OUR FAMILY SECRET
PART 1: BIRTH OF PRINCE
I'm a dark-skinned 23 year old male, 5'10, brown eyes and nicely built. For most of my life, I was brought up in a catholic household mostly full of black women-My mom; her two younger sisters-my aunts; Mom's cousin-Lucy, and Grandma. Mom and dad split up when I was 8 and over the years I resented him for not coming around much. Mom never told me why she and dad split up but in a drunken stupor during my first communion, my uncle joked about it to the howling laughter and delight of his friends and a few relatives. "Imagine that," he scoffed. "Mr. Black Revolutionary loves shoveling snow...HAHAHAHA." The punchline of the joke stems from the fact that dad, a very well respected member of the community back then, was heavily involved in the Civil Rights movement and founded his own Chapter of the Black Panther party in the neighborhood. A lot of people were sure he'd go into politics and represent us in our struggles as he was considered the avant-garde of the young, intelligent, vocal and powerful black leadership back in those days. What happened to change that remained a mystery to me for most of my life as no one in my family would or wanted to volunteer that information.
For a while, Mom was very cross with uncle not only for the joke but for especially saying it in front of me. Even though my 8-year old brain hadn't the faintest clue as to what he was talking about but realized what he meant in my late teens and hated my father even more, and to some extent, white women for breaking up my family. Over the years, he and I would have bitter arguments about everything so to spite him, I joined the military. He told me I would regret it, and for a while I was having fun pissing him off with that until I was activated to go to Desert-Storm.
But before leaving for Saudi Arabia, I had become a man, living on my own enjoying my mew freedom, the single life-strictly dating black women, and best of all discovering me. I got a surprising phone call from Dad one day to meet up for coffee. Not being able to come up with an excuse, I reluctantly agreed and met up with the old man just to get it over and done with. In light of what he explained to me in that meeting, we put aside our differences. And besides not having a father-son relationship is a fucked up legacy, so we started to bond; until I was activated to go to Desert Storm a few short months later, now I was regretting me spiting him.
After serving a grueling 18 month tour of duty in the middle-east, I was finally returning home to be greeted by my dad and to my shocking surprise, his stunning new wife Anna- "My Hungarian BOOTY QUEEN..HAHAHA." As pops introduced her.
"Yves you're so bad." She gushed as we shook hands and then said, "Oh my he's so much more handsome than the pictures show. Beautiful smile, smooth, deep chocolate skin, you were wrong Yves, he's much better looking than you are...HAHAHA!"
I must say she made me, a dark-skinned man blush, which was very hard to do, with that assessment. As soon as she finished her wise crack he smacked her PHAT ASS and said, "Get yo sassy ass in the car, you gonna pay for that later."
"Ow...Don't threaten me with a good time DADDY." She rebutted and we jumped in the car as they both laughed.
Having to give up my job and apartment due to military duty and since mom moved back to Chicago shortly after my departure, meant that I was going to be living with Dad- who was more than happy to have me stay with him, until I could get on my feet. A move that essentially helped us resume our healing relationship. I sorely missed the old man while I was at war. He was quite the motivator as his letters lifted my spirits and gave me so much hope. It's like he was keeping me alive with those letters. Despite the distance, we were beginning to understand one another, it was like I had found a long lost friend a gain.
Dad is now a dark-skinned, 54 year-old, distinguished looking man with salt-pepper hair, 6' with an athletic build and developed a little bit of a gut to what he calls "the good life," being with Anna since marrying her almost 2 years ago. Pops was a handsome man and was no slouch when it came to turning his fair share. Anna on the other hand, was fine and amazingly voluptuous for a white woman. She was 44, a red-head, sporting healthy proportions of 32-23, a 50" basketball-round-protruding BOOTY that rivaled that of any black woman and knew how to strut her stuff in her 5'7" frame with thick luscious legs. This chic turned many heads younger women half her age wished they could, wherever ever she went.
