I Helped My Pregnant Friend and Something Changed in Me

It was the end of summer. Sofi was 36 weeks along and her husband had gone north for ten days for training, so I stayed with her for company that week. I’d show up early, stay all day, and go home once it was already dark. It was peaceful and nice, honestly: mate, TV series, chatting about anything while she searched for a comfortable position on the sofa with that belly that already made everything hard to do. Sofi and I had known each other since we were ten. We were the kind of friends who don’t need to explain anything, who can fall silent without it being awkward.

That particular Tuesday we were both in the living room. It was late, almost five in the afternoon, and there was that humid heat you can only tolerate with the air conditioning on full blast. Sofi was sprawled on the big sofa, wearing a loose T-shirt and with her legs stretched out on the coffee table, when all of a sudden she grimaced and brought her hands to her chest.

—Caro, it fucking hurts. It’s not the usual pain. It’s something else, like they’re squeezing me from the inside.

You could see the real distress on her face. I sat beside her and asked if she wanted anything: an ice pack, ibuprofen, whatever. She said no, that she’d already taken paracetamol and it hadn’t done a thing. She started shifting uncomfortably, crossing and uncrossing her arms, not really knowing what to do with her hands.

—I’m calling the obstetrician —she said, and picked up the phone.

The doctor answered right away. Sofi explained everything: the strong pain, the hard, heavy breasts, 36 weeks. The doctor calmed her down and spoke plainly:

—Look, Sofía, this can happen at this stage. Your breasts are getting ready for breastfeeding and sometimes the colostrum builds up and creates pressure. The best thing you can do is express a little to relieve it. At the pharmacy you can get syringes without needles, special for that. Squeeze out a little each time it bothers you; you don’t need to empty them. Keep the syringes in an airtight bag and freeze them. Then put cold compresses on. If the pain doesn’t go down in two hours, call me. And if you feel contractions, call me immediately, any time of day or night.

When she hung up, Sofi looked at me with that face of not knowing where to begin. She hadn’t bought any of that yet: no syringes, no breast pump, nothing, because she thought all of that was for after the birth.

—Don’t worry —I told her—. I’ll go to the pharmacy now. Stay put.

I put on my sneakers, grabbed my wallet, and headed out at a fast walk. At the pharmacy I explained to the girl at the counter what I needed. She sold me the syringes, a small manual breast pump, and some cold gel pads. I paid and came back in under twenty minutes.

Sofi was still on the sofa. She looked better just seeing me come in with the bag. We read the instructions together on the coffee table: you had to start with a gentle massage in circular motions before using the syringe.

—Do you want me to help you or would you rather do it yourself? —I asked.

—Do you mind helping me? I’m nervous and I don’t want to do it wrong and make it hurt more.

—Not at all. That’s what I’m here for.

We washed our hands and went into the bedroom so she’d be more comfortable. Sofi took off her T-shirt, stayed without a bra, and put a folded towel underneath. I massaged her breasts slowly, following the instructions, and showed her how to hold the syringe. At first only tiny drops came out. Every time a more fluid stream came, Sofi let the air out slowly.

—It already feels softer —she said.

We switched breasts after a while. We barely talked: just “does it hurt less?” and “yes, it’s better now.” When we were done, I put on the cold pads and brought her water. I stored the syringes in an airtight bag and left it on the door shelf of the fridge. Then we went back to the living room, opened the mate again, and carried on with the afternoon like always: talking about what it would be like when the baby was born, how much Sofi missed her husband, the things I’d keep helping her with while he was away.

She touched her breasts gently and smiled for the first time all afternoon.

—Thanks, Caro. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you these days.

Her eyes welled up. I told her that’s what friends are for. We both cried for a minute, the kind of crying you do without really knowing why, gratitude and relief all mixed together. The afternoon went on just like always: a show on TV and stupid jokes, as if nothing had happened.

***

I got home already at night. I showered, put on my pajamas, and flopped onto the bed with the lights off.

And there, without meaning to, the memory came to me.

