Chris stood stock still, stunned by Sherri's performance. Her iron resolve melted
away. How in the hell am I going to top that? she thought frantically. She felt a
hand on her shoulder as the contestant behind her gave her a gentle push. She was
on! She cursed the alcohol for slowing her thinking as she used a little go-go
step to move out to center stage. What to do, what to do?? Through the alcoholic
haze and the wind-tunnel sound blasting at her ears, Sherri's voice suddenly
sounded in her head: "You need to start feeling better about this gift of yours.
If you've got it, flaunt it, kid..." A sudden rush of adrenaline filled Chris as
she knew what she would do. She glanced about her, gauging the positions of each
of the men with the seltzer bottles. They raised them almost simultaneously and
took aim. At that moment Chris stopped dancing, thrust her palm outward, and
screamed loud enough to be heard over the din, "NO!! STOP!!" The men held their
fire and glanced uncomprehendingly at one another. The gleeful shouting of the
audience turned to yells of displeasure. The music stopped. Finally the M.C. took
the mike and said, "Little lady, this is a wet T-shirt contest. You got ta get
wet!" The crowd thundered agreement. Chris just smiled knowingly. "Just keep
watching!" she yelled back. She signaled to the D.J. to start the music again. It
was a slow, seductive number, perfect for Chris's plan. She clasped her hands
behind her head, thrust her elbows out, and began to slowly move her hips in a
circular pattern. The angry shouts slowly began to transform back into wolf
whistles as she continued. Chris leaned her head back against her hands,
interlocked behind her neck. She began going through the now-familiar series of
mental steps that would unleash her own private biochemical miracle. It was more
difficult than usual due to the level of distractions around her, but somehow she
was able to put the crowd out of her mind. She concentrated on the rhythm of the
music, the oscillations of her body as she danced, and of course, the increasing
tingling in her teeming breasts. She thought of a mountain stream, the trickle of
rain down a gutter, water pouring from a tap. Deep inside her head, brain
structures responded. Hormones flowed. Glands secreted. Milk ducts expanded.
Mammary sinuses filled. Tiny muscle cells contracted. "Let it come," she
whispered to herself. "Let it come..." Some of the audience members started
yelling at the seltzer bottleguys. "Go on, let her have it!" one shouted. The man
closest to Chris raised his bottle again, took aim, and...stopped cold. "What the
hell?"was all he could manage to say. For Chris's shirt front was beginning to
get wet, seemingly of its own accord. Round blotches of moisture appeared at her
nipples, which instantly became visible as the thin white fabric covering them
became soaked. The blotches expanded at amazing speed, spreading outward to cover
her entire chest. Within seconds the entire front of the shirt was sopping wet
and glued to Chris's torso. She continued to gyrate belly-dancer style, her head
thrown back, deaf to the drop in volume from the audience as they gradually
stopped their shouting to stare in disbelief. Her fantastic breasts moved from
side to side as she danced, gushing away inside the T-shirt until the saturated
fabric could hold no more. As she flicked her upper body back and forth to the
music, white droplets began to fly free of the sodden cloth. As she always was
during a particularly powerful letdown, Chris was riding the crest of the
wonderful feeling of release, of almost orgasmic pleasure, that squirting her
milk provided. She was totally oblivious to her surroundings, taken up completely
in her own little pleasure dome. "My God, that's milk!" someone near the front of
the stage shouted. A wild cacophony of exclamations, some rapturous, some
disgusted, filled the club. "I don't believe it!" "Have you ever seen anything
like that in your life?" "Oh, God, that's disgusting!" "Oh, man, I'm in love!"
You name it, someone was shouting it. From the crowd's reaction one would have
thought that an extraterrestrial stripper with three tits had just come onstage.
The weird standoff between Chris and the stunned crowd lasted only a few seconds
more. Chris, in her reverie, felt the wetness covering her upper body, smelled
the musty sweet odor of her milk as the hot lights tried to evaporate it. My
clothing is wet, she thought instinctively. I should take it off. She
unconsciously grabbed the T-shirt at the waist and in a swift motion pulled it
over her head. With nothing to hold back the flow, her bouncing boobs spouted
forth, sending a white fountain well into the first few rows of seats. People
leaped up from their chairs as if scalded. At that moment, there was a wet crash
as a seltzer bottle hit the floor. Chris's eyes were closed, so she didn't see
the man who dropped it as he pounced upon her, his trembling hands grabbing for
her bosom. She suddenly felt a powerful arm around her waist, bending her
backwards painfully as it drew her forward. A probing, panting mouth sought out
one spraying nipple, while a hand like a steel trap closed on the other. For a
split second, Chris couldn't decide whether to scream or to give herself over to
the intensity of these additional stimuli. Her alcohol-induced stupor cleared
instantly, and she opted for the former. She brought her knee up hard, but the
man was bent over frantically trying to suckle her and so it missed its mark. Her
fingernails raked across the sides of the man's face, but he was so far gone with
lust that they had no effect. After what seemed like an eternity she felt two
more powerful hands on her as one of the club's bouncers tried to pull her away.
