All Hallow's Eve

We were sad when Mary finally had to leave, the unspoken question of what had happened that night still bothering us, as we all tried to move on with our lives.

*********************

"Mr. Wilcox," the obstetrician once again said, again breaking my reverie.

I looked at Melissa, holding our baby in her arms as he suckled her breast.

"Is it possible there is African-American blood in either yours or your wife's lineage?" the doctor once again asked.

I looked at the dark little hand of my son grasping his mother's breast as I answered, "Sure doc, it's possible. You ran the paternity test yourself, so it's not like something else happened," I smiled behind my mask, "He's definitely my son," I said.

I felt a pair of arms wrap around my neck as I reached up and squeezed Mary's hand. I felt her large stomach press against my back as Melissa smiled at us.

"You're up next sis," she said, as we had planned on both of them being induced together.

The paternity tests had been taken for our peace of minds, as we still could not explain what had happened in the clearing. With the amount of cum upon them, the girls had obviously had sex with more than just me. Thankfully, to all our relief, I was the father of both children, each of us wondering if it had happened one of the nights we had spent together after the party or that odd, fateful evening.

Mary had moved in with us halfway through her pregnancy, and the three of us now lived together, vowing the raise the children as brother and sister. We would worry later about why they had two mommies some other time, accepting the blessing we had all been given.

As I looked at the obviously dark baby in my wife's arms I recalled the most recent ultrasounds. We knew she was carrying a boy—a boy who was larger than normal for a baby, but in perfect health. Mary's child was slimmer, our daughter's body more delicate, and I knew without a doubt she would be fair skinned, the only question being whether she would be fair-haired or dark.

In a few hours, we would be repeating another birth. I would love my daughter as much as my son as I smiled at both of the sisters, feeling a warmth and completeness I had not felt in years.

My only thought as we prepared for Mary's birthing was—would my daughter have pointed ears...