Dad and I weren't the only ones bonding in that house. Since I was a chef in the military, Anna and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen exchanging recipes, techniques, and chatted up a storm about everything as we either took turns cooking or prepared something together. Evidenced by Dad's constant grunts, moans and rolling of his eyes-to both of our delights and laughter when he ate. He didn't talk or lift his head up from his plate until he was done. I must say we were a dynamic duo in the kitchen. In my mind at least, mixing these ingredients had become a romantic adventure between us, it was a platform where we expressed ourselves to each other, like lovers. I sensed that we were becoming attached and growing quite fond of each other.
While preparing one of our delicious meals, I asked Anna of her past. Before the communist occupation of Hungary, Anna's husband owned a big construction firm and they lived a luxurious life with their young daughter Beata. However, things took a drastic turn after her husband's untimely demise because of his heavy political involvement in the resistance to communism. Hunted, she and Beata fled the country and narrowly escaped the new regime's wrath with the help of his best friend and ultimately immigrated here via Germany. They fell on hard times once they arrived as they spoke little English, were quickly running low on funds and hence moved to the ghetto since that's all they could afford. Due to skyrocketing rents and a pleasant change in the neighborhood over the years, they remained in there long after Anna became a RN and worked at the Presbyterian Hospital. Living in the hood, it's easy to see how Anna was attracted to and loved her men- black, since her husband..
Living with Dad and his WHITE BOOTY QUEEN was mentally and physically torturing me. First was their relationship. It didn't take me long to figure out that something weird and very kinky was going on. Rarely if ever did she call him by name, it was always, "My King", or "Daddy. This woman was not only in love but worshiped my father and would do anything and I mean anything for him. To further demonstrate that, upon Dad's insistence, in the house she wore her various short, lacy dresses, that hung just to the top of her thighs, barely covering her huge ass, displaying the beautiful and sexy thong(that's all she ever wore) of the day which exposed her ample, jiggly white ass cheeks. Complete with 4" high heeled, satin bedroom slippers. He loved her attire as he smacked her PHAT ASS and caressed her thick legs every chance he got; much to her delight. She was his bitch and proudly knew her place. He asserted his position nightly when I'd hear him make her scream as he pounded her into submission with very climatic orgasm after orgasm, after orgasm, after orgasm. He didn't lift a finger once he got home from work as she was at his becking call. I couldn't believe how subservient she was to him and, to my reluctance, me too. I wasn't used to that. The black women in family and the ones I dated would sooner laugh at me asking them to get me a drink or dare I ask,cook me a meal. In a twisted sense, as twisted as their relationship, I was proud to see pops handling her like that and lived vicariously through him at this display. I was changing to what, I don't know and that scared me.
Then there was my confusion fueled by her constantly sexually tormenting me. She knew I wanted her and made it a point to kill me every chance she got with her ample derrière and voluptuous figure in what would become a ritualistic tease game between us;our own unspoken secret language, right under Dad's unsuspecting eyes-at least in my mind.
She would smirk and walk with a purposeful shake whenever she noticed me furtively looking or unconsciously squeezing my cock in honor of the awesome display of her feminine flesh.. I would purposely leave the door to my room opened just so I can watch her walk back and forth. That cock teaser would slow her pace just when she got to my door and always seemed to drop something in front of the door just so she could bend over and moan, "Mm mm-" to picked it up then smiling and winking at me as she got up. She often wandered into my room to watch the COOKING CHANNEL with me as she wasn't much of a football fan. There she would play her most grueling cock tease games and torture me with her gorgeous figure during commercial breaks.
Because of the view, she sometimes seductively strode with a purposeful shake of her PHAT ASS to my window and bending over to look at her garden.
"OOo, my roses are looking very BULBOUS this year." She would add emphasis on 'bulbous' and the site-all ass, juicy thighs and legs was driving me insane.
"Mmm and that JAASSSMINE smells so good." Adding emphasis on 'AS' in jasmine. By then I'd be rubbing my forehead in my hand as though I was suffering from headache.
"You ok?" She'd ask after finally standing back up and walking to resume her usual seat on my computer chair.
"Yeah, I'm fine, just thinking about the recipes that chef was talking about in that last segment." I lied as I was fighting a raging hard-on I know she'd be able to spot as I was only dressed in boxer briefs and a wife-beater. It was times like this that having a big dick was a hassle. That fucking bitch.
