Milk Brings Us Closer

I was lying on the bed talking with a friend on my cellphone when there was a knock on the door. Dad, who had returned from work around 20 minutes ago, peaked inside and asked me whether I was busy. I replied I wasn't and said goodbye to the friend.

Sitting down on the chair, Dad said: "Your mother called just now. She isn't feeling well and wants you to live with her for some days."

"Is she OK?" I asked.

"Well, she didn't sound fine. Give her a call."

"OK."

I dialed Mom's number as he left the room.

"So you finally got the time to call me?" she said before I could say hello.

"Dad told me you weren't well."

"Yes. Could you come for a week or so? I need you here."

"OK. I've holidays next month."

"No, not next month. I want you here tomorrow."

"But Mom, my classes have just started. I can't come tomorrow."

"I told you I'm not well. You either come tomorrow or don't come at all."

"Lemme ask Dad," I said in an effort to get out of the situation.

"Yes, and ask him to book your ticket for the morning. I want you here before 10. Aunt Klara's coming tomorrow, too."

"Fine. Bye," I replied.

I went to the living room and told Dad about the conversation. I thought he'd call Mom and tell her I couldn't come so soon, but he instead said he'd book the ticket. Dejected, I went back to my room.

I had been staying with Dad and Step-mom for over a year as the city had better schools, and although Mom lived only a thousand miles away, I hadn't gone to see her since moving to Dad's place.

I didn't want to go, but the mention of Klara, who was 40 and two years older than my mother, was making me rethink. She and Mom were similar only physically. Unlike Mom, she smoked and drank, swore like a sailor, and had a string of boyfriends before marrying and settling down. She worked in the town government while Mother worked in the local school.

In the morning, Dad dropped me off at the airport, and I dragged my 18-year-old unhappy self home.

I opened the door and saw Mom sitting in the kitchen. I had expected her to get up and greet and hug me. But she didn't even get up. Another odd thing I noticed was that she had a thick quilt around her stomach, although it was summer.

"You hungry," she asked, stirring her black coffee.

"No. I ate at the airport."

"Have coffee at least," she said, pushing the coffee pot toward me.

I poured the coffee and sat down opposite her.

"How are you?" I asked.

"I've something to tell you. But don't interrupt me until I finish. Just listen to what I'm saying," she said with her head bowed and her deep-blue eyes completely avoiding me.

"Aunt Klara's about to come to take me to the hospital. I made a mistake with someone a while back, and it resulted in this," Mom said, throwing the quilt off her stomach but keeping her head down.

She was pregnant.

But before I could react or say anything, she said: "He's an education department official who was visiting the school for a week. He's married with children. It was just one night of mistake. I told him when, you know, I found out, but he didn't seem interested. At first, I wasn't sure I wanted to keep it and kept delaying it and delaying it until it was too late. Now it's due."

"Mom," I said, angrily getting up from the chair.

Just then, the door opened, and in came Klara.

"Oh, my favorite nephew's here," she commented, pressing her big bosom into my chest and hugging me tightly.

"You have only one nephew," Mother corrected her.

"We don't know that yet," Klara said as she looked at Mom's huge belly with her deep-blue eyes. "OK. Is everything packed? Erik help your mother get to the ambulance. You don't have to come with us to the hospital if you don't want to. You can come in later or tomorrow when your new brother or sister is out. It depends on you," she said as she gathered Mother's things.

Mom placed her hands on the table and got up while I just stood there like an idiot. Then she was wheeled into the ambulance.

I took Mom's car and went to the hospital but didn't get the time to talk to her until later in the evening.

"Who's going to take care of it?" I asked.

"Me. Who else?"

"Does Dad know?"

"Why should he? Did he tell me when he was having an affair with that wretched woman or when he married her? It has nothing to do with your dad."

"I don't think she's wretched."

"So now Samantha isn't wretched, is it? Does she still eat with her mouth open?"

"I think right now you've bigger problems. How did this happen?"

"Don't tell me you don't know how this happens," Mom said, clutching the side of her hospital gown. "Has your father informed the school that you won't be able to come for a few days?"

"Yes, he has. The semester has just started, and I'd like to go back."

"Don't worry about that. You can always transfer here. Go home, rest. Come back in the morning. I'll message you if I want something. Now go home."