Sofi sitting on the bed without a shirt. Her huge, round belly shining a little from the heat. Her tits, much bigger than I remembered from before the pregnancy, swollen, heavy, with white, taut skin and thin blue veins standing out from the sides to the center like narrow rivers ending in those dark, wide areolas, almost purplish brown. The nipples standing up, thick, longer than usual, still glistening with a little drop of colostrum hanging from the tip.

In the moment while I was helping her, I hadn’t felt anything strange. It was just focus, a friend’s concern. But now, alone in my room with the fan turning slowly, that memory reached me in a completely different way.

I slipped my hand under my panties without thinking. I was already wet. My cunt was throbbing the second I closed my eyes and saw those nipples dripping again. I ran my fingers over my clit, first slowly, in circles, and let out a soft moan into the pillow. I imagined myself leaning toward her without saying a word, pressing my mouth to one of those full, hot breasts, closing my lips around that thick nipple, sucking hard until I felt the first warm stream hit the roof of my mouth. The sweet milk sliding down my throat while I kept sucking without rushing, my tongue wrapping around the nipple, biting it just a little with my teeth so it would give more.

I slid two fingers into my cunt and arched my back. I was so wet you could hear it. I imagined my other hand resting on Sofi’s round belly, stroking it slowly, sliding down over the swollen pubis, opening her legs while I stayed latched to her breast. Sucking one side, then the other, alternating, my chin soaked in milk and saliva. Sofi breathing hard, letting me do it, her hands tangled in my hair, pressing me to her chest so I wouldn’t stop.

I rubbed my clit faster, fingers buried to the knuckle, fucking myself alone while thinking about the taste of the colostrum, the weight of those milk-filled tits against my face, how it would feel to eat her cunt too afterward, pulling down her panties, sliding my tongue between her swollen pregnancy lips, making her come with that huge belly trembling over me. I came biting the pillow, legs tight together and my whole body shaking, a muffled moan tearing out of the back of my throat. My cunt clenched around my fingers three, four times, and I lay there on my back, panting, hand soaked and my chest rising and falling.

After that I just stared at the ceiling for a long while, feeling strange. Not bad, exactly. Just strange. Like when something happens that you never expected and you don’t really know where to put it.

***

The next day I came back early, like always. I brought pastries for breakfast because I knew Sofi got up late those days and liked to start with something sweet. She opened the door still in her pajamas, hair messy and sleepy-faced, but happy to see me.

—Thank God you came. I woke up twice in the night with my breasts hard again. Not as bad as yesterday, but still annoying.

I told her not to worry, that we’d do the same as yesterday and that was that. We had breakfast in the kitchen, talking about stupid stuff: how the heat still wouldn’t let up, how her husband had sent her travel pictures and was already desperate to come back.

Then we went to the bedroom. Same as before. Sofi took off her shirt without drama, sat with her back against the headboard, and put down the towel. I took the syringes out of the airtight bag.

This time it went easier. I already knew exactly how to massage so it wouldn’t hurt, and Sofi relaxed from the first movement. I squeezed her breasts with both hands, pushing toward the nipple, and now steadier little streams came out, a thick yellowish liquid that quickly collected in the transparent cylinder. Her nipple hardened between my fingers, and I had to breathe deeply and look down, focus on the syringe, not think about how that warm, swollen flesh felt against my fingertips.

—Damn, Caro. Yesterday it was just drops and today there’s way more —she said, looking at the syringe curiously.

—Yeah, but remember what the doctor said: don’t do it too often.

When we were done, I left the cold pads with her and went to the kitchen while she stayed in the room for a while resting.

I opened the fridge. Put the bag on the door shelf, next to yesterday’s. Closed it slowly.

I stayed there, my hand still on the handle.

I opened it again.

The liquid looked thicker than the day before. The fridge light hit it from the side and you could see little condensed droplets on the plastic. There was something about that detail, about the yellowish, dense color, that made me keep staring longer than I should have.

