Maternal Confusion

Amber stands in your doorway, her presence filling the space with an energy that makes your carefully curated living room feel suddenly smaller. Her honey-blonde hair catches the afternoon light streaming through your floor-to-ceiling windows, and the casual confidence in her stance makes your stomach tighten with an emotion you can't quite name.

"So nice to meet you properly, Aiko," she says, extending a hand that feels impossibly soft against yours. "I've seen your photography on Instagram. Your pregnancy portraits were stunning."

You lead her to the sofa, hyperaware of how your husband Ryan's eyes follow her movement. The postpartum body you've been hiding beneath loose clothing feels exposed despite being fully covered. You sit straighter, pulling your shoulders back.

"Thank you for coming," you say, voice steadier than you feel. "I've prepared a schedule and some guidelines about Kai's feeding routine."

Amber listens attentively as you explain, her eyes warm and understanding in a way that makes you feel simultaneously comforted and threatened. When you mention your hope that this arrangement will be temporary, her expression shifts subtly.

"Of course," she says, her voice gentle. "Though many mothers find that shared nursing creates a beautiful bond. The pressure doesn't all fall on one person."

Ryan, who has been unusually engaged in this conversation, nods. "That makes sense. You've been so stressed, Aiko."

The baby monitor lights up with Kai's hungry cries. You start to rise, but Amber is already standing.

"May I?" she asks, and before you can fully process your feelings, Ryan answers for you.

"Please," he says, relief evident in his voice. "The nursery is down the hall, first door on the right."

You watch as Amber walks confidently toward your baby's room, her hips swaying slightly in her cutoff shorts. Ryan's eyes follow her, then turn to you with an expression that mixes guilt with something else—gratitude, perhaps.

"She seems great," he whispers, squeezing your hand. "This is going to help us all."

You nod, unable to articulate the complex tangle of emotions coursing through you: relief at the prospect of help, jealousy at another woman feeding your child, and a strange, unwanted heat at the thought of being... replaced? Supported? The line between the two feels dangerously thin.

From the nursery, you hear Amber's soft voice cooing to Kai, followed by silence as he presumably latches. The sound of your child being soothed by another woman's body sends a confusing shiver through you—part relief, part despair, and part something darker that you don't want to name.

You slip into the nursery, your sock-clad feet silent against the plush carpet. The room—meticulously designed in shades of sage green and cream—feels different with Amber in it. She sits in the rocking chair you selected after weeks of research, your son cradled against her chest, his tiny mouth working rhythmically at her breast.

She looks up, catching you hovering in the doorway. "He's got a perfect latch," she says, her voice soft but confident. "Come closer if you want to see."

You move toward them, drawn by some magnetic pull you don't fully understand. Kai's eyes are closed in contentment, his tiny hand resting against the swell of Amber's breast. The intimacy of the scene makes your throat tighten.

"He's taking to it so well," Amber continues, shifting slightly to give you a better view. "Sometimes babies struggle with different nipples, but he seems perfectly happy."

You nod, unable to form words as you watch your child being nourished by another woman's body. The relief and jealousy war within you, creating a cocktail of emotions that leaves you dizzy.

"You know," Amber says casually, her eyes never leaving Kai's face, "some mothers find it helpful to try nursing directly from the wet nurse. It gives you a sense of what your baby is experiencing, helps you understand the latch better." She looks up at you, her expression neutral but her eyes holding something unreadable. "Would you like to try? It might help with your own milk production too."

The question lands like a slap. You blink rapidly, heat rushing to your face. The suggestion is so far outside the professional boundaries you expected that your brain struggles to process it. More disturbing is the momentary flash of curiosity that sparks through you before shame extinguishes it.

"I—" you start, but no words follow.

Amber smiles as if she's suggested nothing more unusual than a cup of tea. "It's an old practice, actually. Wet nurses would sometimes help mothers understand proper technique this way." She strokes Kai's cheek with one finger. "No pressure, of course. Just something to consider."

You take a step back, your heel catching on the edge of the nursery rug. "I don't think that would be appropriate," you finally manage, your voice higher than normal.

"Of course," Amber says, her tone unchanged. "I just want to help however I can. Your comfort is important."

From the doorway, you hear Ryan clear his throat. You turn to find him watching, his expression unreadable. "Everything okay in here?" he asks, eyes moving between you and Amber.

"Perfect," Amber answers before you can. "Kai's doing wonderfully. Aiko was just checking on us."

Ryan nods, his gaze lingering on the tableau of Amber nursing your son. "Good," he says. "That's... good." He looks at you, a question in his eyes that you're not sure how to answer.

You touch Ryan's arm lightly, maintaining a composed expression despite the turmoil inside. "Can we talk in the kitchen for a moment?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He follows you, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor. The kitchen—all gleaming surfaces and minimalist design—feels like neutral territory, a space where you've shared countless intimate moments before Kai's arrival turned your world upside down.

