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Thinking With My Dick
by Tim-Andre (tm_andre@yahoo.com)

***

A young black man, obsessed with fathering a bi-racial 
baby, discovers that the white woman of his dreams is 
fifteen years older than he is. (MF, intr, rom, preg)

***

Okay, everybody I know eventually gets around to 
telling me that I think with my dick. I can't help it 
if so many of my fantasies go straight to my cock. You 
know how it is when you find a decent site on the web 
and it's all filled with thumbnails of voluptuous 
looking women or maybe it's the same woman for six or 
eight marvelous pages. You get the picture. Well that's 
when the daydreams hit me: no holds barred, no idea too 
far out.

Lee, a friend of mine, pointed out the Yahoo portrait 
of a woman he decided he had the hots for and wanted to 
write to her.  

Now I understood his reasoning, but I had to laugh. 
"Don't you recognize her? This picture was taken from a 
porn star's web site."

"No!" Lee's jaw dropped. I could see he hoped she might 
be the real thing.

"Sorry, bro. She's a fake." I shook my head. How could 
he be so gullible? Then I realized that maybe I spent 
too much of my time surfing the web and studying my 
kind of trivia. Maybe I'm the one who really needed to 
get a life.

After I graduated from technical school, I got to tell 
you I'd spent the short span of my years between the 
ages of twenty-two and twenty-six trying to maintain 
the lifestyle of a playa, a dawg--a swinging bachelor. 
However, as of late, I'd found myself thinking 
seriously about becoming a father. **Jeez, where did 
that come from?**

"You're just thinking with your dick, man."Lee snorted 
out a laugh after I told him that. "You're just 
wondering if you can score some serious pussy by using 
that technique."

I laughed too and agreed with him. "Think it'll work?"

Of course, deep inside I'd been dead serious, but I 
decided that this was something I didn't want to share 
with anyone else after all. Better to be a playa--one 
of the gang.

***

I have to admit, that "pick-up technique" doesn't work 
with girls my age, especially when you factor in my 
little "fetish." I joined a number of interracial sites 
since I preferred that my candidates for motherhood be 
white. Not that black women would have been any easier 
to convince. Most young women don't want to throw away 
their lives over a pregnancy and a newborn baby.

I told them that soon I'd be in a position to keep them 
at home and taken care of, but I don't think any of 
them really bought this. Most of them told me to come 
back when I had something more solid. Even if I was an 
assistant service manager for a large automotive 
dealership, they weren't buying my sincerity.

Anyway, there I was surfing the net again and checking 
my interracial groups when the plight of a woman who'd 
had her child kidnapped by his biological father 
attracted my attention. The first thing I did was to 
check her Yahoo portrait to see if she'd posted a fake 
picture.

Well, her picture was an ordinary snapshot scanned as a 
.jpeg. Good sign that she was real. I went back and 
read her posting once more. Now what I'm going to tell 
you has been encapsulated from a number of posts 
online, as well as letters and IMs between us.

Her name was Diane. When she graduated from college at 
the age of twenty-three, she and her white husband had 
gotten married. The two of them never had any kids. 
Their marriage lasted seven years until he knocked up 
some other gal from work. So, on an impulse, she went 
back to graduate school. At the university, she met a 
graduate assistant instructor from Ghana. They became 
fast friends and quickly developed a mutual attraction.

Was it some form of loneliness on her part? Something 
else? I know what the attraction was on his part. As I 
live with the same thing.

At first Diane figured that since her Ghanaian man 
looked so different from her white husband, he would be 
totally different. I think we all do that with new 
people we meet. However, much of what plugged into her 
psyche weren't her new man's differences, but what rang 
true back to old habits. Her white husband had been a 
minister's son and he knew every button to push when it 
came to manipulating her emotionally, physically and 
morally. Her grad instructor drove her down the same 
avenues. After all, since Jesus blessed their 
friendship, it was only fitting that their physical 
union would be blessed as well.

Yep, Diane fell for the old "Jesus wants us to go to 
bed" line. All right, maybe it wasn't that bad. After 
all, she'd just divorced her husband of seven years 
about a year back. Could have been that after all that 
personal strife she was more than ready for sex.

They began a long term relationship, and she discovered 
the ultimate truth. Often, once a woman changes her 
"sperm donors" things develop quite differently. Diane 
got pregnant with the Ghanaian's baby within a few 
months. Naturally, she was thrilled to be carrying his 
child--any child. However, for her family it was a 
mixed blessing at best. They hadn't expected their 
white daughter to bear a black baby.

Her son, Emil, was born when she was about thirty-two 
or so. Happily her parents did an about face when he 
was born and accepted him into their hearts.

It took about five years for the Ghanaian father of her 
baby to complete his doctorate and post doctoral work 
in whatever the hell his major was at the time. Then 
the time came for him to tell his parents that he 
wouldn't be going through with an arranged marriage 
that they'd planned for him when he was very young. 
Diane and the father of her baby came up with enough 
money to send him and Emil to Ghana so he could tell 
the boy's grandparents he wouldn't be going through 
with an arranged marriage. Besides it would give the 
boy a chance to meet his African grandparents.

He went home to Accra, married the girl from the 
arranged marriage and both families rushed through 
Ghanaian citizenship for Emil to keep him there 
permanently. Thus, Diane had been pursing legal and 
monetary action for two years trying to get her son 
back when I first wrote to her.

This was where things stood when first I met Diane.

***

She told me up front that her picture happened to be a 
professional portrait she'd had done. She also said she 
was five years older and several pounds heavier than 
her official portrait. Now I'd gotten curious. I told 
her I'd send some shots of me her way, if she wouldn't 
mind sharing some recent photos of herself. Diane 
agreed and I discovered that she hadn't changed that 
much from her portrait at all. She still looked like a 
lovely, sexy lady approaching the age of forty to me.

She told me I was handsome, but asked what did I want 
with an old lady like her? Now, let me remind you, her 
picture doesn't look old at all. In fact, everything 
about her intrigued me, and when I'm intrigued, I start 
thinking about how much I'd like to do some major 
interior exploring with my dick once more. Did I want 
to spoil my chances and tell her what I really desired 
or was it better to shut up and take a chance on 
getting laid by a fine looking woman? Damn! That's a 
hard one. Okay, the pun just slipped out. But, the 
point is, did I want to be accused of being lead by my 
cock again? No, some little strain of honesty forced me 
to be up front about my desires with her. 

I told her the truth about my intentions. The whole 
truth! "Does the idea of having my child turn you off?"

Her answer came back: "Well, I guess that's something I 
can think about."

My joy went into overdrive. The only thing left now was 
to meet her in person. We chose neutral ground--the 
parking lot of a national chain restaurant. I got off 
work, went home to shower, shave and dress 
appropriately for a hot date. I arrived a few minutes 
early and kept an eye out for her car. Was it this one? 
No. That one? I watched for ten or fifteen minutes 
until she pulled into the parking lot.

I have to tell you the sight of her sucked my breath 
right out of my lungs. I waved and began to walk over 
to where she parked. As she got out of the car, I 
noticed two distinct strong points from a distance. 
One, she had damn good long legs. Two her abdomen, hips 
and ass were well upholstered to my taste. Thank 
goodness she hadn't bought into that white woman's need 
to be some anorexic model from the fashion shows. She'd 
worn a small black jacket over an elegant sleeveless 
cocktail dress. 

So anyway when I met her and first looked into her 
beautiful blue eyes, I realized that I wanted her. I 
knew my dick begged to stand up and salute her 
intimately. I wanted to mark this woman the way males 
marked all important females in their life.

I escorted her into the restaurant for dinner. I'd made 
sure to reserve a table ahead of time. Even then it 
took a couple of minutes for us to be seated. We spoke 
pleasantries. Nothing of any particular concern. 
Obviously we were still checking each other out.

I loved what I saw. Sparkling eyes. Classically mature 
features and flawless skin. No doubt about that. Great 
figure, too. When she slipped that jacket off her bare 
shoulders, I was hooked--not to mention her rear end. I 
reveled in following behind Diane until we were seated 
at our table.

However, I wondered what she made of me? In fact, I 
kept asking myself at what point would it be okay to 
ask her, Diane, when can my dick come and linger 
luxuriously inside your pussy? No doubt about which 
part of my body tended to lead the conversation at this 
very moment. Would you mind very much if we primed the 
pump together for a while? At least until I get the 
water of life flowing good and strong. Then, you and I 
can intimately discuss babies--nonverbally, of course. 
How subtle was that?

Again I looked into her eyes and grinned.

"What?" Diane wiped her hands nervously on her napkin. 
"You're staring!"

"You're very beautiful."

She screwed up her face in jest. "C'mon, you're just 
teasing me. Everyone probably thinks I'm old enough to 
be your mother."

"I doubt that very much," I replied. "Speaking of that, 
did you bring that picture of your son along with you?"

Her face brightened up. "As a matter of fact, I did." 
She dug into her purse and came out with a wallet sized 
photograph of a slightly younger version of herself 
holding a preschool aged biracial boy. "This is Emil."

I looked at the picture and then looked back at Diane. 
Yep, same woman all right. It was true! The sexy white 
lady across the table from me had borne a black baby a 
few years back. Okay, here it goes. "Diane, have you 
thought any more about what I asked you about in my 
emails?"

She flushed. "Ohh! That was unexpected."

"Forgive me for rushing things. But, I've thought about 
little else since I began corresponding with you."

There was a short pause. Then she whispered, "Me too."

This time I know my face reflected my surprise. 
"Really?"

She nodded and then looked down into her water glass. 
"I don't quite know what to say to all of this, but I 
can't say I'm not... flattered, Tim. I'm just so... 
flustered."

"That's allowed."

"I'm glad. I'm really going to have to check with my 
doctor, you know. Women over forty at risk and all 
that..."

"There's an easier solution you know." I thought I'd 
take a chance and watch her reaction. "All we have to 
do is fuck every night and see if my seed catches."

"Tim!" Diane's face went beet red, and her jaw dropped. 
"People all around us could be listening."

"Not likely..." I reached out and took her hand across 
the table. I wondered if she'd protest. But she left 
her hand in the clutches of my own. "Are you enjoying 
your salad, Diane?"

"What?" She pulled her hand away and began to cut her 
lettuce into tiny leaves. "You are something else, you 
know that?"

The rest of dinner was as unforgettable as what had 
gone before. "So can we see your apartment tonight?"

Diane looked into my eyes for a few minutes and then 
answered. "I think I'd rather see yours."

This time I was caught by surprise. "My place?"

"If you don't mind..." She looked down at her plate 
again. "I mean the Heights are much closer to the 
restaurant than my apartment."

"Uhh...my duplex kind of looks like a bachelor's crib, 
is the mess gonna bother you?"

She shook her head. "No."

I raised my eyebrows. "Okay then, my place it is." I 
wrote down my address on a paper coaster and slid it to 
her. "I want you to follow me home in your car, but if 
you lose me, here's the address."

***

I learned something important when I took Diane back to 
my duplex in the Heights. Something I hadn't expected. 
Since girls my age and younger tend to wear bikini 
panties and thongs, I am used to seeing those tiny 
strips of cloth covering a woman's loins. Especially 
after a formal date.

Diane wore black panties fully appropriate for a woman 
her age and her size. You know how panties fit on those 
retro centerfold shots from the fifties and sixties? I 
don't think she'd planned on being in a situation to 
have me scrutinize them so closely. On the other hand, 
it had been a while since I'd gotten any woman stripped 
down to where I could examine the way her panties fit 
on her hips, abdomen, and pubic mound. Turns out it had 
been even longer since Diane found herself in the same 
position with a man.