I took out one syringe. Held it in my hand. Thought about how I had fucked myself the night before in my bed, how I had soaked myself imagining licking Sofi’s tits, and I felt my cunt start to wet again, right there in the kitchen, with my panties already damp. My nipple hardened under my shirt. I had that on my fingers: Sofi’s colostrum, still warm from her body, just expressed. Nobody was going to use it yet. She was going to freeze it when she had more collected.

I looked toward the hall. Heard the water running in the bathroom sink. Sofi was washing up.

I pressed the plunger. A thick yellow drop fell onto the tip of my index finger. I brought it to my mouth before thinking twice. Warm. Sweet. With a salty undertone that stayed stuck to my tongue. My thighs tightened on their own. I pressed the plunger again, let a little stream fall straight onto my tongue, closed my eyes, and swallowed. I felt my pulse pounding hard in my clit, my panties soaked, my cheeks burning. It was a second. Two. Then I slipped the syringe into the bag like nothing had happened, slammed the fridge shut, and took a deep breath, pressing my thighs together to calm the trembling below.

When I went back to the living room, Sofi was already seated with the mate ready.

—Everything okay? —she asked.

—Yeah, all put away.

I served the first mate and we kept talking. But somewhere in my head, the image of that bag in the fridge never quite went away. Nor did the taste still clinging to my tongue. I had it there, fixed, like when you hear a song you can’t get out of your head no matter how hard you try.

***

That same night, before my brother came to pick me up, Sofi complained again. We were in the living room finishing dinner from what her mother-in-law had left us when she touched her breast with a pained expression.

—Caro, it’s filling up again. Will you come with me to the bedroom for a second before you leave?

—Of course, let’s go.

We went into the bedroom together. She took off her T-shirt, sat on the bed with the towel underneath, and I grabbed the syringe. I did it like I already knew how: massage in circles first, then bring the tip to the nipple, slowly draw back the plunger. More milk came out than before. White streams, thicker than the afternoon ones, collecting in the cylinder. I cupped her breasts with my hands, feeling the weight, the temperature, the taut skin. Her nipple swelled between my fingers each time I pressed the base, and my mouth was only ten centimeters away, breathing in that smell of warm milk and pregnant skin, my throat dry and my cunt beginning to throb again under my pants.

And there, while I was doing it, the strongest thought of all the ones I’d had in those days hit me.

I didn’t look for it. It came on its own, like all the things you don’t ask for.

I imagined throwing everything to hell, dropping the syringe on the floor, bending my head those last few centimeters and latching onto that thick nipple with my mouth open. Closing my lips around it, sucking hard, feeling the first warm stream hit my palate and swallowing without stopping the suction. Moving to the other breast, leaving it wet with saliva, going back to the first, sucking until it was empty. Sofi still, breathing, with her eyes closed. My fingers pulling down her pajama pants, slipping under her panties, touching her already wet cunt. Sliding two fingers into her slowly, feeling it tight and hot, fucking her with my hand while I stayed attached to her breast. The weight of that pregnant body, the huge belly trembling each time she breathed harder, the nipples dripping colostrum onto my face while I made her come with my fingers buried to the hilt.

It was a dirty, treacherous thought, I knew that perfectly well. Sofi had been my friend since primary school, the one who was always there, the one who called me when my first boyfriend dumped me and stayed on the phone for two hours saying almost nothing, just listening. She was almost nine months pregnant, married to a man who adored her, and she was trusting me with something intimate and physical with the same naturalness you’d ask a trusted person to hand you a glass of water. And there I was, in her bedroom, panties soaked and wanting to eat my best pregnant friend’s cunt.

I felt guilty. Heat in my face. A knot in my throat that tightened and wouldn’t loosen. And the breasts under my shirt felt hard, with my erect nipples brushing the fabric every time I moved.

—The baby kicks like crazy when I lie on this side —Sofi said all of a sudden, with her usual calm voice, oblivious to everything—. My husband sent a voice note today saying he leaves tomorrow, that he’ll get here tomorrow night. He’s already desperate to come back.

Her voice brought me back in one yank. I kept moving the syringe softly, as if nothing had happened inside my head.