"That suggestion Amber made," you begin, leaning against the counter for support. "About me nursing from her. Don't you think that crossed a line?"

Ryan's expression shifts, his brow furrowing as he processes your words. He runs a hand through his dark hair, a gesture you recognize as discomfort.

"I didn't hear exactly what she said," he admits. "Just caught the end of it."

"She suggested I should try nursing from her breasts," you explain, the words feeling absurd as they leave your mouth. "To understand what Kai is experiencing."

You expect immediate agreement about the inappropriateness, but Ryan's response catches you off guard. He hesitates, his eyes not quite meeting yours.

"I mean, it sounds weird at first, but..." He shrugs, his voice dropping lower. "Maybe she was just trying to be helpful? She is studying nursing."

The betrayal cuts deeper than you anticipated. You'd expected a united front, not justification.

"Helpful?" Your voice rises despite your effort to keep it down. "Ryan, that's not normal professional advice."

"I'm just saying," he continues, glancing toward the nursery, "different cultures have different approaches to these things. My colleague Javier was telling me about his grandmother in Colombia who was part of a communal nursing circle or something."

You stare at him, searching his face for some sign that he's playing devil's advocate rather than genuinely defending Amber's suggestion. The kitchen suddenly feels too small, too warm.

"This isn't about cultural differences," you say, struggling to articulate why his response feels so wrong. "It's about professional boundaries. She's here to help with Kai, not to—" You stop, unable to even finish the thought.

Ryan sighs, reaching for your hand. You let him take it, though your fingers remain stiff in his grasp.

"You're right," he says, though his tone lacks conviction. "If it made you uncomfortable, that's what matters. I just don't want you to stress about every little thing right now. You've been through so much."

His words, meant to soothe, only underscore how little he understands. The patronizing tone, the subtle implication that your reaction is just another symptom of postpartum anxiety rather than a legitimate concern.

"I'm not being irrational," you say, pulling your hand away. "And I'm not judging her cultural background. I'm setting a boundary."

Ryan nods too quickly. "Of course. You're right. I'll talk to her if you want."

But the damage is done. In this moment of vulnerability, when you needed an ally, he positioned himself as a mediator instead—standing between you and Amber rather than beside you.

You feel something snap inside you, a dark thread of anger and arousal twisting together as you stare at Ryan's oblivious expression. Your voice emerges with a dangerous edge.

"If you think it's so normal and helpful, maybe you should try it yourself," you suggest, crossing your arms. "Let Amber nurse you too. Then you can understand my discomfort from experience."

You expect embarrassment, perhaps outrage. Instead, Ryan's expression shifts subtly—a flicker of something primal crossing his features before he masks it with consideration.

"You know what? That's fair," he says, his voice strangely steady. "If it would help you feel better about the situation..."

The floor seems to tilt beneath you. This wasn't the response you anticipated. Before you can process what's happening, Ryan turns toward the nursery.

"Amber?" he calls. "Could you come here for a moment? We have a... question."

Panic surges through you. The theoretical becoming suddenly, terrifyingly real. Amber appears in the doorway, Kai sleeping peacefully against her shoulder, her expression curious.

"I think we might try your suggestion," Ryan says, his voice lower than usual. "About understanding the experience better."

Amber's eyes widen slightly, darting between you and Ryan. "Oh," she says, a slow smile spreading across her face. "I'm happy to help however I can."

"No," you interject, the word bursting from you. "Not him. Me." The words tumble out before you can examine them, driven by some desperate need to reclaim control of a situation spiraling beyond your grasp. "I'll do it."

The room goes still. Ryan's expression freezes somewhere between shock and something darker. Amber's smile doesn't falter.

"Of course," she says, her voice honey-smooth. "That makes more sense anyway, doesn't it? Mother to mother."

She moves to the sofa, settling into the corner with practiced ease. She pats the space beside her, an invitation that feels both mundane and monumental. You move toward her on legs that don't quite feel like your own.

"I'll take Kai," Ryan says, his voice strained as he gently lifts your sleeping son from Amber's shoulder.

You sit beside her, rigid with tension. Amber turns toward you, her movements fluid and confident.

"You'll need to be closer," she says, patting her lap. "And more relaxed."

You slide awkwardly toward her, your body moving on autopilot. Her hands guide you with surprising strength until you're half-cradled in her lap, your head supported by her arm, your face level with her breast. She smells of lavender and something else—a warm, animal scent that makes your stomach tighten.

"This is how Kai feels," she murmurs, her free hand brushing hair from your face with maternal tenderness that feels both comforting and humiliating. "Safe. Held."

She pulls down the neckline of her top, exposing a full breast tipped with a nipple already beading with milk. Your mouth goes dry. From across the room, you hear Ryan's breathing change.

