0 comments/ 129634 views/ 5 favorites Fat Boy By: Ulyssa Bryan’s POV: On the day I found out that my white wife had been fucking a black man, I still couldn’t force myself to confront Diane about it. She’d been a staff development consultant for area school districts working on a dozen statewide projects with dozens of other professional education people from all over the Midwest and that included one African American colleague from the Detroit Metro area. The thing is, I really thought I liked this guy, but I’m not cold-blooded enough to let her go off with the better man. Besides, I told myself, Diane doesn’t really want to leave me for this man. She just needed to have a black cock fuck her every now and then. I didn’t know it at the time, but she’d been fucking him off and on for close to seven months. I also didn’t know that there had been a serious complication in our life together. It all started for me when I accidentally listened to an unerased segment from an audio cassette tape one night a week or so back. It was a small cartridge style tape that is used in those voice activated tape recorders, and I was going through a few old tapes to see if I could use one for a business meeting I had the next morning. I’d listen to seminar notes and lecture material and then I’d fast forward the tape trying to decide if there was enough space to put about an hour’s worth of new notes toward the end of an old tape. If I hadn’t been such a cheapskate, I wouldn’t have overheard something that I knew Diane hadn’t realized had been recorded during one of her many evenings out of town at educational conferences. “What time is it?” A male voice asked on the tape. “About a quarter to one in the morning,” my wife’s voice replied. “Jesus, I’d better get some sleep,” the man said. “Oh no you don’t, mister,” Diane insisted. “You’re not leaving this room until you fuck me, and that’s final!” James Kenton was forty-one years old and my wife, Diane, was thirty-six when I uncovered this unexpected twist in their professional relationship. “You know something, Diane?” James’s voice said. “For the first time since I was a newlywed, making love has become an inevitable part of our days together.” The next words I heard on the tape were from a very familiar invitation: “Would you like to rub my front?” Diane’s voice asked. Her words brought a strangling lump up to my throat. She’d always asked me that question whenever she was eager to begin sexual foreplay. I began to imagine his huge black hands and long thin fingers roaming across the smooth white flesh of my wife’s breasts as the tape echoes small feminine gasps and moans. “I love how your gorgeous dark body contrasts against mine, James.” “I used to hate my body,” James said. “When I was a youngster growing up in Southgate, I had a real weight problem. The neighbor kids would always call me Fat Boy.” “You’re kidding!” “It’s true. And of course the more they teased me, the more depressed I’d become and so...” “The more you’d eat.” “That’s how it was. Anyway in my last year of high school, I discovered weight training and promised myself that I would stick to it until I became fit and slim.” “Wow, I’m impressed.” “No more Fat Boy after that,” James said. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Diane responded. “What I’ve got my hands on down here under the covers feels like an eagerly fat fella who’s dying to come in out of the cold.” “He’s not fat, he’s pleasingly plump.” Diane’s POV: Diane watched as James took hold of a small tube of KY Jelly and slowly squeezed out a large glob of clear gel onto the tips of his black fingers. Then those dark fingers dropped out of sight between Diane’s thighs and the shocking cold lubricant oozed a chilling trail across the delicate tissue of her swollen labial lips. Seconds later his wet emboldened fingers slipped gently between the opening of her loins so that he could smear her inner tissues with the cool wet gelatin. “Oh, my God,” Diane gasped. James Kenton’s black fingers poked and stroked playfully in the newly moistened warmth inside Diane’s cunt. The sensations running through her both made her ache, yet stimulated the raw nerves inside her loins. For a full minutes on end James Kenton plied at her body with his fingers. The lubricant stimulated Diane’s own natural juices, making a glorious mess on the sheets underneath her. “Enough,” Diane said throatily after she’d nearly cum under his fingers. “I want your fat boy inside me now, James. I can’t wait any longer.” James scrambled quickly over Diane’s naked white body positioning himself until he’d planted the long blunt tip of his erection securely at the base of her sloppy wet swollen labia. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” “No, and I suspect that I never will,” Diane giggled. She parted and raised her thighs so that James could fit tightly against her coital saddle. Then taking a hold of the end of his black erected penis, Diane carefully guided his potent black dick right to the brink of her body’s welcoming loins. Both she and James moaned in harmony as he pushed his eleven inch length deep into her moist accepting vagina. For the next several minutes there was only the slight space of a few inches between them as she felt him pull his cock back momentarily only to shove his length totally back into her womb in order to bask in the juicy wet glory of his white lover. What stamina her brawny black admirer had. James’s long prodding fat boy soon had Diane whimpering, kissing, licking, and nipping at his face with her teeth along his chin and cheek and mouth wanting to consume him with her lips. Diane moaned with the exquisite pleasure of the imposing experience of his huge black dick stretching her so fully. As soon as the black man began breathing hard over her, Diane gave him the emotional go ahead to complete his climax. She wrapped her arms and legs around his body and pulled him as close as she possibly could. “You’ve got me now, James Kenton, and there’s nothing...” Bryan’s POV: “You’ve got me now, James Kenton, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” Diane used her soft, little girl voice--the one she uses whenever lovemaking becomes pure pleasure for her. “Show me what that fat boy of yours can do.” James sighed and groaned and even sputtered a bit. Suddenly I realized that I was listening to James Kenton climaxing. A black man I’d met only once was ejaculating his sperm into my white wife. Of course, even if I hadn’t been totally certain, it would only take a few choice words from Diane to verify the image for me: “Oh! Oh my, you’re spraying inside me,” Diane laughed softly in delight. “Such a gentle warm splash! It’s almost too much for me.” James exhaled: “Do you want me to stop?” “No! Absolutely not--not just yet, I need you close right now. I need to tell you something very important.” “Something romantic, I hope.” “I think it is,” she answered. “I think it’s very romantic.” “Good, we should try to keep our romance alive between us,” James replied as the sound of the bed springs indicated that he’d shifted his weight. “Right now our romance seems...” Diane’s POV: “Right now our romance seems to be seeping out of me and onto this bed.” He laughed and began to withdraw from her. Diane grabbed his hips and pulled him back close against her. “Wait, James. Don’t pull out yet,” Diane pleaded. “Give me just a few more minutes of conjugal bliss before fat boy leaves.” “Hmm? How could I possibly say no when you are so very wet, and I’m still wallowing in the incredible soaking we’ve given each other?” the forty year old black professional replied. “So what did you want to tell me about?” “I guess you could say it has to do with all those wonderfully potent soakings of semen you’ve given me over the past months,” Diane responded quietly. James raised his head to scrutinize the voluptuously naked body of his thirty-six year old white lover. “Potent?” Her blue eyes locked onto his dark brown eyes. Diane nodded and whispered. “Very potent.” “Are you certain?” Diane smiled. “My doctor thinks I’m about seven weeks along. I suspect it happened when we were at the Boyne Mountain conference.” “What are you going to do, Diane?” “What do you mean, ‘what am I going to do?’” Diane sat up to look down at James’s naked body sprawled all over the bedclothes. “I’m going to have a baby! Your baby! And I plan on keeping him.” “Him?” “Some chubby little fat boy, I think.” “And how’s Bryan going to react to that?” “Rather poorly, I suspect. It should take a week or so after the delivery for Bryan to figure out that the baby’s not his, if nobody tells him.” Bryan’s POV: That was cold, I thought to myself. Did that slut hate me so much that she really meant those words? Suddenly the tape cut off. James’s POV: James Kenton stood partially in the hallway so that he could see the reflection of the sliding glass shower door in the bathroom mirror. The overhead light illuminated the figure within and reflected off the white skin behind the beveled glass shower door showing his companion’s progress as Diane showered away he remnants of last night’s encounter with James. She showered for about ten minutes while he watched her fascinated by her feminine smoothness. When the sliding glass door finally opened, James got a detailed look at her familiar body. Her breasts, shoulders, hips, thighs, abdomen and loins were all presented for his edification. She stood toweling off her hair and face, unaware that he was staring at her so intently. James’s eyes drifted to the pronounced mound just south of her abdomen. His eyes were glued to her pussy. Flocked by delicate light brown hairs which let her creamy skin show through, he examined the folds of flesh that led to the velvet soft gateway to ecstasy which he’d enjoyed so heartily last night. Enjoyed! James had literally wallowed in the luxurious wetness of Diane’s vagina for nearly forty minutes before he climaxed and let a flask full of hot wet semen jet loose from his scrotum and penis out into Diane’s receptive sheath. God, he loved fucking her, but suddenly things had changed between them. Her eyes caught his staring at her. “What’s going on with you?” “I want to stop the morning,” he sighed. “Turn back the alarm clock and take you totally just one more time.” “C’mere,” she said. He walked over to where her naked body stood. Diane kissed him. Her kiss was an accurate expression of what had happened between the two of them the night before. She took his face in her hands right at his jawline and brought her lips right up to his. Suddenly she was all warm and wet and eagerly exploring his mouth. James was taken by surprise, what a wonderful kiss! What a startling reminder of their gentle ardor of their closeness and the mesmerizing dalliances of the times they’d shared last night. “Is that better?” “Yes and no,” he said. “I still want to turn back the clock.” She continued to lean her face into his naked rich mahogany chest as they stood holding each other in the bathroom. “Oh, you smell good. I wish we could go back a couple of hours too.” Bryan’s POV: Apparently the sound of their going back into the bedroom area of the hotel triggered the recording device again. “Do you think skipping lunch is such a good idea?” a man’s familiar voice asked. “We’ll have lunch after our noon workout,” my wife replied. Left alone in the small hotel room, James Kenton and my wife, Diane, found themselves with a wonderfully inviting double size mattress and a strong yearning to be in each other’s arms. As he quickly scampered for the bed, James said. “God, you’re gorgeous, Diane.” “I have ‘Snoopy boobs,’” she replied. “They’re not firm, and my big nipples hang down just like Snoopy’s nose pointing to the ground. When I forget to wear a bra, I look like some old society matron.” James shook his head, and laughed. “That’s your husband talking. Only he would take one of your best attributes and turn it into a fault. My buddy, Tom, told me he envied me--he said, ‘Whatever I do, I’d better not let go of that girl with the big tits.’” “You’re just saying that because you want to fuck me.” “C’mere, you!” He grabbed Diane by the waist and pulled her down against him. She held her hand under his face and replied: “No, no, no. First, I need to inspect your bank account.” James’s POV: Soon they stopped joking. The bed was too soft and too inviting to ignore the smell of musk and sweat or the pulsing heat of lust which now seemed to dominate the very close atmosphere inside the room. Finally, when they couldn’t control themselves any longer, James laid back on the bedclothes and Diane wrapped her hands gently around his penis. “Well, well. I think an old friend has come to visit me.” “Should I ask him to call for an appointment?” Bryan’s POV: “...Call for an appointment?” “No,” Diane murmured as she rubbed her slim nose against his larger, flatter nose. “Some guests are always welcome.” I could hear them kiss on the tape. The next kiss became a long, slow, intense invitation to join in the oldest dance mankind has ever known. Diane’s POV: Leaving James to lay on his back, Diane slowly allowed her loins to drop down to his midsection, coaxing him easily between her thighs, and permitting Jame’s erection to part her pliant labia. Soon she conducted his entire length deep into her moist warm acceptance. Bryan’s POV: This time the tape reproduced the slurping wet sound that happens whenever two people are intimately conjoined. “Oh God, you feel wonderful!” “Diane, are you really pregnant?” James asked. “Um-hmm.” Grunting softly, Diane nodded and smiled down at him. “Are you okay with that?” “I guess I’m worried about being a father again. Am I too old.” "I thought I was too old to conceive. I never had kids with Bryan. I never thought I’d have children in my lifetime!" Diane whispered, "But now that I found out that I've got your baby growing inside me, I'm glad. Thank you for impregnating me, my lover. Thanks for giving me your baby." “But Diane, your baby will be black. Can you deal with that?” “That’s the curious part of it, James,” she smiled at him again, saying, "After all those years of trying with my blonde haired white husband, you’ve finally succeeded where he failed. You took some white man’s very willing, if somewhat careless, white wife, and your big, long, fat boy knocked her up six ways passed tomorrow. Pretty soon my abdomen will stretch and swell with a child...with your child. Someday soon whenever anybody sees my baby...our baby, everyone will implicitly understand that when I wanted a child, all I had to do was to fuck my black lover." “Like now?” “Exactly,” Diane purred. “And should I want more chil...” The tape ended suddenly at that point. I went through a couple of more tapes to try to learn more, but that seemed to be the only available taped evidence I could find. Afterwards