Just a whole lot more to love...

In two more months, just nine weeks, production was up to 110 ounces a day, about a pint short of a gallon or five ounces from each breast at each pumping. "Is there a record for this sort of thing?" Phillip asked during one of his checkups at the clinic.

"Yes," said Dr Parmenter. "You've easily got the record for milk production by a male human, but you're not that close for record female production."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," said the supergeek. "The record is 7.88 liters. Set by a Russian grandmother who had been producing milk continuously for more than thirty years."

"That's--two gallons ten ounces!" said Phillip, who was quite used to such conversions now.

"Approximately," agreed Dr. Parmenter. "Perhaps when you've been doing this for thirty or forty years, you will break her record."

"Thirty...years?" Phillip was gobsmacked. It had not occurred to him that he was likely, perhaps even required by his medical condition, to continue getting milked every day for the rest of his life.

"But congratulations!" said Dr Isla de Pescaleone, who was glad for the boy even though her proposal had not contributed much to his treatment. "You lost twenty pounds in the last month and fourteen the month before that. Twelve more pounds and you'll be below 300! Are you going to celebrate?"

"I think so," said Phillip. "I'll turn twenty next month and I'm going to get new clothes."

"Good, good," said the doctor. "I'm sure you will enjoy shopping for them."

Dr Parmenter snorted. "Perhaps you should buy some bras," he said with his typical bluntness. "Your breasts now are almost all pink fat and they look bigger than before--the only part of you that's getting larger instead of smaller. Wearing a bra might be a smart idea. You're going to get pretty saggy if you don't."

Phillip stared at the socially clueless medico. That was another blow to his ego, though his masculinity was in tatters already from being treated as a milch cow. He left the clinic quickly, so no one could see him cry.

The worst of it may have been that he secretly enjoyed being milked. While it was going on, he felt calm pleasure with occasional spikes of something that was almost joy. Of course, he couldn't tell anyone that, it was so unmanly.

Back home, after his four pm milking (delightful as usual), Phillip considered his wardrobe. So far during his weight loss he had been simply retracing his steps through his advancing weight but he was mightily tired of shapeless jeans and balloon-like shirts. They didn't really fit anyway.

The truth was, while he had lost almost 20% of his peak weight, he had lost much more dimension in his belly than his hips or chest. He intended to order clothes from online so he would need his sizes. In about five months he had gone from gargantuan to merely huge. But his shape had changed as well as mass shrinking.

He measured around the largest part of his chest. Fifty-five inches, down from fifty-seven. He sighed. That didn't seem like a lot. His waist had been fifty six and was now...forty eight? That was better. But around his hips was only down to sixty-one from sixty-four. His neck size had shrunk almost that much, from twenty-six to twenty-four.

He had been measuring over his clothes. Now he did something he hadn't done since he left the clinic. He stripped off all his clothes and stood in front of his largest mirror naked. Being honest with himself, he did not see a fat man standing there. He saw a fat woman.

Large breasts and massive hips separated by a slightly smaller waist gave a womanly impression, along with his general hairlessness. And the only real evidence of his membership in the male half of the human race did not show, hidden by his fat. He spread his legs apart and tried to bring his member forward. Had it shrunk even more?

He'd given up more than a year before trying to piss while standing, it just wasn't worth the effort and cleanup he invariably had to do. He gave milk, he pissed sitting down, he had an ass like a hippo. What defined him as a man? A nubbin of flesh no one could see?

Weeping, he fell across his bed and almost broke it. He lay there sniffling and feeling sorry for himself. He hadn't gone out and around much in more than two years. He didn't have any friends. He hardly even remembered anyone from high school because he had already been a blimp and stayed by himself.

He glared at the clock. More than an hour before his next milking, which always brought relief from his depressions. He wanted desperately to massage his breasts manually, but that always caused premature leakage and feelings of guilt for wasting his milk.

Maybe he would have been better off just to eat himself to death. It was probably one of the more pleasant ways to go, he supposed. Now what did he have to look forward to? Feeling good while being milked? Thirty or forty years as a one-man dairy, probably alone? Who would have him? He was a freak. He even cried like a woman, he accused himself.

Someone at his door. He reached over and pulled the coverlet over himself just as his mother walked in. "Ma," he protested. It was quite obvious that he was naked under the cover but he didn't point that out.