"Go ahead," Amber encourages, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It's okay to need this."

You lean forward, heart thundering in your chest as your lips brush against Amber's nipple. The first drop of milk touches your tongue—warm, sweet, surprisingly rich—and something primal within you responds. Your eyes flutter closed as you take the nipple into your mouth, instinct guiding you to create suction.

The milk flows freely, filling your mouth with each pull. The taste is nothing like you expected—complex, slightly grassy, with a sweetness that triggers some deep, forgotten comfort. Your body relaxes incrementally, tension melting from your shoulders as you surrender to the strange intimacy of the moment.

"There you go," Amber murmurs, her fingers stroking your hair with maternal tenderness that makes your stomach flip with conflicting emotions. "Now you understand what Kai feels."

You should feel mortified, infantilized, reduced. Instead, a treacherous warmth spreads through you, a comfort so profound it borders on arousal. Your hands, uncertain where to rest, finally settle against Amber's side, feeling the warmth of her skin through her thin top.

"It's fascinating, isn't it?" Amber says conversationally, addressing Ryan while continuing to cradle your head. "The maternal bond formed through nursing. Some anthropologists believe wet nursing created kinship bonds as strong as blood relations in ancient societies."

You open your eyes slightly, catching Ryan's expression as he watches, Kai still sleeping against his shoulder. His face is flushed, pupils dilated, his breathing shallow. He's transfixed by the tableau you and Amber create, clearly aroused yet trying to maintain the pretense that this is merely educational.

"I've read about that," he manages, his voice strained. "In... various cultures."

"The milk changes composition based on the nursling's needs," Amber continues, her thumb brushing your cheek as you continue to suckle. "Fascinating, right?"

Ryan nods mechanically, shifting Kai to a more comfortable position—or perhaps to hide his physical reaction to the scene before him.

"How does it feel, Aiko?" Amber asks, looking down at you with an expression that mingles nurturing with something more complex. "Different from when Kai nurses from you?"

You should stop. You should pull away, reclaim your dignity, establish boundaries. Instead, you take another pull, the milk flowing easier now, your body surrendering to the rhythm of give and take. The line between proving a point and genuine comfort has blurred beyond recognition.

"I think she's enjoying it," Amber says to Ryan, her voice dropping to a more intimate register. "Sometimes we all need to be taken care of, don't we?"

Ryan swallows audibly, nodding again. "I should... put Kai down in his crib," he says, but makes no move to leave, caught in the gravity of what's unfolding in his living room on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday afternoon.

The warmth of Amber's milk continues to flow, creating a cocoon of comfort that feels both wrong and impossibly right. Your body relaxes further into her lap, a heaviness settling into your limbs as you surrender to the taboo intimacy. The rational part of your brain grows quieter with each swallow, replaced by a foggy contentment that reminds you of drifting toward sleep.

Amber's fingers trace lazy patterns through your hair, her touch maternal yet possessive. "She's taking to it so naturally," she remarks to Ryan, her voice vibrating through her chest against your cheek. "Sometimes adults need this kind of care too. The world puts so much pressure on new mothers."

Ryan shifts in his peripheral vision, Kai still nestled against his shoulder. "I've never seen her so... calm," he admits, his voice thick with conflicted desire.

"It's the oxytocin," Amber explains, her tone sliding into the educational register of a nursing student. "Same hormone released during orgasm, actually. Creates bonding, relaxation..."

The milk has become a current carrying you downstream, away from your anxieties, your perfectionism, your need to control. You feel a spreading warmth between your legs, a pleasant heaviness in your lower abdomen that registers distantly as your bladder filling.

"Oh my," Amber's voice cuts through your haze, her tone shifting to something honeyed and infantilizing. "I think someone's having a little accident. Look, Ryan."

The words penetrate your consciousness like ice water. You feel it now—the unmistakable warmth spreading beneath you, soaking through your leggings and onto Amber's lap. Horror crashes through you as you register what's happening.

Ryan's sharp intake of breath confirms your worst fears. His expression transforms from arousal to revulsion in an instant. "Jesus, Aiko," he mutters, turning away slightly.

Shame explodes through you like shrapnel. You scramble up from Amber's lap, milk dribbling down your chin, the wet patch on your leggings unmistakable. The room spins as blood rushes to your head, your body still caught between the dreamy surrender of moments before and the brutal reality of now.

"It's perfectly natural," Amber says, her voice dripping with false reassurance that only heightens your humiliation. "Happens with the relaxation response. Nothing to be embarrassed about."

But her eyes tell a different story—a gleam of satisfaction, of power gained through your degradation. You back away, unable to look at Ryan, unable to bear the weight of what just happened.

"I need to—" you stammer, already turning toward the hallway, your legs unsteady beneath you. You flee to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you, the sound of Amber's soothing murmurs to Ryan following you down the hall.

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