I went out and got stinking drunk for the first time in over four years. Questions? Comments? The name of a good divorce lawyer? E-mail me! Fat Boy Ch. 02 Bryan's POV: The bathroom door was locked. I'd expected that, so I brought the little Allen wrench from my tool box to use as a key. Diane never used to lock the door when she showered, but lately, since she'd come back from a conference in St. Louis, she'd taken to shutting herself inside alone. I remember how we'd grown used to seeing each other naked in the shower, in the bedroom, in various other places in the house. Hell, we'd been married for fourteen years. That had changed over the past couple of weeks. For some reason, I hadn't seen my wife undressed in several weeks, and I wanted to know why. Of course, I already had my suspicions. I didn't knock. I kept silent as possible as I continued to work on the lock from the outside. In fact, since the shower was still running I figured that the noise of the water would work in my favor, no matter how loudly I picked the lock. Yesterday I had found that picture stashed away in her purse, hidden inside the secret compartment—a small flap which was tucked away in the lining of her handbag. It was a very innocent picture: she was standing in the hotel conference room next to James Kenton pleasantly smiling. But, she looked different. She'd never looked so content in any portrait taken with me. I swear to you the last time she'd looked that happy was in our wedding pictures. Clink! The sound of the door lock reverberated in my ear. Did she hear it? "Bryan?" her voice called out as I slipped the door open as silently as possible. "Is that you?" "Sorry," I said. "Have to use the bathroom." "How come you didn't use the one downstairs?" Water hit the side of her mouth and she sputtered a little bit while she spoke. "This one's closer," I replied. Quickly I pulled my pants down and sat on the toilet. "Huh," she muttered. "Thought I locked—" Diane didn't finish the sentence. Our shower curtain is semi-transparent. You really can't see very much, but I could easily make out her pink form contrasted against the white bath tiles. Just a bit more than her silhouette, I thought. Just show Diane to me in a side profile. She bent over to reach down and turn off the water. Then, as she stood up to reach for the towel, it all became so perfectly apparent to me. Her nipples had changed, darkening in color, her breasts were noticeably bigger than they'd been before, and, most importantly, Diane had all the signs of a distending tummy. Instead of drying off, Diane wrapped the towel around her middle. She was trying to hide her condition from me. But it was too late. "Oh, God," I whispered, as I stood up at the toilet and pulled my trousers back up. "It's true, isn't it?" "What are you talking about?" She took a second towel and began to dry her hair. "Fourteen years together and we couldn't have--" I paused. "You-you're pregnant." Diane stopped drying herself. "I don't know for sure." "Don't lie to me, Diane," I growled. "Fourteen years and the two of us never had a baby. Now look at you! You're putting on weight in all the wrong places. How long have you been sleeping with James?" "J-James?" "Damn it! We both know this is James Kenton's baby," I shouted. "Now how long have you been sleeping with him?" She pleaded with me with her eyes for a second, and then she murmured an answer. "About seven months." "Oh, Christ!" I responded. "You shouldn't have asked the question, if you knew the--" "Shut up, Diane," I cried out. Then I lowered my voice. "Please. Just shut up. I have to think." Slowly, carefully she began to towel dry herself once more. "I won't say I'm sorry I'm pregnant, Bryan. But I am very sorry we never had any children." The words blurted out of my mouth before I could stop them. "So you had to go out and got yourself knocked up by some n*gg*r?" I heard her throat catch as she gulped in response. She took a deep breath and then spoke very calmly. "He's a decent, caring man." I wanted to swing at her with my fist, but I held myself in check. "Oh yeah? Well, I'll bet he doesn't care enough to divorce his wife for you," I replied. I could tell I struck home with that one. She reddened and bit down hard on her lower lip. Better than a fist, I thought. No marks. "I want this baby, Bryan. If you think a divorce will settle things between us--" "I don't know what to think, Diane," I turned to look her in the eyes. "How are you going to explain this baby to both our families? How are we going to tell our friends? What am I supposed to do with a goddamned black baby in the house?" "We could try loving it." "Shit!" "Then I suppose I'd better leave," she said quietly. I wanted to leave it at that. I wanted to say That's a good idea, and leave it at that. But I couldn't. Instead, I asked her, "Where will you go?" She shrugged. "I don't know yet?" I shook my head. "Don't leave until you're certain you have a place." Diane nodded. "I'm sorry, Bryan." "I don't want to hear it," I said. I walked out of the bathroom and left her alone. "I don't want to hear it," I repeated to no one in particular. I really wanted to get drunk again, but I couldn't. I had to go to work. Diane's POV: It was all out in the open now, and, frankly, I was relieved. I heard Bryan stomp down the stairs and slam the front door on his way to the shop. Yeah, this would be tough on him. I padded barefoot into the bedroom, and unwrapped the towel around me so that I might dry off the rest of way. What was that? Some pieces of paper were scattered on top of the dresser drawer. I let my shoulders slump. Bryan had taken the photograph of James and me taken at the conference in Detroit out from my purse and ripped it into several pieces. I picked up the pieces one by one and fit them together like one would assemble a jigsaw puzzle. I sighed. "Damn. Why did it have to be this one?" The picture didn't look particularly special, but it was—to me. For one thing, it was the first time I had ever tried real cognac. James taught me to appreciate fine cognac. The first day of the Detroit conference had gone extra long. Speeches rambled on and on, while workshops went over time. By the time the evening wound down, it was well past eleven. I was hungry, thirsty, and more than anything else I was tired. At eleven twenty-five there was a knock at my door. "Mrs. Taylor?" the room service guy asked. I nodded. He began to roll in a cart with a bucket of ice and a bottle of warm amber glowing, caramel colored liquor sitting next to two ellipsoidal glasses mounted on stems. "Your Courvoisier cognac," he said. "Where do you want me to put it?" Suddenly a tall, dark figure in a black suit with a gray dress shirt came to my door. His head was shaved closely to the scalp, and he looked as if he worked out quite regularly. "Oh, good, it's arrived." "James, what is this?" I queried. "It's great stuff. Just like I told you this morning," James Kenton, Ed.D, said. "One of the finest drinks in the world." He grabbed a bill from his wallet and tipped the young man. "James, honestly," I smiled. "I wouldn't know good cognac from root beer." "Well to begin with cognac is a brandy," James began to pour two exquisitely shaped glasses. "This glass is called a snifter, by the way. Cognac is aged brandy and brandy is the distilled vapor of white wine." "What?" I must have smiled. "Simple, you heat white wine, catch the vapors and let them cool." He lifted his snifter and pinged it with his forefinger so the glass rang out like a bell. "The finest brandy is then allowed to age into cognac." I sniffed at my drink. "Whew! Strong." "You're what, thirty years old?" I grimaced as I tasted it. "Thirty-six." "Well, the contents of this bottle began to age when you were in kindergarten," he said. "Now sip it very, very slowly, at first." "Thanks for the warning, but you're too late." "No wonder you made a face," James laughed. I put it back up to my lips. "Go easy on that stuff, Diane, it's got quite a punch." I was starting to feel the heat of the alcohol flow through my body. I sat down on my bed. "What's your first workshop tomorrow?" I asked. "Staff development. Ten o'clock." "Oh good," I replied. "Mine too." I half hiccupped and half burped that last syllable. "Diane, I warned you not to drink it too fast." "I know. I know." I put several drops on my tongue. "It doesn't seem quite so strong to me now. Half the time I can't figure out whether this reminds me of chocolate, nuts, or orange," I added, drinking another few sips very quickly. "So tell me about Diane," James said. "Do you have any children?" "No." I sobered up a bit as I answered. "Bryan and I lost a baby a few years back." "I'm sorry. Did you try again?" I snorted. "Shit!" I quickly put my hand up to my mouth. "Whoops! I'm so sorry." "Nothing to be sorry for," he replied. "What's he do?" "Tool and die maker. Pretty good, too, I understand. Shop foreman and all that?" "You meet in high school?" I laughed again. "You must be psychic. How did you know?" "Well," he started. "Here's a woman attending a meeting where the minimum requirement is a master's degree married to self-made man who's good with his hands. You don't really have to be psychic, y'know." I nodded. At that second I closed my eyes, and, for just a moment, my head was spinning. "I better slow down on this stuff." "Told you so." I grinned and looked at James. "Tastes good, though. Thank you for introducing us." "My pleasure," he said. "What about you?" I asked. "Any kids?" He nodded. "We have four." "Four! Say, you don't suppose you could spare one for a childless couple?" He laughed. "Well, it's almost midnight. I suppose I should be going back to my room." "No! Please don't go yet," I said. "It's been so long since I've talked to anyone about anything important in my life. I want it to last all night." "All night?" "Well," I whispered, looking