I still had trouble believing that Cally's story was true: how could David have been so awful??? I had genuinely *liked* the guy, had been happy about his relationship with my sister, and elated about the pregnancy they had both wanted... Well, at least Cally had wanted it. He hadn't been especially rich but he had a steady job, seemed to care about Cally as much as I did, and most of all he was a good guy. Damn! If I'd never been wrong before, this would have been a spectacular first!
As I pulled into my sister's driveway and parked my car next to hers, I took a deep breath and calmed myself: no need to arrive there all worked up. But damn it! Why did he leave her so unexpectedly, with no warning or explanation whatsoever? How could someone *do* such a thing? On the other hand, why had Cally waited two weeks before calling me? Or calling anyone else for that matter? She's been caring for her three month old baby all alone now, with no one to run errands, get up at night to let her rest, cook decent meals when she was too tired...
Once more I took a deep breath: Cally knew all this and I wouldn't be any help if I arrived angry at her bastard ex-boyfriend. A few minutes later I grabbed my bags and walked up to the door. She opened the door with a large grin, although her eyes told another story: she was exhausted. But now wasn't the time to worry about that. Stephen was in her arms, giggling and laughing, as he really liked his favorite uncle. I dropped my bags and took him in my arms, tickling his belly and nose.
When Cally reached for my bags I told her to leave them there for the moment. I followed her to the living room and as we talked, Stephen slowly fell asleep in my arms. With a smile Cally got up and bent to pick him up. And, inadvertently, showed me her generous cleavage. I closed my eyes and smiled, but when I opened them up she had turned around and was walking toward her room: apparently she enjoyed having her baby in her own room. I had always enjoyed my sister's cleavage, their shape and size and the smattering of freckles. In the utmost secrecy of course. And now that the pregnancy had turned her breasts into barely believable delights, it was hard to keep my eyes away from them.
All through our adolescence I had secretly enjoyed looking at Cally's body. She was relatively short, about 5'4", and she'd always had a compact body. At no point in her life had she looked like a typical waif teen. Instead she had a body meant to do sports: strong and firm, the kind that let her run for hours and hadn't let even one fall or accident break one of her bones. On the other hand, she was no tomboy, God no! She had more curves than any teenager had any right to have. I remember seeing her girl friends staring at her in envy, when they though nobody was looking. Damn! *I* was looking too!
And then, on the night of her twentieth birthday a friend of hers brought another friend, David, and the rest is history. They met a few times, went to a few parties and movies together, hooked up and eventually decided to keep the unexpected child a year and a half later. They had bought a small house when they discovered Cally was pregnant, and at least he had let her keep it. Until now, that is: who knew what cheap trick the bastard had up his sleeve?
Cally returned from her room a few minutes later, and this time I had a better look at her: she was wearing a thin nightgown with a tank top underneath. the nightgown was opened widely, as if handling Stephen had pulled it opened. Or had she breastfed him? No, she hadn't been gone long enough... Anyways, the view was remarkable: the breasts that had always been full and round were now at least a cup size bigger, filled with warm milk. And I guessed that she was wearing nothing but one of her breastfeeding bras, because her breasts were obviously not restrained very much.
I shook my head and smiled to her as she sat next to me. I was unprepared for what she did next. Cally wrapped her arms around my next, buried her face against my neck and began crying. I knew things had not been easy for her, but I had no idea it was that bad... But when she began talking a few minutes later, her situation began to dawn on me. She was exhausted, all alone, trying to deal with a first baby and with the fact that her boyfriend had been a bastard after all, all the while coming to terms with the breakup itself...
I held her in my arms, letting her cry as much as she wanted. Eventually she stopped and fell asleep against me. I stayed there for a while, caressing her hair and holding her tight. After a while I slipped out and picked her up in my arms. I climbed the stairs and found her room in complete disarray. After putting her down on a corner of her bed I proceeded to remove the clothes and random things that were strewn around over the rest of the queen-sized bed. Cally woke up as I finished and began unfastening the belt of her nightgown. I came around and helped her get it off.
"I need to get that bra off, big brother..."
"Ok Cally, don't worry about it. Just sit up and I'll do it."
"Thank you."
It was an awkward moment, but she was so tired and miserable that it didn't feel wrong at all. I simply raised her tank top and unsnapped the bra, letting her do the rest. No wonder she had wanted to take it off: it was a big thing, probably designed to be as comfortable as possible but doing a terrible job of it. After letting it fall beside the bed, Cally laid back down and I pulled the blankets over her. I kissed her brow and whished her good night. She was asleep before I had left the room.
The first week had been hard for me, never having cared for a baby before, but it was worth it: Cally was looking much better than she had when I got here. I could help with the nights, the cooking and cleaning, and even repaired a few odds things in and around the house. Stephen turned out to be a sweet little child, not predisposed to cry very often and one who easily fell asleep, enjoying his long naps. Cally and I had always been close, but the week together had brought us even closer. I was no longer the visiting-brother-that-came-to-help but simply Johan, the big brother that I had been during our youth. Everything was going nicely for everybody.
Except perhaps one thing: her breasts kept haunting me like hungry animals! I had seen her quite a few times during her pregnancy, but always at social family gatherings or other public events. Despite her loose blouses and dresses, I had been fascinated by them: a powerful mix of normal male obsession and the remembered adolescent thrills that had turned me into a breast-man. During those months I had taken every opportunity to look at her breasts, but nothing out of the ordinary had happened: loose clothing didn't feed my fantasies very well. For example I had never seen her breast-feed Stephen before; now it was a daily occurrence.
And oh God was it a wonderful thing! At first Cally had been shy about this, but I told her that I was here to help her, not hinder her routines. And besides, she clearly enjoyed breast-feeding her little boy. And, for some reason, I always managed to be seated in front of her when she did this, at a slight angle. The first few times my sister was still careful and tried to be as discrete as she could. She was not overly prudish or timid about showing me her opened cleavage, but she didn't linger either. As soon as Stephen was done she would pull the bra patch back up and lace her gown.
But after a few days she began to loosen up. She *had* seen me looking at her breasts while she was breast-feeding; heck! she even smiled at me once, winking at me when she caught me. But this afternoon, as we were talking above a breast-feeding; she got caught up in our conversation and didn't notice immediately that Stephen was done and had fallen asleep. He had turned his head away slightly and my sister's large nipple was dawning into my field of view. As she talked, Cally's arm gradually moved lower, exposing more and more of her full breast to me.
The sight was incredible. I know some women have their breasts distorted by pregnancy: not Cally. She had always had big, round and firm breasts, and all that milk didn't make them sag at all. Instead they were just the same, only bigger, better. Generous curves all around, a thrusting bulge from her chest upwards, all the way to her distended nipple. It was pink and still shiny from Stephen's saliva, the large aureole smoothly following the curve of the breast and the big nipple itself protruding hugely. Only one of her breast was exposed but I could see the other one's swell, confined in the bra and between my sister's arms, nearly touching its twin.
And of course, all that wonderful skin was covered with freckles. Cally inherited my father's red hair, while I got my mother's blonde. In high summer a few freckles could appear on my face, but that was it. Cally, on the other hand, had them all year long. Luckily they were not the really dark kind of freckles. Instead they were a lovely shade of pale brown, and covered her face, shoulder and breasts. I could see now that the lower part of her breasts had only a few of them. I felt a thrill as I realized that only a few other people would know that. Oh God how badly would I like to touch them!
All this from quick glances as Cally was talking, hoping that she wouldn't either see me or notice that Stephen was asleep. But of course she eventually did. When her head came back up, after seeing her exposed breast, she turned red but smiled nonetheless:
