What I Felt in Silence While Taking Care of My Friend

It was toward the end of last year, when Valeria was already in the final stretch. Thirty-five weeks, maybe thirty-six. Her husband, Rodrigo, had to travel for work for almost ten days, and she didn’t want to stay alone in the apartment. It was big for one person, far too quiet at night. So I told her I’d stay with her. I had time off: my exams had ended a week earlier and vacation still hadn’t started.

The arrangement was simple. I’d arrive in the morning, keep her company all day, and go back to my place at night on the bus. Mate, series, long chats about anything. She killed time without Rodrigo. I killed time with nothing better to do. There was nothing strange about it. Valeria and I had known each other since kindergarten. We were the kind of friends who could spend four hours in silence watching a screen and feel equally fine.

That first Tuesday, around four in the afternoon, we were both on the big sofa in the living room with the air conditioner on full blast. It was a humid heat that wouldn’t let up even at night. Valeria was wearing that loose burgundy T-shirt she always wore when she wasn’t going out, and her belly stuck out underneath it as if the fabric had given up the battle weeks ago. Suddenly she frowned and pressed her breasts with her open palms.

—Clau, they really hurt a lot. It’s not the usual pain. It’s like someone were squeezing them from the inside.

She looked genuinely distressed. I sat closer and asked if she wanted me to get her something: ice, ibuprofen, whatever. She said no, that she’d already taken paracetamol earlier and it hadn’t helped. She started shifting uncomfortably on the sofa, crossing and uncrossing her arms, unable to find a position.

She grabbed her phone and called her obstetrician. The doctor answered right away. Valeria explained everything: the strong pain, the hard, heavy breasts, how many weeks along she was. The doctor was clear: it was something that could happen at that stage of pregnancy. Her breasts were preparing for breastfeeding and sometimes colostrum built up, causing pressure and pain. The best thing was to express a little to relieve it. Pharmacies sold small needleless syringes for that. Put cold compresses on afterward. If the pain didn’t ease in two hours, call again. If she felt contractions, call immediately, no matter the time.

Valeria hung up and looked at me with a face that said she didn’t know where to start. She had nothing: no breast pump, no syringes, no compresses. She’d thought all of that was for after the birth.

—I’ll go —I said—. Stay put.

I put on my sneakers and walked quickly to the pharmacy on the corner. The girl at the counter knew exactly what to give me: needleless syringes in different sizes, a small manual breast pump, absorbent breast pads, and cold gel packs. I paid and came back in less than twenty minutes.

When I got in, Valeria was still on the sofa but looking better. We read the instructions together at the coffee table and then went to the bedroom so she’d be more comfortable.

She took off her T-shirt without a fuss and stayed sitting on the bed with her back against the headboard and a towel on her lap. The room smelled of moisturizer and the ceiling fan turned slowly. I sat beside her.

—Do you want me to help you, or would you rather do it yourself?

—Help me, please. I’m nervous and I don’t want it to hurt more.

We washed our hands. I started with a gentle massage, circular motions from the base toward the nipple like the instructions said. At first only tiny, nearly transparent drops came out. Valeria breathed with relief each time she felt the pressure ease a little. After a few minutes we switched sides. We hardly talked: just “does it hurt less?” and “yes, it already feels softer.” Nothing else was needed.

When we finished, I put the syringes in a zip bag and placed them in the fridge. I brought her a glass of water and put the cold compresses on her breasts. Then we went back to the living room, I made mate, and we kept chatting as always: about how everything would change when the baby was born, about Rodrigo already counting the days until he came back, about names they still hadn’t finished choosing.

Valeria touched her breasts carefully and smiled for the first time all afternoon.

—Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you these days.

Her eyes filled with tears. I told her that’s what friends were for and poured her another mate. We both cried a little, mixed with silly laughter. Then we put on a series and stayed like that until my father came to pick me up at night.

***

That night, back at my place, I showered and flopped onto the bed with the light off.

And then the memory hit me. Without warning.

Valeria sitting on the bed without her shirt, with that huge round belly that gleamed a little in the afternoon heat. And her tits. They were so different from how I remembered them before the pregnancy: big, full, heavy, with taut skin and a map of blue veins branching from the sides toward the center. Her areolas had grown and darkened, a deeper brown, almost chocolate. The nipples were bigger too, more sensitive, swollen, trembling slightly with every breath she took.

In the moment, while I was helping her, I hadn’t thought anything out of place. It was just concern, just being there for her. But now, alone in the dark, the memory hit me differently. It hit me between the legs.

I felt my cunt get wet on its own, without touching myself yet. My panties were soaked all at once, stuck to the lips that were already throbbing as if they had a life of their own. I slipped my hand under the elastic and found myself dripping. My fingers slid from top to bottom through the slit, from the swollen clit to the opening that was parting, and I went back up, leaving a sticky trail on the skin.