As I said before, the place looks pretty much like a 
poor man's bachelor pad. D‚cor is early Salvation Army 
and curbside pick-up. I'm afraid all I've got in my 
bedroom is a twin bed. However, Diane agreed that even 
a twin bed would provide more than enough room for what 
we had in mind.

I helped Diane out of her black dress, her strapless 
bra, and peeled off her black panties in a short time. 
Once those panties came off, everything between us 
changed. The aroma of the woman smelled glorious. Damp, 
musky, feminine and inviting. I left my nose centered 
right where her pubic mound and curly hairs were and 
intentionally sniffed her pungent fragrance. I sensed 
I'd get a chance to play with all the folds of her 
labia lips in a matter of just a few minutes. Needless 
to say, I could hardly wait.

Now it was my turn to disrobe. Needless to say I still 
saluted her close proximity with my erected saber.

Diane smiled. "Okay, I'm impressed."

Against my better judgment, I asked her if she wanted 
me to find a condom. 

I could see the thoughts churning in her brain for a 
moment. Then, shaking her head, Diane walked up to me 
and stepped into my arms. "That wasn't in our 
agreement, was it?"

This time as I grinned, she dropped to her knees from a 
standing position and her fingers began to caress my 
erected cock. Her tongue ran a slow delicious slide up 
and down the shaft, enticing me even more. As if my 
impulsive substitute for a brain could stand up any 
straighter. Oh yeah, I was definitely doing all my 
thinking with my dick. I tangled my fingers up in her 
dark, shoulder length hair and pulled her head against 
my groin. What an incredible intensity Diane ignited 
for a forty year old woman. Who would've believed it?

I threw my head back. I wanted to climax; yet, I didn't 
want to ejaculate into her mouth and waste a full load 
of potent sperm. I moaned out a gasping "No..." and 
then forced her head back away from my penis.

Her blue eyes twinkled, as Diane looked up into mine. 
"Almost had you." Her tongue flicked out and slurped a 
small drop of milky liquid from the aperture at the end 
of my cock. Her action caused me to shiver.

"C'mon. Up on the bed, you," I insisted as I helped her 
back to her feet, and then guided her naked body into a 
sitting position on the bed. "You understand that once 
we get started on this course, there's no stopping us."

Diane nodded. "You've made that very clear."

"Good." I hadn't had any woman at all since well before 
I'd begun corresponding with her in early August. Now 
you could count the days down until September arrived 
and here a naked white woman sat on my bed, tempting me 
with her smile and a body that simply wouldn't quit. 
"Because this won't be our last night together, if I 
can help it."

Her body excited my primal needs, no doubt about that. 
But I wondered what it was about this forty year old 
woman that really appealed to me--besides her race. 
Then I realized that her face reflected the kind of 
quiet acceptance that told me that she was willing to 
give into my demands. Demands for sex, for long term 
companionship, my demands for a biracial baby—she 
looked willing to accommodate each one.

Like I hinted before, I could see that willingness in 
her smile, her face--her eyes. Once again I'd come to 
point where I was leading with my dick. My dick needed 
to be nestled inside a warm, wet woman, and my mind 
specifically wanted that woman to be Diane. I moved 
between her knees, ready to top her pale thighs with no 
hesitancy.  But I fought that impulse with the desire 
to taste the essence of the mature woman before me.

I dropped my lips down to engage the standing jut of 
her nipples one at a time. My tongue circled each 
nipple leaving a little trail of saliva. When I blew 
gently on her areole, I saw tiny goosebumps appear on 
the light brown flesh. Diane gasped softly.