pleadingly into his eyes. "Almost all night." James leaned forward to kiss me. I let my lips touch his, and then my mouth opened under his gentle ministrations, and the next thing I knew my tongue was tasting cognac which had been lingering in the recesses of his mouth for several minutes. "Please, James," I whispered urgently. "Please stay with me." We kissed again, only this time he took command of the kiss and slowly pushed me down on the bed. My blouse was the first to go. Then he slowly, cautiously removed my skirt, slip, pantyhose and bra. His dark fingers made a startling contrast against my white skin. Fourteen years of marriage and I had never cheated on Bryan, ever. Could I say the same for my husband? I didn't know. It didn't matter, not in the least, because tonight I wanted someone special, someone different, someone who seemed to respect me the same way I longed to be respected. Totally naked on the bed, I laid my head back against the pillow and waited for him. Carefully hanging his suit on hangers in my hotel room closet, James Kenton slowly got out of his clothes. All of his clothes were neatly folded and laid upon the end table. Oh, God, I thought. He's so damn black. Black all the way down! "You can always back out you know," he murmured, as his knees hit the bottom end of the bed. I shook my head. "I don't want to back out," I answered quietly. James lay down on the bed next to me. He brought his mouth down to kiss me one more time. This time we were all lips and tongues, all hands and arms, all torsos and hips. "Are you sure?" he asked one more time. "Yes." There was no room between us anymore. I tended to be a bit on the dry side, sexually, but I was drunk enough, and James was knowledgeable enough to gradually stoke the natural fires within me, to magically cause my own juices to bubble and flow deep inside my slick, moistening pussy. "Oooo!" That was all I said as his thick black erection broached the sensitive tissues down at the junction of both thighs. He too let out a long, moaning "Ooohh," as his entire length pushed forward taking me several millimeters at a time. God, his dick was so much thicker, so much more incredible than Bryan's had ever been. The terrible firmness of his erection took me by surprise. It took us several minutes of concentrated effort just to fit his large penis inside my cunt. "Jesus, are you ever tight." "I'm sorry," I said. He laughed. "That's all right. This is something we can learn to deal with." "James," I said, as I began to pant under his movements. "Please, tell me you're glad to be with me tonight." "Honey, I wouldn't miss this for the world." Now James was thrusting in and out of me, picking up speed. His movements were faster and less gentle. His wants and needs had overcome the caution in his technique. James?" I gasped. "Hmm?" He was gasping and panting as well. "Did you order the cognac so you could get me drunk?" "Diane!" His voice rasped with the effort of his exertion. "Did you get me drunk tonight, just so you could fuck me?" Suddenly, James body stiffened and small beads of perspiration popped out all over his head, his neck, his stomach, arms and back. "Aaurrghh!" he grunted. "Daammmn!" And then James Kenton, a black man I hardly even knew, climaxed inside of me. He dropped his weight down against me like a gymnast collapsing atop a mat after a very strenuous workout. There was a pause. All I could hear was James's panting and my own heavy breathing. I could feel the wet spot soaking the bedclothes underneath my hips as an enormous amount of semen backflowed from my pussy to dribble down my ass cheeks onto the bed. Then I whispered, "Well, did you?" "Did I what?" "Did you get me drunk in order to fuck me?" He let out a huge sigh. "Let's just say it had occurred to me." I giggled. "I'm glad." "You're what?" "I discovered two things I'm really crazy about tonight," I murmured. "One is cognac, and the other is fucking you. It doesn't make any sense, but then I guess it doesn't have to." I scraped all the pieces of the picture into the palm of my hand. Three times, I thought. Three wonderful, glorious times that first week we made love. Sweating and dripping perspiration, sharing spit and exchanging bodily fluids—the pieces of this ripped picture meant the start of seven months of intimate carnal excitement between a black man and a white woman. We weren't from the same district—hell, we weren't even from the same side of the state. That didn't matter to either of us. At least it didn't matter until things radically changed. Should I throw the pieces of the photograph away? No. I couldn't do that just yet, but Bryan was right. James wasn't about to leave his wife and four children for me or for baby that was only half black. As much as I loved the romantic fantasy of the idea, it wasn't about to happen. I placed my hand on the abdomen just below the belly-button. I could feel the fundus—the hardness just below the surface