I started imagining things I shouldn’t have imagined. Leaning in slowly and pressing my lips to one of those loaded tits. Sucking gently, feeling the warm colostrum reach my tongue and swallowing it slowly while she breathed calmly beside me. My hand on her huge belly, moving in slow circles. The pressure easing every time I sucked a little more. The nipple swelling even more against my palate, hard as a warm pebble, dripping into my mouth.

I imagined her saying nothing. Just closing her eyes and letting me nurse. Letting out a tiny sigh and placing her hand on the back of my neck so I wouldn’t stop. Letting me pull down her panties while I sucked the other nipple, and being as wet as I was now, with a cunt swollen by pregnancy hormones, begging for someone to touch it for days.

I shoved two fingers in all at once. I was so slick they slid in all the way in one go, to the hilt, and I let out a muffled moan against the pillow. I started fucking myself with my fingers, in and out, while with my thumb I pressed the clit that was already throbbing like a second heart. The bed creaked softly. I bit the pillow so I wouldn’t wake anyone in the house.

In my head I was between Valeria’s legs. With her giant belly over me, blocking almost my whole view. I spread her thick, pregnant thighs apart, pulled down her old cotton panties, and saw her cunt swollen, shiny, the hair darker than before from the hormones. I imagined putting my tongue deep inside her, tasting the salt, sucking her clit with my whole mouth while she held onto the headboard and arched her back as much as her belly allowed. I imagined the low plea: “keep going, keep going, don’t stop, make me come like this.”

I imagined driving my fingers into her, two inside moving fast, and drops of milk falling from her tits while she came, running down her ribs to the navel stretched by the baby.

I came with my hand covering my mouth and the other buried to the knuckles. A long orgasm that shook through my whole body, making me squeeze my fingers inside in spasms I couldn’t control. I bit my arm so I wouldn’t scream and tasted my own skin between my teeth. The cum ran down my hand to my wrist. I stained the sheet.

Afterward I lay still in the dark, with my hand still between my legs, wet, throbbing. A little amazed at myself. Pretty ashamed. Still pretty hot. Not quite knowing what to do with all of it.

***

The next day I got there early, with fresh pastries and the mate already ready. Valeria opened the door still in pajamas, hair messed up and a face like she’d slept badly. Her nipples showed hard through the thin T-shirt, without a bra, and I couldn’t help looking at them a second too long.

—I woke up twice in the middle of the night with the same pain. Not as strong as yesterday, but it still bothered me.

—Don’t worry. We’ll do what we did yesterday and that’s it.

We had breakfast in the kitchen chatting about simple things. About the heat that still refused to give us a break. About a voice message from Rodrigo saying he’d arrive the next day at night. Her face lit up when she mentioned him and then a couple of tears slipped out, the kind that come from missing someone. I let her cry for a bit and poured her another mate.

Then we went to the bedroom, just like the day before. This time everything went more easily. I already knew how to press so it wouldn’t hurt, and Valeria relaxed from the very first movement. Thicker little streams came out now, a pale yellow, and she sighed with relief every time she felt the pressure go down. Each sigh hit me low. My panties started getting damp without permission, sitting beside her on the bed, with my hands on her swollen tits, pressing and releasing as if this were a medical task and not what it was becoming in my head.

—Look how weird, Clau. Yesterday it was just drops and today it seems like there’s way more. The doctor was right, this relieves a ton.

—Yeah, but she also told you not to do it too much. It can trigger contractions.

When we finished, I went to the kitchen with the syringes in my hand.

I stood in front of the fridge for a moment.

The transparent bag was on the door shelf, with the liquid inside, a little thicker than the day before. The fridge light hit it from the side and you could see the little condensation droplets on the plastic. It looked more yellow than before. Denser.

I stared at it longer than I needed to.

I thought about the night before. About how I’d fucked myself with my fingers until I soaked the sheet. About the taste I’d invented. The heat of that fantasy still stuck somewhere in my memory, now coming back without me calling it, with my cunt already starting to throb again inside my jeans.

I took a syringe out of the bag and held it in my hand for a second. From the bedroom came the sound of Valeria humming something while she put on a clean T-shirt.

Before I could think twice, I brought the tip of the syringe to my mouth and pressed the plunger just a little. A warm, sweetish, mildly salty little stream filled my tongue. I swallowed it slowly. I closed my eyes. A shiver slipped through my legs. I was drinking the milk from my best friend’s breast, stolen, hidden in the kitchen, while she sang in the room next door, knowing nothing.

I slid my hand inside my jeans and pressed my clit over my panties. I was soaked. I let out a sigh that sounded louder than I wanted and froze for a second, listening to see if Valeria had heard anything. Nothing. She was still humming.

I put the syringe away again. I wiped my lips with my sleeve. I took a deep breath. I closed the fridge and went back to the living room as if nothing had happened, with the taste still in my mouth and my panties stuck to my cunt.

Valeria was already sitting on the sofa with the mate ready.

—Everything okay? —she asked me.