*

"You've been crying," his mother said. She plopped herself down as close to his face as she could get. "Wanna tell me about it?"

He shook his head. Yvette reached out a hand to brush hair away from his face. "You're going to need a haircut. If we're going to celebrate you breaking 300, you want to go the barber. A new style to go with your new clothes?"

Phillip sniffed. "Dr Parboiler said I should get a bra. Otherwise my tits will be hanging on the floor."

His mother stopped brushing his hair. "He said that?"

"Well, not the last part," Phillip admitted. "But it was implied."

"Okay then," she said. "Still, he shouldn't have said the first part either." She paused then said. "Parboiler." They both snickered.

Phillip sighed again. He could see the clock from where he was lying and he had another hour before he could hook up to the twin pumps again. His nipples ached, but they did so most of the time now. "Ma," he said, "do they look bigger than they did before?"

"Uh," Yvette hesitated. "Well, they get bigger and smaller all day long. Maybe not bigger but--fuller. Rounder. It...it's something that happens when you're lactating, giving milk."

"To women," said Phil. He lifted a foot and kicked at the wall.

"Stop that," said his mother. Then, "Do you want to try on a bra?"

He made a noise. "None of yours are going to fit me."

She agreed. His mother wasn't petite or anything, in fact, Yvette approached statuesque for someone who stood only five-foot-four. But she wasn't massive like Phillip. "You're unlikely to find anything to fit in stores, either. We'll have to order online."

"Hah. No bras for cows like me in stores?" Being rude and crude about his situation helped somehow. Anger had more energy than depression, at least.

"Don't put yourself down like that, honey," said his mom. “You're going to keep losing weight and...." She stopped. It had occurred to her too.

"And I'm going to keep getting more girly-looking. My boobs are going to maybe get even bigger and my waist is getting smaller while my ass stays enormous." He broke off in sobs. Even anger had failed to defend him.

"Girls don't call them boobs unless they are trying to be funny," she said absently while she resumed stroking Phillip's hair.

"I don't care," said Phillip. "I should just stop this--this milking--and let myself die." A stab of anticipated loss struck him in the heart. He knew he wouldn't be able to do that but the muscles around his nipples had contracted and he now had two growing wet spots on his chest, concealed by the duvet which was too thick to get soaked through.

"No, you shouldn't do that, honey!" his mom said, alarmed. "I--I--" She couldn't think of anything to say.

"Guys clothes are never going to fit me anymore," Phillip complained. "I'm turning into a girl. Even if I dressed as a guy, people would think I was a girl with these BOOBS and ass." That had already happened he realized.

People at the hospital who didn't know him had been calling him 'miss' for weeks. And the one time his parents couldn't drive him over to the clinic, and he'd taken an Uber, the driver had been flirting with him. He hadn't taken it that way at the time, but it was obvious thinking about it now.

An Uber driver with a fat girl fetish? So what?

And the worst thing might be that he never contradicted anyone when they did that. It always sent a tingle through him of equal parts pure embarrassment and embarrassed pleasure. I'm disgusting, he thought, morosely.

His mother asked, "You still have your, uh, little mister?"

"Lot of good he is." Phillip realized he was whining but didn't care. "Not much bigger than my little toe these days."

Yvette didn't point out that he no longer had his little toes, not since the circulation crisis precipitated by that crash diet four years ago. She made a decision. "Would it be horrible if you were a girl?"

"Ma!" he yelped turning to face her. But another frisson squeezed his nipples and a thrill went to his heart. He grabbed a pillow to hold in front of him, in case of a fire hose release of milk.

Yvette sat up, then stood, looking down at him. "You said yourself that if you kept losing weight, you'd just keep getting girlier. Uh--? The obvious result of that is you're going to end up looking like me. Same blonde hair, same blue eyes, same bubble butt." She glanced at his chest. "But maybe with, uh, bigger--boobs." She grinned.

He sniffed. "I duwanna," he lied, knowing he was lying.

"You don't want to--what? I hadn't suggested anything yet."

"You're going to suggest that I dress as a girl to see if I like it. I don't like it. That idea stinks." And everything smells like milk, he thought.

She tried to jolly him. "You even pout like me," she said. "Your dad always claimed I had the cutest pout outside of Angelina Jolie."

"Who?" he asked.

"Never mind," Yvette said. "Get up, let's go online and order you some clothes to try on."

