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Anything Goes
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Straight Female / 37
I'm Pregnant But No One Will Ever Know Who The Father Is
I was married for 15 years but we never had children. I thought it was my fault, but it turned out to be his. I was faithful to my husband and had a good marriage for years (that is I thought it was good) but he began having many affairs. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and filed for divorce. The settlement left me secure but I still work as a bookkeeper for the beauty salons my mother owns.
This last summer I took a vacation half way across the country. Some dear friends wanted me to housesit for them, so I thought, fine, I'll have their nice little home all to myself.
On one real hot day I was out on the patio in tight jean shorts and a bikini top. Across the road I saw a young guy pacing up and down by a vacant lot. He had a push type power mower on his truck. I thought, hmm, nice looking white kid (I'm black). He looked to be about 19 with a body that's real easy on the eyes. He had no shirt on. He saw me and started marching across the road.
He said, "Do you know who mowed that lot? That's supposed to be my job. The owner doesn't live around here, and I'm paid by him to mow every two weeks and now somebody else mowed it."
I said, "No, I don't know anything. I'm just visiting here."
He looked like he was going to cry and I asked if he was ok. He said, "Yeah, it's not only this lot, my grandpa died two days ago. He raised me, we were close." I said I was so sorry and he started crying for real. I asked him if he wanted to sit down for a minute. He did, and I handed him a glass of iced tea. He started talking about his grandpa, and also about problems with his girlfriend, saying she was acting too happy and trying to pretend nothing had happened. I didn't say much, didn't have a chance, cause he was talking a mile a minute.
I walked inside and brought him out another glass of tea and put my arm around his shoulder. He grabbed me by the waist and held his face against my bare stomach. I ran my fingers through his blonde hair a little. I couldn't believe how much I enjoyed that. I'd never been with a white guy before. I was faithful to my husband all through our marriage and hadn't dated much since our divorce. I asked him to come inside the house.
He wouldn't let go of me, kept hugging me all the time. He took off my bikini top and held me close to him. I loved the way my breasts felt against his tight chest muscles. The contrast of my very black skin with his very white skin really excited me. His hands moved up my back and to my nape.
He said, "I've heard black women don't like their hair touched.That's not racist to say is it?"
I said, "Hell no, sweetie. It's not racist to say, forget that shit. As for me personally, you can touch my hair all you want."
He relaxed and kissed me deep. He said, "Your lips feel so good, so good."
He buried his nose in my neck and inhaled. His own sweat and scent were driving me just as wild too.
I led him to a bedroom. I got out of my shorts and flip flops, and he took off his pants and shoes. He was a lot bigger than I thought he might be. He laid over me and I could feel his heart beating fast. I kept staring into his blue eyes, then looking over his shoulder and running my hands down that cute white firm butt of his. He bit hard into my neck as I felt him fill me up. I was shocked at myself, at how horny I was. I couldn't keep quiet. He banged me really hard but I kept wanting more. I've got long fingernails and I was was scratching this poor kid's back and ass but he never complained. He didn't last long but I came before he did, I guess because I was so horny. He came inside me. The air conditioning wasn't turned up high and we were both sweaty and sticky but I loved how our scents mingled together.
We talked for awhile afterward and he told me I was his first black woman. He didn't believe me when I told him my age. He thought there was no way I could be anywhere near 30 yet. He said he guessed it was true that black don't crack. He kept wincing from pain and I apologized for scratching him up, but he said, "Don't be sorry, you were worth it." Other than that, I didn't talk much because he was the talker, although he didn't really say all that much about himself. He said his grandpa was renting the place they were staying, and that after the funeral, he was going to leave the state and start out new somewhere else. Before long he said he had to go. I never saw him again.
When my friends got back home, I asked without sounding too eager if they knew who the yard man was who mowed the lot across the road. They'd never seen nor heard of him.
After I got home I missed my period. I didn't want to believe that I was pregnant from just that one time, but the doctor confirmed it. I wasn't having sex with anyone else anywhere near that time.
Now I'm 4 months along and have a definite baby bump. So far my pregnancy is going just fine according to the doctor. I'm going to have a little girl. I feel great, I'm happy, and I'm ready to be a mom. Some of my friends are happy that I'm finally going to have a baby, others think I must have turned into a slut since my divorce. I just make some kind of remark or joke if they wonder who the father is.
