What My Niece Asked Me to Do That Afternoon

I had been sleeping in scraps for weeks. It had been a little over two months since I had given birth to Mateo, and the exhaustion had settled into my bones in a way no coffee could shake off. Those days, I was living at my older sister Lorena’s house, with her husband, because during the last months of my pregnancy no one wanted me to be alone in case anything got complicated.

The house was large and quiet, with windows that looked out onto a patio full of plants. I had the back room, the farthest from any noise, and I spent my hours there between feedings, diapers, and stolen naps. My niece Camila, who had just turned nineteen, was always hovering nearby, offering to hold the baby or bring me anything I needed.

Camila was a sweet girl, too innocent for her age. Her parents had raised her in cotton wool, and it showed in the way she looked at the world, as if everything were new and a little astonishing to her. She had long dark hair, fair skin, and an easy laugh that filled the house.

That afternoon I had just put Mateo to sleep. I laid him down in the bassinet by the window and sat on the bed to stretch my back. I heard the door open slowly and turned to see who was coming in.

“Hi, Auntie,” Camila said, poking her head in. “I was coming to ask if I could put Mateo to sleep, but I guess I’m late.”

“You got here just as he fell asleep, sweetheart,” I replied, smiling. “Maybe next time.”

“Well, then I’m going back to my room.”

I watched her turn toward the door and, without really thinking about it, called her back.

“Cami, stay with me a while. Come on, let me braid that beautiful hair of yours.”

She stopped, thought for a second, and came back.

“Okay.”

She walked to the bed and sat on the edge. I settled in behind her, with my legs on either side, and started combing through her hair with my fingers before dividing it into strands. Her hair was soft, almost liquid, and smelled like coconut shampoo. As I combed it, we chatted about anything and everything: her classes, a boy she liked and didn’t dare speak to, how tired I had been lately.

It was in the middle of the conversation that I started to feel that familiar discomfort. A tight, heavy pressure rising from my breasts to my shoulders. It had been a while since I’d fed Mateo, and my milk had built up.

“Wait a second,” I said with a grimace. “I need to pump a little milk or I’m not going to be able to stand the pain.”

I had the breast pump on the nightstand, so I reached for it without getting up. I lifted my blouse, pulled the right cup of my bra down, and started using the device. As soon as the pressure eased, a sigh of relief slipped out of me. And then I noticed Camila had turned around and wasn’t taking her eyes off me.

“Auntie,” she said softly, “your blouse is getting wet on the other side.”

I looked down. She was right: the left bra cup was damp, marking a spreading stain.

“That breast is full too,” I explained. “But I have to finish with this one before I switch to the other. The pump takes a while.”

She fell silent for a moment, biting her lip the way she did when something was turning over in her head.

“If you want...” she hesitated. “If Mateo takes it, it shouldn’t taste bad, right? Maybe I could help you.”

I looked at her, not knowing what to say. Part of me should have told her no, that was crazy, to go back to her room. But the exhaustion, the discomfort, and something darker I had been ignoring for a long time made me take too long to answer.

“You can help me if you really want to,” I said at last. “But this stays between us. No one else needs to know.”

She nodded slowly, and a shy smile crossed her face.

I set the pump aside. With slightly clumsy hands, I finished taking my bra off completely. I was about to explain how to do it when Camila beat me to it: she stood up, settled herself sideways over my legs, and before I had time to do anything, took the device and placed it over my right breast. Then she brought her mouth to the left one.

I felt her warm tongue circle the areola before her lips trapped the nipple. I held my breath. It wasn’t the mechanical pull of the pump or the hungry suckling of a baby; it was something slow, deliberate, that ran all the way down my spine.

“Cami...” I murmured, but I didn’t finish the sentence.

She started sucking slowly, swallowing the milk that came out, and I felt that discomfort transform into something very different. Relief mixed with a heat that climbed through my belly. A moan escaped me that had nothing to do with the milk building up anymore.

Hearing me, Camila lifted her gaze just slightly. And then she dared to do more. She took the pump off my right breast and replaced it with her hand, which quickly became warm and wet. She squeezed gently, as if learning the rhythm of my body in real time.

This should not be happening.

I thought it, of course I thought it. But I was already breathing hard, and she was on top of me, warm and willing, and sanity felt like a concern from another life. I ran a hand over her breasts through her T-shirt and stroked them through the fabric. I felt them harden under my fingers and saw her answer by arching slightly into my palm.

I slid my hand down her body, slowly, along her side, the curve of her waist, until I reached the edge of her pants. She didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she parted her legs a little, as if silently asking me to keep going.

I unbuttoned them and lowered the zipper. I slipped my hand inside, moved aside the fabric of her underwear, and slid my fingers between her folds. She was wet, much wetter than her innocent little face would have suggested. At the first touch she let go of my breast and gave out a long moan against my skin.

“Auntie...” she panted, voice breaking.

“Shhh,” I whispered in her ear. “Quiet. We don’t want anyone coming upstairs.”

My fingers moved in slow circles and she rocked against my hand, looking for more. I penetrated her slowly, with two fingers, and felt her whole body tense. She leaned forward and took my breast into her mouth again, this time with less patience, suckling and nibbling between muffled moans.

I lowered my gaze to watch her. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, and her expression was one of total surrender. Seeing her like that, lost in what I was doing to her, turned me on more than anything else. I kept moving my fingers while she emptied my breast completely, until there was no pain or heaviness left, only the hot pulse between my legs.

When I felt she was close, I didn’t want to rush her. I pulled my fingers out slowly and brought them to her lips. She licked them without hesitation, looking me in the eyes, and that shameless gesture from someone so shy finished lighting me up.

“Get off for a moment,” I told her.

I helped her off my legs and made her kneel in front of the bed. While I did that, I stood up, yanked my pants and underwear down, and let them fall to the floor. I sat back down on the edge of the mattress and spread my legs.

I didn’t have to say anything else. She seemed to understand exactly what I wanted, because she slipped between my thighs and kissed me there with an eagerness I hadn’t expected from her. Her tongue was clumsy at first, exploratory, but she learned fast. As soon as she found the rhythm that made me shake, she didn’t let it go.

I clapped a hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream. I braced myself with the other arm behind me so I wouldn’t fall, while she kept going, tireless, reading every tremor in my body. She made me come once and, without giving me a second’s relief, kept going until she dragged a second orgasm from me that left me breathless, my legs trembling around her face.

I took her by the chin and pulled her up. I pressed my lips to hers and kissed myself in her mouth, tasting everything she had just gathered. We stayed like that for a moment, forehead to forehead, catching our breath.

“Is it wrong that I liked it that much?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” I answered, stroking her cheek. “But we’re not telling anyone.”

She nodded, and just then we heard the front door of the house open downstairs. Without rushing, but without wasting any time, we separated. Camila picked up her clothes from the floor, dressed as fast as she could, and left the room with a smile that barely fit on her face.

I waited about thirty minutes, just long enough to fix myself up and let the flush die down, before going downstairs with Mateo in my arms. Lorena and her husband were already in the living room, and Camila was sitting on the sofa as if nothing had happened.

“How was your day?” my sister asked me. “Did Cami help you with the baby?”

“She helped me a lot,” I answered, holding my niece’s gaze. “I hope she can keep helping me these next few days.”

Camila nodded with a big smile, lowering her eyes to the floor to hide it. And in that very instant, I knew who was going to be with me the next time my breasts felt too heavy.