Piece Offering

The other women whooped and hollered as the tell-tale sound of sloppy sex could be heard. That sound, exactly like wet spaghetti, was what Theo and Tristany sounded like joined in sex. Then, the two black women came up and literally peeled Tristany off of him. They carried her over the few feet to show Larry her fertile cunt. Even now, it was just oozing out the potent African seed from Theo that was racing to locate Tristany's fertile egg and make yet another black baby inside of her. Two hours later, long after Larry had left in disgust and defeat, Tristany conceived.

Flashback or forward, it doesn't matter at this point (just hang in there, it'll be ok):

Tristany got bolt upright in bed. Ummm, this bed. In the generous light afforded by a full moon, she saw the cherry veneer of an expensive canopy bed, the top overrun by silk covers. The luxurious sheets were Martha Stewart Egyptian Cotton 600 count satin. Next to her was, wait for it, her husband Larry. My God, all of that was a dream, or nightmare? She opened her conservative nightgown, seeing she was devoid of even one tattoo, let alone a Lascaux cave ensemble of drawings. Larry got up, awakened by the same damn cat outside. He said go back to sleep honey. They kissed lightly and she lay back down, facing away from him.

Looking at his wife in the bright moonlight, her hair in a 'do like Doris Day, he thought to himself that he would get that done, what he thought of getting done as they read his favorite psalm in church on Sunday in the Crystal Cathedral. He would demand that Tristany have his initials tattooed on her neck and have her get a phoenix firebird put across her fine back right above those two darling dimples above her fine butt. He was going to get that done! No shit!

Meanwhile, not sleeping either, that soccer mom Tristany was wondering how and why she had that dream. And what about all of the gangster terminology? Oh, that was right, an LAPD cop named, wait for it, Devon, addressed the women's side of the ANA, regaling them about gangster lore. It didn't matter that most of the information was way out of date or inaccurate; he believed it and they lapped it up.

Then there was that other event. At an ANA party, some party crasher with a shirt that could hardly conceal rock hard muscles bulging in all directions, and pants that could hardly contain a unit the size of a killer whale's thing, came on to her. She was actually thinking of joining him in his room for a brief time when she asked him the deadly question all women ask: "What do YOU do for a living?" His eyes looked to the floor, he smiled, and withdrew. As in disappeared. End of fling. In the end, he had only introduced himself, name of Theo.

Tristany's last thoughts as she nodded off to sweet slumber? She thought of the aristocratic, childless life she now had with the head of the ANA, and then thought back to that cute cop that addressed her group: Devon. He also seemed to have a nice unit down there. Ummm, "This is the LAPD dispatcher...calling all units, we have a 4-14 in progress: childless wife seeking insemination at any price, no questions asked, first come, first served."

Tristany thought: "God that would be awful--having to endure that big black cock, sawing away, in and out, in and out. Then, my police officer husband would use his bull sized balls to shower my fertile womb with splash after manly splash of his potent African seed. Every wave of seed would be a tribute to his virility, every sperm vibrant, lively, and designed to find my precious ovum and fertilize it. He would make it his only priority in life, even over his career: making me pregnant and keeping me pregnant. What pride he would have squiring me around town, my belly swollen with his babies, maybe triplets, the fetuses all male. I would be so proud to give birth to them too. As they sucked away on my breasts, the warm sweet mother's milk making those strong black babies into robust young men, I would be planning the next brood of babies, and the next.

Tristany thought "Jeez, I just had a dream about this, and now I am day dreaming it. I've got to snap back to reality. This could never happen; I just have to accept life as it is." She fell fast asleep.

Next to her, Larry's last thought was: "Oh God no, not THAT thought again!!" His mind had returned to his favorite turn-on, his favorite naughty fantasy from all that time on-line when Tristany was sewing. He always thought, "Lord, what I wouldn't give, just once, to see Tristany out of that damn 1960's hairdo and clothes, all pimped out, and being serviced properly by some brother. That would be so fucking wild, so fucking hot! Tristany, part-time Sunday school teacher and garden club president, sporting a swollen belly holding the black babies of some gang banger. Oh, the looks from those people after church! And then the happy day; being in the delivery room, the nurses and doctors staring in disbelief at me and my wife as the doctor holds up the newborn black baby from my beautiful white wife's productive womb.

Well, the hell with it! Right after church tomorrow, after our lunch at Denny's, and bridge with the Collins, I am going to ask her about trying it out...

He did. She said she'd try it. She tried it. She liked it. He stopped liking it. She said too bad, and kept liking it.