Soon I dropped my mouth two feet lower, taking her 
labia and spreading them with my fingers and probing 
Diane's lower lips with my tongue. She didn't taste 
like honey or sweet wine. No, if anything, Diane tasted 
like black olives and dressing. I enjoyed the flavor 
and aroma of her natural nectar mixed together when my 
lips pushed deep into the cleft of her cunt. Her moan 
vibrated like a purr deep in her throat, while I tried 
my best to concentrate on the entire delectably 
sensitive surface of her pussy lips.

I could tell from the sound of her groans that it had 
been a long time since she'd had a man's lips and 
tongue fully buried in her cunt. I loved everything 
about the experience as well. By this time she'd 
gripped my scalp with both hands in order to keep my 
head and mouth close in between her thighs. As I 
watched and listened, I held Diane's hips down against 
the bed while my lady flushed beet red and had what 
must have been a deeply satisfying orgasm.

Finally she protested. "Tim, stop! Please! It's time to 
move forward, okay?"

"Do you mean it?" I asked as I crawled up onto the bed 
and straddled her. Smeared with her intimate juices, my 
face had to have smelled quite musky.

However, she kissed me anyway. "Of course, I mean it." 
I stabilized myself along her naked thighs and abdomen, 
and she used her hand to guide my cock into position to 
meld with her splayed loins. "Do it, Tim!" Then she 
grunted, catching her breath, as I thrust forward with 
my hips.

This lovely forty year old white woman and I were 
conjoined sexually. Now my dick was definitely stuck 
somewhere I wanted it to be. Diane shuddered and closed 
her eyes as I penetrated her sloppy wet tissues. The 
squishing sounds of her pussy interacting with my cock 
sounded like another conversation between us happening 
right where we conjoined. 

I watched her face carefully until she opened her eyes 
again. Then I smiled. "You feel beautiful. I love the 
way your pussy sucks me right in."

She came up to kiss me once again. "Thank you. I didn't 
realize how much I missed being held in a man's arms." 
What she didn't say was something I could see in her 
face: Having a man's cock thrusting up inside of me.

"Like I said, this won't be the last time." It took us 
a while to establish a comfortable rhythm. 

Once we did, Diane began to moan sensually. Her voice 
actually seemed to sound younger and more girlish as we 
continued to make love. "I love the way you fit inside 
me, Tim. Just like you were made for me."

"I was," I answered trying to maintain our coital 
rhythm. "I knew that from the moment we met."

Long minutes went by where my erection explored and 
examined every internal inch of Diane's cunt. We'd 
generated so much natural lubricant between us that the 
slurping sound of our togetherness echoed through my 
bedroom like primitive percussion layered with the beat 
of the mattress springs playing in counterpoint. The 
whole sloppy mix heightened our excitement.

Nevertheless, the strongest tingling sensations came 
when I began to churn the pliant tissues deep inside 
her. Alternating between a circular motion and a 
plunging, pounding motion, I let every inch of my penis 
bathe in the natural juices of Diane's vulnerable 
vagina. **Jesus, life was good at this moment!**

Closing her eyes again, Diane's cheeks flushed. Her 
neck and the top of her chest over her breasts reddened 
and her breathing became very erratic. Her climax 
surprised me—gladdened me—and ignited my 
own. I hadn't expected this at all. There was so much 
more I wanted to do with her, but my body had taken 
control and my mind couldn't stop any of it.

I opened my eyes and riveted my stare on her face. Oh 
yeah, Diane was my woman now. Suddenly the muscles 
along my prostrate and testicles spasmed and a rush of 
pure energy flashed from my brain heading down and from 
my toes speeding up. Both flashes met at the very core 
of my body and I trembled and shuddered aloud. My nerve 
ganglia ignited and propelled a teeming viscous tribute 
out through my long extended pathway buried deep inside 
my partner's open loins.

That first pure spurt of liquid seemed to blast out. It 
was followed by a second spurt and then a third. Soon I 
was spewing a continuous stream of my creamy essence, 
the seed of my African heritage deep into Diane's 
vaginal sheath.

I gazed longingly down into her blue eyes.