When we were done expressing both breasts, Sofi looked at the last drops left on the tip of her nipple. Without saying anything, she ran her finger over it and brought it to her mouth. She sucked slowly, her lips closed around the fingertip, pulling it out shiny with saliva.

I watched her without moving, eyes wide open, feeling everything tighten down below.

She let out a tiny laugh and shrugged.

—I was curious. I read something yesterday in a pregnant-women’s group: apparently almost half of moms taste their own milk before birth, to know what they’re giving the baby. It says it’s not that weird. I thought it was just me.

We both laughed. She was more relaxed and light; I had my heart beating so hard I was sure it could be heard, with my cunt wet and my thighs pressed tight together.

Then she gathered a few more drops left on the tip of the syringe, transferred them to her index finger, and looked me in the eye. She was smiling with that mischievous look I’ve known since we were girls, the same one she wore when she suggested we do something we shouldn’t.

She extended her hand toward me, the drop shining on her fingertip, and asked softly, almost in secret:

—Want to try?

I froze for a second. The fan was turning slowly. Outside, a car passed by on the street.

I never told her what I’d been thinking those days. I never told her I’d fucked myself in my bed thinking about her tits, or that I’d tasted the colostrum in secret from the fridge, or that at that moment I had my panties soaked looking at her finger. Sofi had no idea about any of it. She was just offering me something with her usual naturalness, with no meaning behind it.

But I knew everything that had happened on the other side.

I didn’t bring my finger closer. I lowered my head and closed my lips directly around the tip of hers. I sucked slowly, wrapping her finger with my tongue, dragging the warm drop to the back of my mouth without letting go. I licked the fingertip, then the nail, and only then let it go with a tiny kiss on the tip. I kept my eyes on hers the whole time. Sofi stayed with her mouth slightly open, saying nothing, with my saliva shining on her finger ten centimeters from her face and her breasts still bare, the nipples standing at attention, pointing straight at me.

—It’s good —I said, in a lower voice than I would have liked—. Really good.

Her cheeks flushed. She laughed, but it was a different laugh, slower, more nervous, with no desire to break the silence completely. She ran her tongue over her lower lip and looked at me for a long second before grabbing her shirt. She didn’t put it on. She left it lying on her lap, with her swollen breasts still visible and a new drop forming on the left nipple.

—Caro —she said, almost whispering—. Want more?

I didn’t answer with words. I moved closer on the bed, put my hand on her shoulder so she’d lean back against the headboard, and bent over her. I looked at her breast for a second, that thick, dark nipple, with the yellowish drop hanging from the tip. Then I lowered my head and took it into my mouth.

Sofi let out a tiny moan, surprised, and rested her hand on the back of my neck. She didn’t pull away. On the contrary: she pressed me softly against her chest. I closed my lips around the nipple and sucked slowly. I felt the first warm stream fill my mouth, sweet and thick, and I swallowed it without stopping the suction. I sucked again. And again. Sofi was breathing hard, her head against the wall, eyes closed, the huge belly rising and falling beneath my face.

—Holy fuck, Caro —she whispered—. It feels different from the syringe. It feels… fuck.

I ran my tongue around the areola, bit the nipple just a little with my lips, pulled gently upward, and sucked again. Milk dribbled from the corner of my mouth, dripping onto the hand I had resting on her other breast. I squeezed that breast with my fingers, pushing toward the nipple, and another stream shot out and wet my chin. I switched sides. I latched onto the other nipple, sucked hard, felt it swell between my lips and the milk start coming down from that side too.

—Don’t stop —she begged, her voice trembling—. Please, don’t stop.

I slid my hand up her side, over her neck, then over her other breast. Sofi’s nipples were so sensitive that every time I brushed one with my fingers a new moan escaped her. I let go of the breast for a second, my lips shining with milk, and looked at her face. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, eyes closed. Her hand was still on the back of my neck, squeezing me, asking me to come back.