When I went back in the morning, she was resting in her bed, and beside her in a crib was a baby.

"Say hello to your brother," she said, giving a wide grin.

"What the... When did this happen."

"Last night. How's he?"

"He's lovely," I said, looking at the tiny baby.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't want to disturb you. Besides, it happened very quickly. What do you think of the name Bjorn?"

"Just like Grandpa. I like it. So how are you?"

"I'm fine. Call Aunt Klara and give her the news."

So I called Klara and she said she'd pop in to see Bjorn in around an hour. I picked up Bjorn from the crib and we spent the next hour mainly talking about him.

Then Klara arrived and she was overjoyed to see him. Mom and Klara were discussing him when Mom asked me to get coffee as it was time to feed Bjorn, so I left the room and went for a walk.

Little later, Roger, Klara's husband, Uncle Hans, Mom's and Klara's brother, and Stephanie, his wife, came to see the baby.

Stephanie was the opposite of Mother and Klara. She wasn't as tall as them, had black hair, and brown eyes, and didn't have a big rack. But, according to Klara, Hans called her the best fuck of his life.

I went back home in the evening and in the morning went again to the hospital and brought Mom and Bjorn home. The day was very busy as Klara and others came again and they were joined by Mom's colleagues and friends.

The next day I was pouring oats into the bowl in the kitchen in the morning when she came out of her room wearing her jammies and tops she usually wore at night.

"Having breakfast?" she asked.

"You want some?" I said.

"No, I'm not hungry."

I knew she was tired and guessed she was hungry, too, so I hurriedly made pancakes for her. After eating pancakes, she went back to her room and more or less stayed there the whole day, which was odd as staying cooped up in her room wasn't in her nature. I made lunch and dinner and she had them in her room.

The next morning, she was sitting in the kitchen holding Bjorn in her arms when I woke up.

"How's he?"

"Fine," she replied.

Though she was looking at me, her gaze was empty. It felt as if she wasn't even aware that I was there. It was a gaze people have when they are lost in deep thought.

"I'll make eggs for us," I said, grabbing four eggs.

I placed the eggs on the table and got the bowl of oats for myself.

"Finish this. He didn't drink it so you have it," she said, pointing at the milk bottle.

"Ew! That's gross," I reacted instinctively.

"Life's gross," she said as she poured the milk into the bowl.

"I'm not going to have that."

"Why not? Don't waste it," she ordered, looking at me for the first time.

"That's gross," I replied.

"It wasn't gross when you were a baby, but now it is? You know I don't like wasting food," she said.

After finishing her breakfast, she went back to her room and stayed there until the evening. Thankfully, Klara came in the evening with food for us.

Though Mom had lunch, which I had made for the second straight day, in her room, she did come out for dinner but stayed silent the whole time.

Klara followed her into the room and stayed with her for around 30 minutes. I was watching TV in the living when Klara came out.

"She looks frazzled. Maybe she's just tired," Klara said, sitting down in her shorts and top next to me on the couch and giving me a good look at her long legs and smooth thighs.

"She stays in that room the whole day. She hasn't changed her clothes. I don't know if she's even feeding him," I said.

"He looks fine. Of course, she's feeding him. I heard that she gave you his milk and you grossed out."

I just nodded my head without saying anything.

"You know she's a stickler for waste. Just go along with whatever she says and try to keep her happy. It isn't easy for her either. By the way, how does it taste?"

"Dunno. Didn't try it," I replied, looking into her eyes.

"Some people just aren't lucky. I wanted to be a mother, but your uncle, who's an ace in every field, cannot perform in this area. So I'm unable to taste the fruit of birth."

I turned my head toward her, thinking she'd be sad, but she simply smiled back.

"Don't worry. I just now saw your mother feeding Bjorn, so I got emotional. Such big jugs but all empty," she said, putting her hands on her voluptuous breasts hiding under the top.

"Well, time to go. Don't worry about Bjorn, he's fine. Just help your mother," she said as she got up and left.

