Dequan started to stir, ‘Oh, it’s feeding time any time now, maybe you could come with me to the mother and babies room on the second floor, we can chat more while we feed them, I bet yours will want his mummy’s milk soon too?’
I smiled, and nodded.
He would, my Rhashan had a big appetite.
After I discovered that I was pregnant and the shock of having a black baby growing inside me had subsided, I decided to read as much as I could about white mothers with black babies and if they had encountered any problems, and if they did, how they had faced and solved them. After reading some accounts, I decided that I would embrace my baby’s heritage and culture. I reasoned that trying to deny him his identify would cause him problems and confusion. How could I raise him as white simply because I, his mother was? My son was going to be black-the race/ethnic group of his father. I wouldn't allow the circumstance of my baby’s conception to interfere with how I would raise him.
My baby was going to black, not white, and he wouldn't be viewed as mixed race by society or his contemporaries. His friends would be, in all probability black, and other than me, his role models would be black. Therefore I resolved to not only give birth to a black baby, but to raise him as black, to be proud to be black, and enjoy being black.
So, I felt strongly that my baby would have the best I could give, and breast-milk would be a good start. Like all black men, my Rhashan liked to suck white titties! He liked to suck at mine; he loved his mummy’s milk. So, off we went up to the mother and babies room with Rachel and Dequan to breast-feed our babies and learn more about each other and how we became black-bred.
It became clear that unlike my Rashan, Dequan was put in Rachel’s belly by Leroy without recourse to rape, capture or force. Rachel was a specifically chosen breeding-cow and she was a willing recipient of propagating African sperm. The account Rachel gave me of her metamorphosis from ‘daddy’s white daughter’ to ‘black-owned fuckmeat and breeding-cow’ was the most sensual and breathtakingly glorious thing I had ever heard, and it was not just me who enjoyed her explanation, others in the room did too.
The first thing she said as we arrived at the mother and babies’ room put our bags on the floor and took our babies (now wide awake and hungry) out of their buggies was to apologise for my rape. The second was to explain why it was necessary.
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