Sweet Potato


It’s harder than ever to make time for my job.

Time is so critical. Here I am nursing my baby, Des’s son, Kane Michael, who’s all of seven months old, and, of course, my granddaughter, Darcie, who’s racing toward three years old. She also is Des’s daughter by my daughter Shaleen.

Poor Shaleen has many months to go before she’s even eligible for parole. But eventually she’ll be coming home to live with the babies, Des, and R.J. and me.

Oh yes, there is also another life that depends on me. An unborn child inside who is in his or her fourteenth week of gestation. She is my third baby in my lifetime, and my second black baby in less than a year and a half.

At the clinic, the nurse showed me how I can now feel the top of the uterus, also known as the fundus, low in my abdomen. She told me what I already knew: “As you enter the second trimester, you may find yourself donning looser clothing. Pretty soon you won’t be able to fit into your regular clothes anymore.”


I went home to my guys, told them that the baby and I were entering our second trimester, and that I wanted a couple of weeks’ holiday from this pregnancy. They laughed at the whole idea. I didn’t think it was a bit funny.

The other two babies at home demanded my uninterrupted attention, as usual. And by the time bedtime rolled around, both my guys were off to work and I was alone with my thoughts and my three children.

Grandma, nursing mother, and expectant mother—I filled three roles. This was crazy. Not to mention my sexual roles as lover, fuck buddy, and common-law wife. I’d had one lover all the time I was married to my husband, Shaleen’s father. Since Darcie’s father, Desmond, had moved in close to a year and a half ago and impregnated me with Kane Michael, I’d had seven black men cum inside of me.

I stripped down and looked at myself in the mirror after I’d gotten both children to sleep. There’s nothing special about me, I certainly won’t be entering the Miss Universe contest this year. Yet, I’ve had seven black lovers, and every single one of them wants me to indulge in a repeat performance, and at least four of my men would like me to bear another child. Go figure.

You might say I’ve experienced a lot of raw sperm in my last two years–about ten times as much as I ever experienced during my marriage. I shouldn’t be so blasé about it. No little girl, no love struck teenager, no newly married bride or good little housewife ever dreams that she’s the fuck toy to so many black men–let alone that every single man is younger than she is. In fact, I suppose no grandmother dreams of that sort of thing either.

But I can’t change what is. I am fourteen weeks pregnant with a black man’s child, and I am perfectly content about the way things worked out.

Still completely naked, I picked up the phone at about eleven-twenty at night, and called to tell Jawad, my half black-half Pakistani young man, that I was available for the night. I’m almost reluctant to tell you how old Jawad actually is, but I’m happy to say, that even though my own daughter is probably older than Jawad, he’s older than he looks.

The fact is that I know that I’m a sort of mother figure to him, and Jawad’s sort of a dark “grasping at my youth again” figure to me. I mean, let’s face it—he knows he’s fucking a grandmother.

Jawad is disappointed that I’m fourteen weeks pregnant because he is fairly sure he’s not the father of my baby. But he also knows that, for now, he’s my favorite. He calls me his fuck buddy because he knows that it irritates me to hear him say that. The words may have been true, but I didn’t want to hear them spoken aloud.

I kept the lights in the parlor dim. I didn’t care that the neighbors saw Jawad coming to visit me that late at night, but since I was stark naked, I didn’t need to announce that fact to the whole neighborhood. I just needed to be naked to welcome my dark brown lover into my door, into my home, and ultimately into my body.

I brought down a pillow to place on the floor to cushion my knees. And I carried some blankets and things to place on the floor so we’d have a peaceful, private room all to ourselves.

As my early discomforts began to fade, I started to regain some of the energy I felt. Once some of my nausea, fatigue, and tenderness in the breasts subsided, I got to be a bit more comfortable with how my body was changing. Although the top of my uterus was only a trifle higher than where my pelvic bone was located, I found that growth to be more than sufficient enough to push my tummy out.

Jawad cautiously put his hand on my lower belly. “Oh my God, Thea, you’re starting to show.”

“You think so?” I asked, stepping into his embrace. “I read where right now the baby is as long as a lemon, but not as heavy yet.”

“Somehow I doubt that this baby is lemon colored,” he chuckled. “More like a gingerbread man.”

“You’re funny.”

“The next time you start to show, it’s gonna be mine.” He placed both his hands on my belly and escort clutched me close to him.

“My little daydreamer,” I sighed, and then I shook my head.

“Not so little,” he replied.

After all, when a woman starts to show it’s an exciting pregnancy milestone. Very likely, it will give you and your partner the visible evidence of what you’ve done. This is the first sign of the baby that you’ve been waiting for.

“I mean, a man has to plan for his future.”

“Oh, Jarrod.” I broke free and dropped to my knees. My fingers slowly unzipped his pants and I reached inside to grasp hold of his thickening cock. I snaked it out through his fly.

“Oh, Thea,” he gasped.

I wrapped my lips tightly around his deep black cock before I responded by humming a long: “Hmmm?”

“Oh, God!”

I smiled. Well, my eyes smiled. My mouth was rather busy at that moment tasting his masculine essence. Jawad’s prostate fluid beaded up in little pearls at the tip of his cock. My tongue took those little beads and washed my saliva warmly around the head of his dick.


I mm-hmmed around his penis again, and he opened his mouth in a hushed moan. I kept it up for four or five minutes more, and just as Jawad was about to cum, I clamped my hand against the nerve on the underside of his penis and squeezed.

“Arrghk,” he squawked.

I lay down with my back on the blanket and opened my legs to him. “I need you, now my love. What do you say to sinking your dick into someplace warm and moist?”

Jawad was excited, probably more excited than I was, but I wanted him inside of me more than anything else. As you can probably guess, he was so turned on by my ministrations that as soon as he slipped his dark erection into my open pussy, he came.

I stroked his back and said that it was all right. But I held him fast inside my loins while he slowly got his strength and vigor back. Then we began again.

My children slept through a good deal of his visit, and by the time they’d awakened, my young black man had banked away more than enough potent sperm in my intimate safe-deposit box to remind me why I continued to fuck him. God, it was still a wonderful feeling.

I think that’s why I truly love young men–they can perform for the longest damn time without letting up.

I had cum at least four or five times with him, and more than anything, I wanted to sleep. So naturally my infant son woke up and demanded to be nursed.

Jawad left about one-fifteen in the morning and I finally got Kane back to sleep after he’d drained both breasts.

I fell asleep as well, but I forgot to clean myself up. R.J. and Des just shook their heads when they came home at six. There I was naked covered with quite a bit of dried semen sticking to my pubic hair and thighs.

“Have a good time last night?” R.J. asked.

I smiled. “I kept busy.”

At eighteen weeks the normal fetus growing in a mother’s body is about five and a half inches long and about the size and weight of a sweet potato.

So why does she feel more like a melon than a sweet potato?

Oh, yes. I found out she was she. Just like I’d promised R.J. He, of course, went bonkers when I told him the baby was girl. As far as my live in black lover felt, I might as well have announced to the rest of the world that twenty-four year old R.J. Tolliver was the father to my unborn daughter.

Funny, to a man, my black fathers have celebrated the news of my impending pregnancies with reprises of the act which put the baby there in the first place.

I don’t mind. My body just seems to feel complete when I have a black cock in my pussy–and when I’m carrying a half-black baby.

This is going to sound stupid, but it’s comparable to that first cigarette in the morning. A smoker’s body spends had all night to try to rid itself of the poisons and toxins it took in the previous day, but somehow that doesn’t really matter. You take that first lung-full of smoke into your lungs and the burning and the searing that rip through your lungs are both very painful and unbelievably pleasant–sort of like sex. Sort of like sex with a black man.

I can’t give up cigarettes, and I can’t give up black men. Seven! Can you believe it, seven black men over the past two plus years. And I let each one of those men cum bare-backed inside me as if we were long term partners.

Hell, I am long term partners with two of them–it’s just that the others are constantly pestering me. Two of the others, Jawad and Titus, are rather jealous that the child I’m carrying isn’t theirs. They’ve both come out and told me so–and they’ve cum in and showed me as well.

I’m like an addict. I need a sexual fix from each man way too much.

Each man has told me that the next baby is to be his. As if between taking care of a toddler girl, nursing an infant boy, and trying to keep up with my job, I actually have time for them.

My job–now there’s a real can of worms. When I first took a black bursa eve gelen escort ex-con into my house, most of my former friends and colleagues backed away from me. I think there was something about me that scared them. After I gave birth to my Kane Michael, very obviously a mixed race child, I was a marked woman. Only my dearest friends would talk to me outside of purely business matters.

Trouble is I still make time for my men. The busier I am, the more I try to fit them in–oh, Christ! A pun.

Titus came into the bank building where I work. I know that I must have glowed outside when I saw him in the building, because a couple of my co-workers glared at me. Another black man after Thea!

Of course, my friend, Marie, wasn’t one of the glarers. I’m happy to say that I printed out the site’s “Letter To Unhappy Wives” for Marie a little while back. I didn’t know if she’d acted on the letter as of yet, but I knew she was very grateful to me for understanding her predicament.

Like I said, some of the others glared, but it obviously didn’t reflect the luscious physical presence of Titus–I mean, let’s face it, the man is gorgeous. He’s a dark golden-brown skinned, clean shaven (including his head) hunk of a man. And what he packs beneath his tight briefs makes me go soft and wet even if we’re just talking casually.

Titus asked me if I could go on break soon, and I told him that it would be close to a half an hour before I could get off. With a straight face he said, “That’s fine. In a half hour we can both get off.”

“Titus,” I whispered. “People will hear!”

“I don’t care, if you don’t,” he replied. “Besides, most of these people in this bank can’t tell one black man from another. They’ll just think I’m R.J. or Des.”

I grimaced. The trouble is, he was right.

Then he said–and I swear this is true: “See you in half an hour, sweet potato.”

The biggest grin spread across my face. I shook my head. “I don’t believe you just called me that!”

He raised an eyebrow impishly.

“Half an hour, then,” I echoed.

Marie covered for me as I went on my break. I stepped out the back entrance and Titus was waiting for me close to an alleyway. He was all over me with a deep soul kiss that stole my breath for a few moments.

Titus is R.J. and Des’s friend from the old days. He too is in his late twenties or early thirties, and he too has that chemistry that lights up my own pheromones like a burning stick of incense. As Titus held me close to him in the alley, I knew instinctively that I wanted to submit to his every whim.

“What time do you get off work tonight?”

I told him four-thirty.

“Did you take the bus today?”

I nodded. Once again he pulled me close and we kissed hungrily, sucking each other’s tongues and transferring our need for each other as if it were pure sexual energy. I knew that if I hadn’t been wearing stretch panel pantyhose under my skirt that he would have taken me right up against the wall.

“Then I’ll be here at four-thirty to pick you up. Wait for me.”

I smiled and nodded. For the next ten minutes we kissed over and over again. Finally, we broke from each other’s clasp, and I went to use the women’s lav to fix the make-up smears on my face.

“He’s a good looking man,” Marie whispered as I joined her at my work station. “Here I am yearning to get the nerve up to jump off the fence with another man, and every time I turn around, you’ve got a different black man sniffing around your pants like a hound.”

I smiled. “They’re all pussy hounds, my men.” Then I paused. “Would you like to meet Titus?” Let’s face it, I said meet the very same way I might have said fuck.

Marie flushed. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she whispered. “Yes.”

“Do you leave at three-thirty today? Or can you be back here at four-thirty?”

“N-not today,” she gasped.

“I’ll leave it open, Marie,” I replied. “If you’re here at four-thirty when I’m ready to leave, we can go together.”

Marie shook her head. “I-I don’t know.”

I shrugged. I told her it was her choice and that she’d either be here or she wouldn’t.

We finished out the day. Marie left the building at three-thirty, and I spent my last hour cashing out my drawer. At 4:27, Marie was seated in the public vestibule outside the bank, waiting for me. Marie was a brunette just under thirty years old and very pretty. She wore jeans and a rust colored wrap around knit top that made her look like a combination angel and whore.

Marie looked perfect. She’d been married for about ten years and as the other women had began to back away from me after I started my dark excursions into black sex, Marie had done just the opposite.

She gravitated toward my quiet stories of exquisite sex and my infrequent visits bringing the children in for people to see them.

Funny, I remember being embarrassed about bringing my biracial granddaughter, Darcie, with me at the bursa görükle escort bank before I met Des. Now I loved taking both children out into public–the fact is I get a warm feeling every time a young black man hits on me.

Marie and I climbed into Titus’s sedan. He was surprised and pleased–especially when I announced that Marie was excited about meeting him. No confusion there, though. He too heard the word meet as if it were fuck.

When we got to Titus’s flat, he served each of us a huge glass of brandy.

“Titus, I’m too far along to drink this much alcohol,” I told him. “I’ll have a couple of sips and then you two finish the rest.”

Marie gulped her brandy as if it were cola. Her face turned beet red when it hit her system.

“Ease up, young lady,” Titus muttered. “That’s pretty potent stuff.”

“Speaking of potent–” I giggled. Then, I began to remove my business suit. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

“I keep the place pretty warm,” Titus answered. “Take your clothes off, if you want, Thea.”

I’d been naked and pregnant in front of four men at the same time before, but this was the first time I’d ever stripped for sex with another woman in the room.

“You too, Marie,” Titus instructed.

“But, I–“

“That wasn’t a request, woman. Strip, now!”

I suspect Marie got out of her clothes in record time.

I sat on the side of the bed. Titus came over to me and told me to lay down with my head hanging off the edge of the mattress. Soon I lay facing the ceiling, while Titus fed his cock into my open mouth and throat. He was nicely sized, but not startlingly so–until I glanced up at Marie and saw that she was mesmerized.

I realized that she’d never seen a cock that size in real life before, let alone fucked one.

In less than two or three minutes, I let Titus cum in my mouth. I sputtered with the large amount of cum dumped into my throat, and had to turn sideways to catch my breath. Semen spilled out everywhere.

Titus turned toward Marie. “Come down here and clean my dick off the rest of the way.”

“Me?” Marie gasped.

“Do you see anybody else? Yes, you!”

Marie began to lick Titus’s cock very gently, very hesitantly, very carefully. Then about a minute later, Marie indulged in working over his length and breadth with every ounce of energy she could muster.

I could Titus’s eye. “I’d say she’s very good at what she does,” he murmured.

Suddenly, Titus pushed her down on the bed next to me. “Don’t you go anywhere, Thea. I want you to stay here with us.”

From my vantage point right next to them on the bed, I saw Titus drop his thick lips into the soft hairy mound between Marie’s legs. From the sounds he was making, his mouth discovered the moist fleshy excitement down by her loins.

From the sounds Marie made, he’d hit just the right places with his lips and tongue.

I crawled over and put my hands on Titus’s cock carefully stroking him with my fingers again and again. We all stayed like that for five or six minutes, and then Titus moved himself into position balanced atop Marie’s white thighs.

“C-condom?” she whispered.

“Don’t use ’em,” he answered. And that was that.

Titus’s black dick buried itself deep within the folds of Marie’s cunt slowly, moving determinedly forward. I could see his length leaving my sight and slipping into the soft pink flesh of Marie’s pussy.

They made love for at least ten minutes. Marie moaned with the surprise and delight of a woman truly opening up for the first time. While Titus selfishly took everything he could get from the petite brunette woman beneath him. His golden bronze deep dark tan made a beautiful contrast to Marie’s pale white skin. Together, moving for minutes on end–I caught my breath again and again as I watched them—totally fascinated.

My God, the two of them were beautiful!

Titus grunted like a stud bull, and Marie groaned out a very surprised, “Nooo–“

For the very first time in her life, Marie had let a total stranger, a black man I’d introduced to her only that day, spurt his living teeming black seed into her unprotected belly. A torrent of Titus’s sperm flowed into her vagina like a spigot of plumbing bursting from the water pressure.

I whispered gently into her ear. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”

Tears came to Marie’s eyes. Her life as she knew it was over. She cried very softly.

Both Titus and I looked down at her prone body, laying still and panting on top of the sheets. Finally, he said what I’d been thinking of asking.

With surprising tenderness, he asked, “Are you all right, Marie?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. I-I…loved every second of it.”

I smiled, and Titus breathed easier. “That’s my girl.”

After a few minutes rest, Titus stood up on his knees on the bed, took me by the hips and fitted his penis gently into my cunt. Like so many men, he took care not to damage the little girl growing inside me. But also like so many men I knew, he wanted to enjoy the loving fit that the bigger girl outside knew just how to give his cock.

Just before Titus came, there was a knock at the door. A low voice from out in the hallway said, “Titus!”

It was Walter.

Titus turned toward Marie and said, “Let him in.”

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