At night, I woke up to Bjorn's loud crying, which was unusual because he, unlike other kids, didn't cry a lot. I knocked on Mom's door, but there was no reply, so I slowly opened the door and peeked inside. Bjorn was crying in his crib while she was sound asleep in her bed. I tiptoed to her and looked at her in anger and confusion. Anger because I felt she wasn't taking care of him and confusion because she wasn't a bad person or even a bad mother. After all, she always cared for me and gave me a very happy childhood. But with Bjorn, she was lying in her top and jammies, with her back toward him and her blonde hair covering her face. I shook her shoulder two or three times and only then she opened her eyes.

"He's crying," I said angrily.

"I know," she replied curtly and closed her eyes.

I kept looking at her, getting angrier and angrier.

"Mom!" I snapped.

She again opened her eyes and said: "He must be hungry."

Thinking she meant his milk bottle, I began looking for one, but all the bottles were empty.

"His bottles are empty," I shouted, partly because Bjorn was crying so loudly that I had no choice but to shout and partly because I was angry.

"Give him to me," she finally said.

But when I put him next to her, she didn't even move; she just kept lying there with her eyes closed.

'He's hungry," I hissed into her ear.

Lifting her upper body, she took Bjorn in her arms and placed him on her lap. She tried to lift her top, but realized she was sitting on it.

"Help me get this out," she said.

So I grabbed the sides of her top and yanked it out.

Although I was inches away from her, she just lifted her top and was obviously not wearing a bra because as she did that, her left boob appeared. Mom, just like Klara, was a curvaceous woman. Both had deep-blue eyes, blonde hair, a sharp nose, and full lips. The only difference was that Mother was 5'7 and Klara 5'6.

However, even though her boobs, something I had fantasized about for so long, were inches away from my mouth, that thought was nowhere near me at that moment.

Her hair was in a mess, she looked tired, and, more worryingly, she seemed to be far away. The only bright spot was that Bjorn was finally quiet. But he started crying again around two hours later and I had to wake her up again.

The next afternoon, when I went to her room with lunch, she was sitting on the bed, and Bjorn was on her lap, and she was feeding him because I caught a brief glimpse of her right boob before I quickly averted my eyes.

"Sorry about last night. I was a mess."

"It's fine," I replied, putting the tray down on the bed without looking at her.

"Sit down here. I haven't talked to you for such a long time. I missed you."

"OK," I said as I sat down opposite her but my face was away from her.

"He looks like you. Look at him; he's your little brother."

I turned my head and the first thing I saw was her boob peeking out from under her top.

"See, he's looking at you. Say something to him."

"What do I say to him?" I asked, watching Bjorn looking at me while suckling on Mom's pink nipple.

"He's just like you. Always hungry."

"Hmm," I said as I got up and left the room.

This happened again in the evening. I was cleaning her room and she just lay there with her top pushed up and both her breasts out as Bjorn suckled them.

But at night I had to wake her up twice to feed him.

The next day I was putting groceries in the kitchen when she called me. When I went to her room, she was sitting topless wearing only jammies, and a container was lying near her leg.

"I was trying to fill milk in it but it fell over. Could you please get me another one from the kitchen?"

"Sure," I said heading back to the kitchen. "Why do you need this," I asked as I handed her the container.

"To fill the bottles," she said, placing the container below her breast and putting her fingers around her nipple. "I got the pump but it's too difficult. This too isn't working. Could you help me?"

I had no idea what a pump was or what she wanted me to do.

"How?" I asked, watching the milk dribble slowly from her nipple.

"Just come here and lightly press this area. My fingers are too tired. Gently press this area," she said, circling her nipple with her fingers and showing me how to do it.

"Unbelievable," I muttered to myself as I went near her.

Resting her head on the headrest, she closed her eyes as I put my fingers around her pink nipple and began pressing the area around it. Soon the milk started flowing.

"It's working. I knew it would. Just keep doing it," she said, opening her eyes for a second and closing them again.

A couple of minutes later she wrapped her fingers around the other breast and asked me to switch to it. When she was done she asked me to pour her milk into the bottle and put it in the refrigerator. After that, she turned to her side and went to sleep, and I left the room.

She didn't come to the kitchen for lunch, so I carried it in a tray and knocked on her door.

"Come in Erik."

So I opened the door and went inside.

Although just hours ago I was not only looking at her breasts but was holding them in my hands, the sight of Bjorn suckling on her right nipple and her left boob completely on display embarrassed me, so I immediately averted my eyes and, after hurriedly putting the tray on the bed, turned around and began walking toward the door.