I went back. I sucked one breast, then the other, alternating, swallowing each stream without rushing. I stroked her round belly with my free hand, feeling the stretched, warm skin, and slowly lowered it to the waistband of her pajama pants. I stayed there, fingers resting on the fabric, waiting. Sofi opened her eyes, looked at me, and gave the slightest nod.

I slipped my hand inside her pants. Then under her panties. Her cunt was soaked, the lips swollen, thick from the pregnancy, hot. I ran my fingers over her clit in soft circles, and Sofi moaned so loudly that she covered her mouth with her other hand.

—Eat me out, Caro —she begged through clenched teeth—. Suck my tit and touch me. Don’t stop.

I latched onto her nipple again and slid two fingers into her cunt. She was so wet they went in without any resistance. I felt the hot walls squeezing my fingers, contracting slowly. I fucked her with my hand, moving my fingers inside her, in and out, while I kept sucking her breast and swallowing the milk that kept flowing. I stroked her clit with my thumb in circles, never stopping the movement of my fingers inside.

Sofi arched her back, her huge belly trembling over me. She brought both hands to her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. I felt her clench around my fingers, tighter and tighter, faster and faster, and after a few seconds she came with a shudder that shook her whole body. Her cunt closed in spasms around my fingers, three, four, five times, and her breasts hardened, releasing another warm drop that fell straight onto my tongue just as I latched back onto the nipple to suck the last of it down.

She stayed there panting, eyes closed, her hand still on the back of my neck. I pulled my fingers out slowly and brought them up. They were shining, soaked, sticky. I brought them to my mouth without thinking, one first, then the other, sucking them in front of her. Sofi opened her eyes just in time to see me, and bit her lip.

—Come here —she said softly—. Come here.

She pulled on my shirt until I was sitting on top of her, legs spread to either side of her hips, taking care of the belly. She yanked my shirt off. I wasn’t wearing a bra. She looked at my tits for a second, then put her hands on my waist and lifted me until I was almost sitting on her chest. She leaned up and sucked one of my nipples. Then the other. Gently, with the tip of her tongue, biting them just a little.

—Now it’s my turn —she whispered.

She yanked down my pants and panties right there, with the awkwardness of pregnancy and urgency. I lay down beside her, on my back, and Sofi turned over as best she could with the belly, settled on her side, and slid her hand between my legs. She ran two fingers over my cunt and found everything soaked.

—Look at how wet you are —she told me in my ear, her voice hoarse—. You were like this all afternoon, weren’t you? When you were milking me.

—Yeah —I admitted, eyes closed—. All afternoon. Every day.

She slid her fingers inside me and started fucking me slowly, pushing them all the way in. With her other hand she found my clit. I grabbed one of her breasts and leaned in to suck it again, and there we stayed: her fucking me with her fingers, me latched onto her nipple sucking the milk that kept coming, moaning against her skin every time she touched my clit with her thumb.

I came in less than a minute. Hard, my cunt tightening around her fingers, my mouth still full of warm milk, legs shaking, a long moan spilling against her breast. Sofi didn’t pull her fingers out. She left them there, still, feeling me clench around her. Then she slowly pulled them out and brought them to her mouth, sucking them the same way I had sucked mine.

We stayed like that for a while, not talking, just breathing, lying on our sides in bed. Her huge belly between us, me with my chin and chest stained with dried milk, both of us soaked in sweat. The fan turned slowly above us.

—We can never tell anyone about this —she said at last, without opening her eyes.

—Never —I answered.

—But tomorrow… —she began, and fell silent.

—Tomorrow —I said— it’ll still hurt.

She laughed softly, eyes closed. She stroked my cheek with the hand she had free.

Then I got up, gathered the syringes from the floor, and put everything back in the airtight bag. I helped her put her shirt back on. We cleaned ourselves up as best we could with the towel. When we went back to the living room, my brother was already ringing the bell. Sofi hugged me at the door, long and silent, and pressed me hard against her belly.

That night, back in my bed again, I didn’t quite know what name to give what was happening to me. I only knew that something had changed, and this time I knew exactly when.