Breastfeeding The Sitter

Aali Kali sits on the edge of the bed, breasts swollen, pumping milk into a small bottle before the sitter arrives. Her boyfriend leads Abella upstairs and opens the door. Abella freezes when she sees Aali half-naked, tubes and bottles strapped to her chest. Awkwardness lasts a breath; Aali shrugs and says it's fine. She hands Abella clear instructions about feeding time, then the young sitter's eyes lock on the warm, pale liquid in the glass. Abella has never tasted breast milk. The memory of growing up without it sits heavy as she asks for a single sip. Aali considers, then offers the bottle. Abella tips it back, tongue working against the plastic nipple the way a hungry infant would. Drops cling to her chin. The sweet taste pulls a low sound from her throat. She blurts out another request: straight from the source. Aali reminds her they met minutes ago. Abella begs, voice shaking with want. She climbs onto Aali's lap, yanks her own shirt off, and presses her face between her heavy breasts before any answer lands. After a quiet nod Aali tells her to close the door. Abella turns the lock; the metallic click draws their first smile. Abella cups the swollen mounds, squeezing until milk arcs warm across her lips and cheeks. She laps greedily. Fingers slip between Aali's thighs, exploring the slick heat already waiting there. Aali moans, spine arching. Just as Abella lowers her mouth to an erect nipple, a knock sounds. Aali calls through the wood, inventing a missing pack of diapers that demands immediate attention, sending her husband and the baby out for supplies. The front door clicks shut. Silence falls. Two strangers who are no longer strangers slide naked onto the sheets and finally let themselves finish what they started.