Over time I have told my mom most of what happened. She's kind of bewildered, but mostly she's just happy she's gonna be a grandmother.
Maybe I ought to make more of an effort to find my baby's father. Maybe I will, but part of me just wants the baby to be mine alone.
This last summer I took a vacation half way across the country. Some dear friends wanted me to housesit for them, so I thought, fine, I'll have their nice little home all to myself.
On one real hot day I was out on the patio in tight jean shorts and a bikini top. Across the road I saw a young guy pacing up and down by a vacant lot. He had a push type power mower on his truck. I thought, hmm, nice looking white kid (I'm black). He looked to be about 19 with a body that's real easy on the eyes. He had no shirt on. He saw me and started marching across the road.
He said, "Do you know who mowed that lot? That's supposed to be my job. The owner doesn't live around here, and I'm paid by him to mow every two weeks and now somebody else mowed it."
I said, "No, I don't know anything. I'm just visiting here."
He looked like he was going to cry and I asked if he was ok. He said, "Yeah, it's not only this lot, my grandpa died two days ago. He raised me, we were close." I said I was so sorry and he started crying for real. I asked him if he wanted to sit down for a minute. He did, and I handed him a glass of iced tea. He started talking about his grandpa, and also about problems with his girlfriend, saying she was acting too happy and trying to pretend nothing had happened. I didn't say much, didn't have a chance, cause he was talking a mile a minute.
I walked inside and brought him out another glass of tea and put my arm around his shoulder. He grabbed me by the waist and held his face against my bare stomach. I ran my fingers through his blonde hair a little. I couldn't believe how much I enjoyed that. I'd never been with a white guy before. I was faithful to my husband all through our marriage and hadn't dated much since our divorce. I asked him to come inside the house.
He wouldn't let go of me, kept hugging me all the time. He took off my bikini top and held me close to him. I loved the way my breasts felt against his tight chest muscles. The contrast of my very black skin with his very white skin really excited me. His hands moved up my back and to my nape.
He said, "I've heard black women don't like their hair touched.That's not racist to say is it?"
I said, "Hell no, sweetie. It's not racist to say, forget that shit. As for me personally, you can touch my hair all you want."
He relaxed and kissed me deep. He said, "Your lips feel so good, so good."
He buried his nose in my neck and inhaled. His own sweat and scent were driving me just as wild too.
I led him to a bedroom. I got out of my shorts and flip flops, and he took off his pants and shoes. He was a lot bigger than I thought he might be. He laid over me and I could feel his heart beating fast. I kept staring into his blue eyes, then looking over his shoulder and running my hands down that cute white firm butt of his. He bit hard into my neck as I felt him fill me up. I was shocked at myself, at how horny I was. I couldn't keep quiet. He banged me really hard but I kept wanting more. I've got long fingernails and I was was scratching this poor kid's back and ass but he never complained. He didn't last long but I came before he did, I guess because I was so horny. He came inside me. The air conditioning wasn't turned up high and we were both sweaty and sticky but I loved how our scents mingled together.
We talked for awhile afterward and he told me I was his first black woman. He didn't believe me when I told him my age. He thought there was no way I could be anywhere near 30 yet. He said he guessed it was true that black don't crack. He kept wincing from pain and I apologized for scratching him up, but he said, "Don't be sorry, you were worth it." Other than that, I didn't talk much because he was the talker, although he didn't really say all that much about himself. He said his grandpa was renting the place they were staying, and that after the funeral, he was going to leave the state and start out new somewhere else. Before long he said he had to go. I never saw him again.
When my friends got back home, I asked without sounding too eager if they knew who the yard man was who mowed the lot across the road. They'd never seen nor heard of him.
After I got home I missed my period. I didn't want to believe that I was pregnant from just that one time, but the doctor confirmed it. I wasn't having sex with anyone else anywhere near that time.
Now I'm 4 months along and have a definite baby bump. So far my pregnancy is going just fine according to the doctor. I'm going to have a little girl. I feel great, I'm happy, and I'm ready to be a mom. Some of my friends are happy that I'm finally going to have a baby, others think I must have turned into a slut since my divorce. I just make some kind of remark or joke if they wonder who the father is.
Over time I have told my mom most of what happened. She's kind of bewildered, but mostly she's just happy she's gonna be a grandmother.
Maybe I ought to make more of an effort to find my baby's father. Maybe I will, but part of me just wants the baby to be mine alone.
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