"You didn't say hello to Bjorn. He wants to thank you for helping me."

"It's OK," I replied without turning my head.

"Come here, sit down."

So I went and sat down on the bed but kept my gaze away from her. Then after sitting there for what seemed eternity, I whispered: "Mom, are you on drugs?"

"What do you mean?"

I lifted my head, saw that Bjorn still had her right nipple in his mouth, and said: "You don't leave this room. You're wearing the same clothes. I'm confused."

"I was just tired. Don't worry," she said without looking at me.

"Isn't your little brother lovely? See, he's wearing clean clothes."

"Yes, he's."

"Hold him so I can also eat," she said as she gave him to me and hid her big breasts under her top.

We then spent the next 15 minutes talking about coronavirus, Bjorn, Dad, and other things. Later we were in the living room when Klara came. She told us it was her off day so she has come to see her new nephew. Mom, who was trying to make Bjorn sleep, gave him to her.

"Annika, your clothes stink. You've milk all over your top. Go take a shower," Klara said to Mom.

"I've been saying the same thing since morning," I added.

Ignoring both of us and staring blankly at the wall, Mom said: "He helped me feed him."

"Yes, he's very helpful. Now get up," Klara replied.

"I was struggling with him. Don't know why the milk wasn't coming, so he held them in his hands and the milk began flowing."

"What do you mean he held them in his hands?" Klara asked, sitting down on a chair opposite us.

"Do you want coffee?" I said to Klara in a desperate attempt to move the topic to something else.

But as expected, Mom continued.

"He held, to use your word, these jugs to make the milk flow. The poor thing was very worried."

Klara didn't look at me. Instead, she bowed her head in contemplation and simply nodded.

Then getting up from the chair, Klara said: "Are you getting up or not?"

"What's the hurry? I'll change later," Mother replied.

"OK, that's it. Erik, you hold her from that side, I'll hold her from this side, and we'll drag her to the bathroom."

She got up and pulled Mom from the couch, so I too was forced to help her. We dragged Mother to her room where Klara asked me to get Bjorn from the living room, put him in the crib, and then give her a towel. I quickly handed her a towel and she pushed Mom into the bathroom while I went to fetch Bjorn. I could hear her asking Mom to take off her jammies and get into the shower, but it sounded like Mom was resisting.

When I came back, Klara threw Mom's bra and panties and asked me to put them in the washing machine and anything else that was dirty. Then she came out of the bathroom and asked me to give her one more towel. I got another towel and she turned her back toward me and started taking off her top and jeans right there. I obviously would have preferred her to take off her clothes facing me as that would have given me a good view of her cleavage and boobs, but even this view wasn't bad. Her smooth thighs, shapely tush, spotless back, and the golden chain of her necklace were all accentuated by the red bra and panties she was wearing. Extending her arm toward me, she took the towel and finally succeeded in pushing Mom under the shower.

Then she opened the door slightly and with only her head peeking out, she told me to grab shorts and top for Mom from the drawers. When I handed them to her, she asked me to open the last drawer and get the rest.

Confused by her order, I said: "Get what?"

"You men are so useless. Open the drawer and you'll understand."

So I opened the drawer and understood what she meant. I handed her a blue bra and matching panties.

"Not these ones. Wait, I'm coming. Now Annika, you stay here, don't move, I'm coming."

She came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her and went straight to the drawer. To say that the sight of her bending down with water dripping from her legs and shoulders, her wet blonde hair wrapped around her face and her ample cleavage struggling under the towel was arousing would be an understatement. The only thing I wanted to do right at that moment was to grab her from behind and fuck her then and there. Sadly, she was more interested in giving Mom a shower.

"Put this back in the drawer," she said, throwing the blue bra on the bed and rushing back to the bathroom with another bra.

When Mom came out, she was finally looking clean and neat in shorts and a top. Klara, however, still had the towel wrapped around her.

"OK, now go make coffee for us," she ordered me as she picked up her jeans from the bed.

I wanted to watch her put her jeans and top back on, but her order meant I had to leave.

"It was just a quick shower, she needs a good wash," Klara said, sipping the hot coffee in the kitchen.

"You're talking about me as if I'm a child," Mom said above the TV from the living room.

"Yes, I'm going to adopt you," Klara replied, winking at me.