"Ma," he said. "I'm naked here." He knew milk was running down his chest under the duvet, he couldn't let her see.

She rolled her eyes. "Like I haven't seen you naked."

"Ma!" It came out as a squeal and Yvette had to retreat to keep from bursting into laughter. She stepped into the hallway and closed the door, tempted to pop it back open and catch her son in the altogether but she didn't want to piss him off. He needed to work with her, and he'd have to be in a good mood for that. At least she had gotten him off a depressed zero.

"Just throw on your bathrobe," she called through the door.

"Uh huh," she heard him grunt.

Eventually he called out to her. "C'mon in."

She entered and found him dressed, sitting at the computer. He'd called up Amazon already and even had a page open on women's sizes. She walked up and looked over his shoulder. In a smaller window, he had the measurements he'd already taken. Wow, she thought, and this is after months of shrinking.

"According to this chart," he said in a flat voice. "I'm a 3x in tops and a 5x in pants." He was right, according to the chart.

"You want to wear pants?" she asked.

"Ma, I'm a guy. Guys wear pants."

"We could probably find guy pants that would fit you. Maybe even in stores. But this isn't about that, is it?"

He sighed.

"This is about whether you're going to wear a bra." She laid it out there.

He nodded. "I don't know..how to find a size?"

She grabbed up the measuring tape he had used. "We'll need another couple of numbers. Stand up, turn around."

He groaned as he did so. As Yvette retook all his measurements she realized that they stood eye-to-eye. He was barefoot and she had on shoes with a one-inch heel. "We're nearly the same height," she commented.

He wasn't looking at her. "I quit growing up five years ago, Ma."

"Hold your arms up, I need to get the tape inside. There. Now let me sit at the computer and you sit on the bed."

"It's my computer," he said mildly but did as she asked.

Yvette added some new numbers to the little window.

"What's 46J?” he asked.

"That's your bra size," she explained. "You have a 45 chest and a 55 bust measurement, that's ten inches. So that's the J. And bras come in even band sizes, so 46 instead of 45."

"Oh."

"You're going to need a nursing bra," she observed, typing, "nursing bra 46J” into Amazon's search window.

"Fuh," he said when the screen filled up with women wearing colorful bras.

She ignored that, checking the sizes on likely looking bras. Amazon search was much more like throwing horseshoes than shooting basketball. She found two that actually went up to size 46J. One wired and one wireless. She considered and decided to get one of each.

"You got a preference on color?" she asked.

"Ugh," he grunted. "Not pink or black."

"Nude?"

"Nude!?"

"As a color, skin color."

"Yeah, that. Maybe no one will notice I have it on."

Fat chance, thought Yvette. She added one of each style to the cart.

"What's it mean, nursing bra, anyway?" he asked.

"It means you can get to your nipple without taking the bra off."

"Oh."

"Now we need to get you some nursing tops. Unless you want a nursing dress."

"No dresses," he said.

At least, not yet, she thought. Yvette didn't look but she was sure he was blushing. She did a new search for nursing tops. "Long sleeve, short sleeve or sleeveless?" she asked.

"Uh?" He thought about it. "Short sleeve, I guess."

She picked three of the plainer styles and let him pick non-flowery, non-pink colors. Into the order box they went.

"Now pants," she said. "Men's or women's."

He sighed. "Men's pants are never going to fit in the waist and the hips at the same time. So..." He trailed off.

She searched for women's pull-on pants in 5x. They ordered two pair, one in jeans-look stretch denim, the other black. "You want any shorts?"

"No. Not...just no."

She paused to look at him. "Underwear is going to have the same fit problem as pants."

He nodded, not even looking up. She ordered a multipack in assorted colors. She glanced in the corner where lay a shapeless pair of deck shoes. Phillip wouldn't be able to wear nice shoes until he got some more weight off his feet, so skip it. She hit the order button. "Most of it will be here tomorrow."

"I don't know about this," he whined.

"It's all pretty plain and not feminine," she pointed out.

"Except the bras," he grumbled.

"Which you need," she said.

"I guess." But he did look like he had more interest in living now than he had earlier. Maybe she should look into getting him some counseling. Of course she should, she chided herself.

She got up and sat beside him on the bed to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "It'll be okay, honey," she said. "I've been wearing girl's clothes all my life and I think they're great."

"Ha," he said. But he smiled.

*