I'd done it! She'd allowed me to begin our long natural 
journey toward parenthood. Diane moaned beneath me, and 
I lifted myself up. I had to look at the results. Oh, 
God, how wonderful! Diane's meaty pussy was leaking a 
thick layer of translucent semen, seeping out from the 
very orifice where our genitals stayed spliced. When I 
pulled out, I saw that we'd each creamed and coated 
each other's loins.

Sweating, she panted uncontrollably. "Let me rest for a 
minute, Tim."

I grinned. "If you insist."

Within moments she'd dropped off to slumber. I cuddled 
Diane close, watching and admiring her beautiful form 
as she slept.

***

When I awoke about an hour and a half later, the glow 
of the evening summer sun still streamed in through the 
curtains. We'd intertwined on the bed, my top leg 
laying over hers possessively. I sat up to scrutinize 
her naked white body. God, she looked delicious.

The room glowed with the ebbing twilight pouring 
through the curtains, and Diane glowed with the rosy 
blush of our time interlocked together. The mixture of 
my sperm and her own juices had seeped from the deep 
hole our bodies had shared down onto her thighs and ass 
where they'd dried together in a sticky paste.

I brought my fingers down against her skin and used a 
fingernail to peel back a gummy droplet. I smiled. This 
was us! Diane and I--together.

I examined the little stretch marks on her abdomen with 
my fingers. I could think of countless guys my age that 
might be turned off by these telltale wrinkles, but I 
wasn't one of them. You can't be a father without 
successfully marking a mother. And this woman was mine 
to mark. I know that sounds odd to some of you, but, 
sorry, that's the way my brain works. My fingers slid 
across her pale flesh and traced the stretch marks as 
they branched out reaching for her ribs.

Since it was late August, neither of us wore any covers 
atop us on the twin bed. She snuggled into my pillow, 
while I continued to run my eyes over every inch of 
Diane's body. Look at those hips! I was tempted to 
grasp her by her lovely pale hips and use them as 
leverage to thrust as deep as I could go into her 
interior. Then I fixed both eyes on her pussy. About an 
hour and a half ago my dick probed this beautifully 
pliant white vagina exploring and examining and 
prepping her reproductive system to be totally 
receptive my load.

I told Diane in no uncertain terms that when my dick 
pushed its way as deep as I wanted, she'd stay with me 
until we'd conceived. **Conceived!** God that word rang 
in my brain.

Her eyes opened, and she found me staring at her. 
"What's going on?"

I beamed. "I'm just admiring everything about you."

Diane sighed. "Don't you think I'm too old, Tim?"

"Do you think I'm too young?" I watched her shake her 
head. "Then knock it off with the too old crap."

She looked at the faded light coming through the 
window. "What time is it?"

"It's around nine o'clock or so. Why, d'ya have some 
place to be?"

"Not exactly..." Diane came up on one elbow and reached 
out to caress my hip. I could see the wheels turning in 
her head.  "So how was...you know...for you?"

This time I broke into a broad grin. "Wonderful. 
Stupendous. You're a writer. Choose a superlative."

"Umm... funny man." She moved her own fingers around. 
"I never ever dreamed I'd find a man with the 
proverbial washboard stomach once I left high school. 
You look incredible."

"Me? Hah!" I laughed. "More like a Laundromat's double 
loader. So, how do you feel?" I couldn't help fondling 
her breasts as we lay intertwined.

"I'm fine. Sweaty... tired... a bit sore..." She 
grinned. "Happy."

"Ooo, I'm glad." I leaned over to kiss her on the top 
of her head. "We did it."

"Well, we certainly indulged in the preliminaries."

"Do you mind if we indulge again?" My finger circled 
her areola and tweaked a now hardening nipple.

"Not at all. It's your house. I think I should abide by 
your rules."

I decided not to tell her that it was my dick that busy 
thinking up all the new rules. I figured I'd just enjoy 
the results.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 51