Another bouncer, a huge beefy fellow, pried her attacker's hands away, picked him
up like a rag doll, and threw him off the stage. He landed on top of a table and
sprawled unconscious on the floor. There were screams, people running, men
shouting. Chris was unable to sort any of it out as she let herself be half-
carried off the stage by the bouncer. She felt someone, Sherri maybe, throw a
towel over her as she was herded through the surging crowd toward the dressing
room area. She heard a door close, and relative silence descended. She felt her
butt being placed rather unceremoniously into a chair. She blinked away the last
vestiges of her drunkenness and looked up to see Sherri and the bouncer bending
over her, concern on their faces. "Are you all right, miss?" he asked, in a voice
pitched comically high for a man that size. Chris nodded slowly. "If you don't
mind, then, I'd better get back out there." The bouncer left, leaving Sherri
behind. She slowly straightened up, hands on hips, and fixed Chris with a
withering stare. "Jesus Christ, lady, what the fuck do you do for an encore?" she
demanded, partly in jest and partly in anger mixed with relief. Chris sat mutely
for a few seconds, then began laughing and crying simultaneously. Tears rolled
freely down into her open mouth as she tried to guffaw and sob at the same time.
Sherri held Chris's shoulders until she regained control of herself. "I don't
know what came over me out there," Chris said incredulously. "You had done such a
great job that I had to think of some way to top you, and letting go was the
first thing I thought of. I had no idea that would happen! I was so drunk..." Her
voice trailed off and she just sat there, clutching the towel, shaking her head.
"You were cutting loose for the first time in God knows how long," Sherri said.
"Who can blame you for getting a little carried away? You were almost killed a
couple of months ago, for chrissake. I think this was just a subconscious attempt
to yell 'fuck you' at the Grim Reaper." "You think so? Maybe you're right. That
certainly wasn't the old me out there tonight, that's for damn sure." Chris
sniffled and wiped her eyes. "I was out there spraying milk on people! 'A little
carried away'? Jeez, I guess so! I think I'd better watch my alcohol consumption
more closely from now on. Gin and oxytocin don't appear to mix very well." Sherri
located their clothes and handed Chris hers. "I think we'd just better get
dressed and get out of here. The sooner we're clear of Decade Eight, the better
off we'll be." A clean getaway was not to be, however. The two had just buttoned
their last buttons when the door opened again. This time the contest M.C. came
in, a jacket draped over his LET'S GET WET T-shirt. "I'd like a word, if I
could," he said somberly. Oh, shit, here it comes, Chris thought. I'll bet he's
called the police. I wonder how this is going to get written up? She imagined
herself spending the night in jail, and felt her limbs go cold. She was therefore
very confused when the M.C. suddenly broke into a wide grin. "I gotta tell you,
that was hands-down, absolutely, no- bullshit the goddamndest thing I ever saw."
How many times have I heard that by now, Chris thought. The man was still
talking. "Most unique wet T-shirt contest it's ever been my pleasure to have
hosted. You and your friend here really turned this place on its ear. First night
open, too, wouldn't you know." He reached into his jacket pocket and took out two
wads of bills. He handed the larger of them to Chris, the other to Sherri.
"Here's your prize money. Congratulations. I also have to tell you, though, that
the management has asked me to ask you never to participate in a similar activity
here again. You'd get us shut down for sure! Just take the money and go home,
please." He looked toward the door. "It's pretty well calmed down out there, but
if I were you, I'd go out the back way." He started to leave, then turned at the
door for a last long look at Chris. "Goddamndest thing I ever saw," he said
again, and was gone. Chris and Sherri didn't say another word to each other until
they got back to their apartment building, and even then it was just a cursory
good night. Chris was already beginning to feel the beginnings of a hangover as
she collapsed fully dressed into bed, one hand still clutching her $250 first
prize. She was going to have to think about what had happened at Decade Eight
this night, but later, later. She was so tired. Within moments, she was snoring
softly.