of the skin that protected my baby. The worst thing is that I can't seem to wear my own clothes any more. James's POV: I couldn't help myself. I pulled Diane's picture out of my desk and held it in my hand. Thank goodness the office door was closed. Funny, I thought, looking at this picture. Here was a parallel I hadn't expected. This was one of the most recent shots of Diane I'd taken and if you didn't even have to look closely any more. You could see she was three months pregnant in this shot. Marguerite had been three months pregnant when I married her nineteen years ago. Her parents were furious. How could their baby girl throw away her life without even finishing college? But somehow we both graduated. Somehow we stayed married. Somehow we made it. Now we had four kids from the ages of eighteen down to thirteen. In those first years, it seemed like every time we turned around she was pregnant again. I didn't mind, not really. She looked so damn beautiful knocked up. The births had been bunched pretty close together until Marguerite decided to get her tubes tied. Marguerite told me she didn't ask me to get a vasectomy because she didn't trust me to do it. She was right. Psychologically I couldn't handle the thought of a vasectomy. I couldn't handle the thought of being less than a man. I looked down at my picture of Diane once again, and I breathed out a heavy sigh. She and her husband had gone fourteen years without kids. Diane told me that she thought she couldn't get pregnant. Surprise! Now she was carrying a baby, very obviously my baby. I should be gratified. Diane's a beautiful woman, a healthy, vigorous woman with the fullness of life ahead of her. It shouldn't matter to us that the father is a black man and the mother is a white woman. It shouldn't matter, but it did. The picture was partially in profile, and I could see the telltale bulge pushing out from behind her light summer dress. She wore mostly business suits at work, she told me. At home she'd taken to wearing loose garments and sweat clothes. But for me in this picture and in a couple of other pictures we had taken, Diane wore this clingy summer cotton dress. Quite simply, Diane had told me that she wanted to look pregnant when we went out on the town together. Even on the west side of the state where she lived, though bigotry was far more rife over there than on my side of the state. I ached because deep down I knew I couldn't divorce Marguerite. Yet the same emotional aching demanded that I spend quality time with Diane. There was no doubt about it; her belly was becoming rounder, and she was growing ever larger every day. Both of our districts sent us to an educational conference in St. Louis at the end of August. That was the time of year when things were at their hottest and most humid. Of course, this was a godsend for two sexually active lovers. We each left a day early. She waited to meet me at the airport. One look at her and I literally melted. Diane had grown quite large quite quickly. "Let me look at you," I said admiringly. "You look beautiful." "More like bountiful," she replied, stepping into my arms. "Wait a second. Kiss me first." You should have seen the looks we got in the airport, but, strangely enough, neither of us cared. "Let's grab a taxi check in," she said. Translation: Let's get the hell back to the hotel and fuck. Which was just fine with me. As I was unpacking at the hotel, I pulled out an African style shirt to go with my jeans. "What do you think?" I asked modeling the shirt up against my chest. "It's stunning!" she reached over and ran her fingers along the material. "Do you like the pattern?" She smiled. "It's so authentic. So—I dunno—expressive. I love the pattern." "Good." I reached into my suitcase and pulled out a carefully wrapped package. "Open it." Diane quickly ripped of the wrapping paper. I'd given Diane a long silken dress, much like a caftan, with the exact same pattern as my shirt. We'd match. I'd purposefully wanted us to look like a couple. However, the minute she tried on her dress, we both discovered what I'd suspected already--Diane's caftan outfit totally accented her pregnancy. She walked to the full length mirror in our room. "Oh my Lord," she whispered. "I look like a hot air balloon." "You look gorgeous," I told her. "Try it without a bra." "James," she whined. "I'll look bloated and stupid." "Just do it in here," I said, pulling my digital camera out of my briefcase. "Do it for me." I took a candid shot of Diane removing her bra from under the silken dress, and a couple of good shots of her modeling the dress. I wanted to make sure that she was wearing nothing under the dress. After a cursory examination, and the removal of her panties, I was satisfied that she'd worn nothing else under the caftan. Fat Boy Ch. 02 "Are you going to play with my clothes all day?" she asked. "Or are we going to fuck?" About seven months ago, this white woman before me told me that