The hormones, the appointments, the…” She gestured vaguely at his chest. “Changes. Today’s our last normal day for… a long time.”

James set down the pump and pulled her into a hug right there between the diaper genies and the bottle sterilizers. “Hey. We will still be us. Perhaps just… upgraded.”

She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cheap cologne and fabric softener. “I know. I’m overreacting.”

“Good,” he murmured into her hair. “Means you haven’t been replaced by a pod person yet.”

* * *

That night, they moved slowly, tangling together under the sheets like they had all the time in the world. Jennifer traced the planes of James’ stomach, memorizing the way his skin warmed under her touch. This body, she thought. Soon it would be different.

James cupped her face, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “Whatever happens from here on out,” he whispered, “it will always still be me in here.”

She kissed him, pouring every ounce of love and fear into it. Then, with deliberate slowness, she slid down his body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his hips, his thighs, everywhere she knew made him shiver.

When she took him into her mouth, it wasn’t just about pleasure. It was a reminder. A promise. The way James gasped her name, fingers threading through her hair. No matter how much the world shifted around them, this was them and would always be them.
Afterward, curled against his chest with his heartbeat under her palm, Jennifer smiled.

“Still with me?” James mumbled, already half-asleep.

She kissed his shoulder. “Always.”

Outside, the moon hung bright and unchanging. Tomorrow, the adventure would begin.

But tonight? Tonight was theirs.

* * *

James sat on the edge of the exam table, paper crinkling under him as Dr. Mercer reviewed the final bloodwork results. The clinic’s air conditioning hummed softly, carrying the faint antiseptic scent that always made James think of serious business.

"Your baseline testosterone is already on the lower end of normal," Dr. Mercer said, tapping the chart with his pen. "That actually works in your favor – less resistance to the hormone shifts we're about to trigger." He glanced up with a small smile. "You’re an excellent candidate, James. Medically speaking, this should be smooth sailing."

James grinned. "Hear hear! I’m medically excellent."

Dr. Mercer chuckled and slid a neatly labeled pill organizer across the counter. "Let’s go over this one more time."

The Regimen:
1. Spironolactone – Twice daily, to suppress testosterone. ("Say goodbye to morning wood," the doctor said dryly.)
2. Combined Estrogen-Progesterone Pills – The same cocktail used in birth control, now repurposed to mimic pregnancy. ("Mood swings and cravings are not optional,"* Dr. Mercer warned.)
3. Domperidone – Four times a day, to kickstart prolactin production. ("The real MVP of milk-making.")

James nodded along, committing it to memory. "So when do the fun side effects start?"

"Give it a week for the fatigue and tenderness," Dr. Mercer said. "Full lactation potential won’t kick in until month four or five, assuming compliance." He handed James a folder. "Weekly bloodwork at first, then monthly. Any concerning symptoms–uncontrolled blood pressure, severe depression–you call me immediately."

James swallowed the first round of pills under the doctor’s watchful eye, washing them down with a sip of water that suddenly tasted like “the future”.

* * *

The subway ride home felt surreal. James clutched the paper bag of medications to his chest, hyperaware of the weight of them. He pulled out his phone and snapped a selfie–Day 1: Officially a science experiment– sending it to Jennifer with a thumbs-up emoji.

Her reply was instant: Proud of you. Also, I bought pickles. The universe demands clichés.

James laughed, his chest tight with something that wasn’t hormones yet – just love, and maybe a flicker of nerves.

By the time he unlocked their apartment door, a weird calm had settled over him. He set the pills on the kitchen counter, lining them up like soldiers.

Jennifer appeared, leaning against the doorway with a smirk. "So. How’s it feel to be "medically excellent"?"

James pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her hair. "Like I’m about to nap for a decade."

She snorted. "Domperidone drowsiness?"

"Mhm." He nuzzled her temple. "Also, your husband is officially on birth control. Which is wild."

Jennifer’s laughter filled the apartment, bright and warm. "Welcome to the sisterhood."

That night, as James drifted off with Jennifer’s hand resting over his (still-flat, but not for long) chest, he thought:

This is happening.

And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a leap, just the next step forward, together.

* * *

James stood in front of the bathroom mirror, shirtless, poking experimentally at his left nipple.

"Ow. Ow. What the hell." He prodded again, wincing. "Jen! Come here!"

Jennifer appeared in the doorway, toothbrush dangling from her mouth. "Mmph?"

"Something's wrong with me," James announced gravely. "I think my nipples might be... defective."

Jennifer spat out her toothpaste. "Let me guess. They hurt?"

"Like they've been rubbed with sandpaper! Is this normal? Am I dying?"

Jennifer wiped her mouth, trying and failing to hide her grin. "Congratulations, babe. You've officially hit puberty, part two." She reached out, gently swatting his hand away from his chest. "Stop poking them! You're making it worse."

James groaned. "How do women live like this? I can't even wear a shirt without wanting to scream."

Jennifer opened their closet and began rifling through her drawers. "First lesson of having sensitive nipples: cotton is your friend. Second lesson..." She tossed him a silky lavender bralette. "Get ready to upgrade your wardrobe."

James held up the delicate garment between two fingers like it might bite him. "You want me to wear... this?"

"It's padded. No seams. Trust me, it'll change your life."

James eyed it skeptically. "I feel like this is a trap."

Jennifer folded her arms. "Do you want to keep whimpering every time the AC blows on you?"

"...Fine."

Five minutes later, James emerged from the bedroom looking like a man who'd just discovered fire. "Oh my God. Oh my God." He cupped his hands under his newly-supported chest in awe. "It's like they're floating on clouds. Why don't all clothes feel like this?"

Jennifer smirked. "Welcome to the dark side. We have better underwear."

James did a little spin, admiring himself in the mirror. "Do they make these in black? Maybe with some skulls or something? You know, to preserve my masculinity?"

Jennifer tossed him her phone, already pulled up on a lingerie site. "Babe, by the time we're done, you're going to have opinions about underwire."

James flopped onto the bed beside her, scrolling through options with newfound reverence. "This is so weird. And also... kind of amazing?"

Jennifer kissed his shoulder. "Just wait until you discover the joy of wireless bras."

James sighed dreamily, already clicking "add to cart".