The soft rays from beyond the clouds rolling in the sky like white cotton sometimes tinted with impurities fall onto my face, and I furrow my brows.
However, I slept well last night, like all the times when Liz is home. I have slept well, and I have woken up with the digested energy of my nighttime snack. I become aware of the soft knob of flesh in my mouth, and lightly chew on it.
Almost at the same time, I reflexively fondle the mountain it is the peak of, causing a jet of liquid to stream into my mouth and wash over my tongue with a taste neither sweet nor salty, but which breathes vitality into my body, just like the sun does to the Earth everyday.
A hand falls onto my head, and the owner of the mountain of flesh moves, but I know it is just a reflex, one conditioned over the past months to make my morning meal more comfortable, more enjoyable.
Like tides reaching the shore, everything seems natural, and I transition to the second milk production factory after the first one starts only giving meager yield. I repeat the process from earlier until the same end result is produced, and only then do I open my eyes.
I take in the nascent rays of the sun, then the image of Liz calmly sleeping with the tips of her breasts and her areolas glistening with my saliva, and maybe some residue of her own milk.
I look carefully, and after making sure I'm not leaving a mess behind, I slowly push the soft fleshy weights back into the clothes I have pulled them out from yesterday. It is only then that I slip out of the bed, and after covering Liz properly, I change out of my shorts and my t-shirt.
A cropped slim fit tank top and safety shorts later, I look at myself in the mirror.
I have always liked my form. Really. Since young, it is like fats and I are from two different universes. Gaining weight has never been a worry of mine, and now even less.
My legs, looking down at them, I can see not lines of muscles, but health. They are almost skinny, but not quite. But neither are they fleshy either. They are slim, right, that is the word. And when I position them to tighten the flesh underneath the skin, the traces of my workout can be seen.
I have not wasted my last few months of hard work, discipline… and nutrients-rich milk. I can feel the muscles of my abdomen shift with the movements of my legs, giving more definition to my flat stomach, but without any exaggeration.
Even my arms are fleshy enough to not be skinny, and I can't feel that same weakness from a few months ago anymore. While I can't even lift the couch downstairs in the living room, I can feel myself being more firm, more stable, and not like a drooping piece of flesh on a framework of bones under a soft skin.
Looking at my neck, I tuck the short blonde hair that barely grazes it behind my ear, and give myself a once-over.
I always say that my breasts are small, that my chest is not as expansive as my mother's, as if Liz is the biological daughter with her genes. And anyone would believe that upon seeing her pictures from when she had the same age as me. Compared to her, Emmie does not hold a candle at all. Even Helene, whose figure has crushed her husband's confidence, is a size and a half smaller, now that Liz has started lactating.
Well, all my rambling is just because I'm actually admiring my slim form. If not for my brain, I could have gone for something like modeling without any doubt about success, if those unwritten rules do not become obstacles.
I look at myself with some love that is still quite far from narcissism, before my thoughts pause, remembering Liz's suspicious words yesterday. I turn and narrow my eyes at her, before I leave the room and quietly close the door behind.
The cold of the last half of December is still there, even though there is no snow. Nevertheless, a well-planned life can be addictive. I take out the mat as usual and spread it in the open space where mum used to do her yoga session.
A small laugh escapes my lips. Everytime I recall dad trying to sneak glances at her while being discreet, I can't help but want to laugh. Even more so when it is because of us, the younger ones, that he was forced to sneak peeks instead of righteously enjoying the spectacle.
I stretch, then start with some cardio, followed by some calisthenics, before I work to bring the heat down.
I look out of the window, at the gradually brightening light, at the festive atmosphere that is different from the calm inside, then down at the small pool of sweat at my feet. I breathe in and out, calm myself, then return upstairs after cleaning the mess.
I wash up and put on a change of clothes without disturbing Liz. She seems determined to sleep in. She must have been tired, or maybe, she is recharging for what she does not want me to know about.
I glare at her sleeping form, the indignation of yesterday rising up to the surface again. I return downstairs with my laptop, make myself breakfast, and resume working on my coding project.
It is only close to the end of the morning that Liz sleepily comes down in a scandalous outfit. I barely pay attention to her. After glancing at me, she goes on with her morning or afternoon rituals, before taking a shower and coming back down with her own laptop to work on her research paper.
The day, even though it is supposed to be festive, is spent calmly, with both of us busy until the afternoon, then the second half of the latter. It is then that she starts sneaking glances at me, as if in a hurry for me to go.
I purse my lips. Just then, my phone vibrates with a message from Emmie. It is a selfie she had taken in her room, with a bright smile on her face in her boobtube that traces the shape of her breasts, the only part of her torso it covers, and which she will certainly have to hide under a thick jacket later.
Below the selfie, is her message that makes me smile.
"Remember our date."
I glance up at Liz just in time to almost catch her sneak peek, and type a reply.
"I may be late, but I will not forget."
I barely send that and my phone vibrates with an answer, a kiss and a heart.
I don't need to look at myself in the mirror to feel the affection bleeding in my smile. From physical, our relationship has changed, something we both know, even though we never actually say.
I close the laptop and go upstairs to get ready too, but not before throwing another glance at Liz, a glance that makes her panic a little, then hide her shaken fingers.