she couldn't get pregnant. Like any hot blooded man, I believed her. Seven months ago I baptized her vagina with my own version of the water of life. The delicious wetness of our two bodies churned up both enormous pleasures and terribly intimate messes. Somewhere between three and four months ago, a load of my still teeming, potent sperm swam directly up to Diane's living ovum and fertilized the cell. My white lover was carrying my baby, and she was happy about it. And here I was just as proud, just as happy, and equally as miserable about the complication this had brought into my life. You know, this would be okay, somehow, if I didn't love her. I could ask her to abort and then leave the decision in her hands. But I knew Diane too well. She'd never abort. She'd gone too long without ever getting pregnant. She stripped off the African print dress; I disrobed as well, and we proceeded to repeat the act that had gotten us into this intimately emotional mess in the first place. I watched her waiting on the hotel bed and decided to approach her from the foot of the bed. She was an amazing woman, this energetically firm, yet soft and tactile lump of feminine flesh, and, for the moment, she was all mine. "Lie down on your back, sweetheart," I murmured, crawling up between her open thighs by walking upright on my knees. "You just relax. Let me do all the work." I leaned down and put both hands on either side of her hips. "Lift with me a little bit, Diane." Bracing the bottoms of her feet against the bed, Diane rose when I lifted her hips and buttocks up into the air. I shimmied in even closer between her spread thighs nudged at her labia with the tip of my erection. I nudged again, this time a little harder. "Ohh!" she gasped. "Oh, I've missed you, James." "I know, sweetheart." I looked past her swollen abdomen to focus on her blue eyes. "I've missed you too." Carefully, I pressed the tip and then beyond the tip of my cock into her open pink pussy. I pushed once, then twice, then again and again. Each time I pressed forward, my dick sank a little deeper into her white pussy. Diane moaned and her legs started to give way. I gripped her tightly so that I wouldn't slip from her loins. I literally pulled her body onto my erected cock until I bottomed out at the end of her vagina. "Stay with me now, Diane." "Oohh!" she moaned, both her legs were trembling with the exertion of holding herself up. I took more of her weight into my hands, and I drove my cock in deep and then let it slip back a little bit. My black dick buried itself in her white pussy once and again, time after time. The effect on my psyche was phenomenal. Diane caught my dark eyes with her own blue ones. I could tell she was enjoying every second of our fucking, and I could tell that she needed to keep me in the moment, keep us physically attached to each other. Suddenly, she closed her eyes and threw her head to the side. "Oh, God! Oh, James," she whispered, tossing her head from side to side. "Th-thank you for teaching me how to love with that Fat Boy of yours." I couldn't help myself. My eyes landed on the round bulging belly newly ripe with the burgeoning fruit melded from both of us, and I quaked with excitement as well. "Oh, Diane!" I grunted, as I pulled her onto my penis time and again. I gasped loudly, quickly losing control in my own excitement. "James," she murmured. "James, thank you for giving me this baby." What? Then I realized that I too was thankful for this new lease on life. "You're more than welcome, sweetheart." Diane shuddered a climax that shook her whole body. She began to gasp like a runner who'd just done a dozen laps at top speed. But she continued to grip my dick like a rubber glove in warm dishwater. I spurted and spewed my hot semen inside of her receptive body. She already had my child, but I needed to remind her that she also had my love. Later on we took off together, going down to the historic Laclede's Landing to enjoy the Blues Festival. It was amazing to see the looks especially from other women, white, black, or Asian, seeing my fair skinned Diane cling with me, her black lover, and looking so obviously full with my child. I'd never told her, but today I had to. "Diane." "What is it, hon?" She snuggled against me during a particularly sexy slow blues. "Thank you." "For what?" "For the baby." "Really?" She snuggled closer. "Really. No matter what happens in the future, I want to declare paternity and be an active part of raising this baby." She smiled knowingly and lifted up her chin to kiss me. I remembered that kiss even now as I sit in my office and rifle through my briefcase. Where are they? Ah, yes. Here was the picture taken of Diane in just the caftan--no bra, no panties. And, of course, there were subsequent shots with no caftan either—just my Diane au natural. My Diane? Heaven help me, I think it's true. There's never been anyone in my life quite like my Diane—the latest mother of my child.