—Yeah, everything perfect. It’s all put away.

I poured the first mate and we started chatting again, like always. But in my head, the container was still there, in the fridge, waiting. Neither she nor anyone else ever knew what I really did in those seconds alone in the kitchen.

***

That afternoon, just before my father came to pick me up, Valeria complained again. We were finishing something her mother-in-law had brought us when she touched her breasts with a pained expression.

—They’re bothering me again. Will you come with me to the bedroom before your dad gets here?

We went. She took off her T-shirt, sat on the bed with the towel on her lap, and I grabbed the manual breast pump, which was more comfortable than the syringes when there was more milk. This time there was clearly more. White, thick little streams came out and collected in the transparent container with a speed the day before hadn’t had.

And then the flash hit me. The strongest one of all.

It was Valeria there in front of me, without her shirt, with that huge belly that gleamed a little in the afternoon heat. Her tits: big, full nearly to the point of hurting, white skin stretched tight, blue veins pulsing just beneath the surface. Dark, wide areolas like I’d never seen before the pregnancy. The nipples hard, swollen, with tiny white drops forming at the tip and slowly running down the curve of each breast before falling onto the towel.

I imagined kneeling in front of her on the floor. Grabbing one breast with both hands, squeezing from the base as if milking a cow, and bringing my mouth slowly, without rushing, without asking permission. Closing my lips around the swollen nipple and sucking gently at first, feeling the milk reach my tongue —warm, slightly sweet, with a taste I already knew, that I’d tasted a while ago hidden in the kitchen— and swallowing it slowly while she breathed calmly. Then sucking harder, pulling out thick streams that filled my mouth, swallowing and sucking again, emptying the whole breast until it went soft and she moaned with relief.

I imagined moving to the other breast without letting go, biting the nipple carefully, playing with my tongue around the dark areola, sucking until red marks were left on the taut skin. My free hand slid under her belly, between her thighs, pulled down her panties and found her cunt swollen, warm, dripping. I shoved two fingers in and curled them inside while I kept sucking her breast. She arched her back, pressed my head against her chest, and whispered for me not to stop, to keep giving her that, to make her come like this, with my mouth full of her milk and my fingers buried to the hilt.

I imagined slipping three fingers in, fucking her slowly so I wouldn’t hurt her, feeling her clench with every thrust. Milk kept dripping from the free breast, running down her ribs, soaking my wrist. She came against my hand, biting her lip so she wouldn’t scream, and I swallowed the last stream of milk while her cunt throbbed around my fingers.

Then I imagined it the other way around. Her kneeling between my legs, with that huge belly pressed against the bed, her tongue inside my cunt, sucking my clit with the same patience with which I’d sucked her breast. I imagined coming in her mouth, grabbing her hair, while her loaded tits dripped milk onto the sheets.

The thoughts were filthy and I knew it. It was Valeria. My friend since we were five. Married, thirty-six weeks pregnant, waiting for her husband to arrive the next day. And there I was, fantasizing about fucking her while I worked the manual breast pump carefully, with my panties soaked for the second time that day, with the taste of her milk still stuck to the roof of my mouth from what I’d done hidden away hours earlier, as if nothing happening inside my head —and my body— existed.

I felt a huge wave of guilt. Heat in my face. A knot in my stomach tightening from the inside. And at the same time, my cunt throbbing hard between my legs, asking for more.

—…and the little guy already kicks like crazy when I lie down on this side —Valeria was saying, with her usual calm voice, knowing absolutely nothing—. Rodrigo sent me a voice note today saying he’s traveling tomorrow morning and gets here at night.

Her voice hit me like cold water in the face. I came back all at once. I kept moving the breast pump softly, my face still, as if I’d been there the whole time.

When we finished with both breasts, Valeria lowered her gaze and looked at the last little drops left on the tip of her nipples. Without saying anything, she collected some with her index finger and brought them to her mouth.

She sucked slowly. She licked her whole finger, from base to tip, looking at her hand as if she were thinking about something.

I looked at her unable to react. My cunt throbbed so hard I had to squeeze my thighs together.

She lifted her eyes and smiled at me with that mischievous face she’d had since she was a kid.

—I was curious, what do you want me to say. I read yesterday that almost half of pregnant women try their own colostrum to find out what they’re going to give the baby tastes like. It’s not that weird, you know. I thought it was just me, but apparently a lot of women do it.

I laughed a little, still with my heart racing from everything I’d been thinking seconds earlier, with my panties wet, with the secret taste still in the memory of my tongue.

Valeria gathered a few more drops left in the breast pump, ran them over her index finger, and brought them together on the fingertip until she formed a white, warm, shining pearl. Then she looked me in the eyes. A slow smile, calm, unhurried. She leaned in a little. I felt the heat of her body, the smell of pregnant skin, of freshly expressed milk, of moisturizer.

She brought her finger slowly to my lips.

—Want to try it? —she asked softly, almost like it was just another little secret between us.