Things had been going badly for me ever since I left my village in Africa. The smugglers had made me hide on boats and in the back of trucks. It had been cold and damp and I hadn’t see sunlight for days. I was squeezed in with lots of other refugees and could hardly move. On some days they forgot to feed us. Even when they remembered it was usually disgusting. I often cried. I cried for my home in Africa, for the life I had left behind.
Now here I was in Sweden. They gave me a bed in a refugee reception center, sleeping six to a room. The days were long and boring. I played dominoes or chess with the other men or watched TV. Sometimes a lawyer would come and ask me questions I couldn’t answer. I had to sign forms I could not read. The weeks passed by.
The lawyer had said that because there was no war in my country and I wasn’t part of any persecuted minority and I didn’t have ****** here, I was probably going to be sent home. I didn’t want to stay here in this misery, but I didn’t want to go home either. I imagined how disappointed my ****** would be if I returned without money. They had taken out every last cent to pay the smugglers. They expected me to get rich here and help them with money soon. They were already asking me when I would be sending money home. I was too ashamed to tell them the truth.
Today I had gone to the city’s swimming pool. There were plenty of Swedish girls there in bikinis. Some were swimming in the water, graceful as dolphins. Others were sitting on the edge of the pool and chatting, their long legs swinging lazily and their feet splashing the water. I stared at their slender shapes and pale white skin. I was mesmerized by their blonde hair, their large breasts and gently curved bodies.
I hadn’t had sex since leaving my village. Sharing a hiding space and then a room with many other men meant I hadn’t even masturbated. The sight of dozens of practically naked white bodies was driving me crazy. Back in my village, women covered themselves in public, leaving only the hands and eyes visible. The only female bodies I ever got to see any more of were my own two wives. And neither of them were particularly beautiful.
These Swedish girls were in different class altogether. Their white flesh shone in the sunlight that poured in through the great windows. Their blonde hair swirled as they turned their happy heads.
I looked at them wishing one could be mine. That would be the end to all my problems. I would stay in Sweden. I would make love to a beautiful woman, and I would somehow send money home. But I remembered that I had spent all of my own money and the money of my ****** just to be able to come here. How could I ever afford a Swedish wife? How much money would her father even want for her? I had struggled to pay up to marry my wives back home. In Sweden everything was far more expensive.
I was sitting on the edge of the pool and I cried.
“What’s the matter? Why are you so sad?” said a sympathetic voice.
I looked up. A tall blonde girl with large pale blue eyes and a sea of freckles on her cheeks was standing in the water and looking at me. Her wet hair hung over her shoulders. Water was running from it and meandered over her shoulders in rivulets, down towards the bikini that restrained her large round breasts. The fabric of the bikini appeared to very thin; and I thought I could recognize her nipples underneath. I had never perceived nipples on any women except my own wives. I immediately had an erection, which made me feel embarrassed.
“You so beautiful,” I said.
She immediately went red with awkwardness.
“You’re not bad yourself,” she replied.
“What you name?” I asked, “Me Rahmeed.”
“Rahmeed, I’m Freya.”
“How many money you father want for marry you?”
“You’re funny,” she laughed.
The laugh was contagious. I found myself laughing with her. But I didn’t quite understand her point.
“Me want marry,” I tried to explain, “Me come Africa village long time. Long time no woman.”
“In this country you don’t need to ask a father’s permission to marry his ********. If you like somebody and they agree you marry.”
“Me marry you?”
“Goodness,” she laughed, “I have a boyfriend.”
“He a man?”
“Yes, a man.”
“And he let you here alone, where people see you naked?”
“I’m not naked. This is a swimsuit.”
“But everybody see you body.”
“This is how we swim here.”
She pulled herself onto the poolside besides me and I began to tell her my sad story. About leaving my village, the long journey and the misery of the refugee shelter. I started crying. She placed a tender wet hand on my wrist. I immediately had another erection. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice.
“How old you?” I asked.
“Twenty one, and you?”
“Me twenty three,” I replied, “why Freya twenty-one and no man married? You problem?”
“Why should I have a problem? In this country we don’t usually marry until later.”
“I two womans and six childrens. Me marry Aisha, then me eighteen and Aisha sixteen. Then I save more money and when me twenty-one me marry Fatima. She seventeen then. Two womans good for one man. I think three womans better. Blonde woman yes? Make nice babys?”
She went red again.
“My boyfriend, Sven, and I hope to get married when we are finished with university.”
“You boyfriend man so long wait? So long no sex?”
“Why no sex? Of course we have sex.”
“So you no virgin?”
“Me?” she laughed, “you are so funny. But no, I’m not a virgin”
“Sorry. Then me not marry you. You bad woman. Not clean.”
I pulled my hand away from her in disgust.
She laughed even louder.
“You are cute,” she said, “But you have a lot to learn.”
She slipped into the water and I followed her lead. She turned around and pushed me against the side of the pool, pressing her body frontally onto mine. Now I was sure she could feel my erection through my swimming trunks. Her breasts pushed against my torso, the fabric of her bikini flattened between us. The skin of her stomach pressed against the skin of mine. It felt so good. The intensity of wet skin on wet skin. The irresistible attraction between a black man and a blonde woman. She put her arms around my neck and kissed me on the mouth. The mixture of the pool’s chlorine and her saliva tasted magical from her lips.
She released her kiss and took a furtive guilty glance to make sure nobody was looking. She then took my hand in hers and guided it to her bikini and briefly pushed my fingers between the fabric and her large round breast. She smiled at me mischievously and pulled my hand away again.
I took her hand in mine and guided it down into my swimming trunks and to my erection. She ran her fingers along it and let out a gasp.
“This is huge. So much bigger than my boyfriend’s.”
“We sex? Yes?”
“No, that’s not how it works,” she said, withdrawing her hand and brushing mine away.
“You sex you boyfriend but you not married?”, I answered back. “Why no sex me?”
“No Rahmeed. Stop insisting. I got carried away, but we can’t. OK? You’re married. I have a boyfriend. And you need to go away now.”
“My wife womans far away. And for you sex not married not problem. And you like African man. You like feel my cock. I see you like. Blonde woman and black man so good sex. Best sex.”
She looked at me for a few seconds, a smile spreading across her freckled face, her eyes lighting up..
“OK, Rahmeed”, she said at last, “but just once.”
We bundled into a changing cubicle and locked the door. These cubicles were designed for one person at a time, so it was a rather tight fit. She pushed me onto the narrow seat with a mischievous grin and stood in front of me, stretching her body and then gyrating her hips in front of me. I reached out to touch her but she pushed my hands aside.
Slowly, she undid the clip at the front of her bikini and opened it just a little way, revealing about half of one breast, and then snapping the clip closed again. I guess she was doing that thing called a strip tease. The excitement and anticipation built up inside me and my erection was huge. My wives never did anything like this to me. For the first time I felt happy I had left them behind.
She turned around and gyrated her tight bottom in my face. Her bikini bottom was held in place by two clips, one on either side of her graceful torso. I felt emboldened to pull on one and think I managed to open it partially. Again she pushed my hand away and turned around to face me again, clipping back the clasp I had just opened. She took both my hands and placed then on her bikini clip. I thought this was the cue to open it, but she laughed and clipped it back together, only to unclip it again and show me one breast, running her fingers along it and looking at me lustfully.
Her game was obviously to offer me something and then snap it away from me, like a child teasing a kitten with chicken scraps. How long would this go on? I felt somewhat offended. I wasn’t a kitten. I was a man, a married honorable man, and she was a sinful woman who had given away her virginity without marriage. In my country she would have been a whore, and she had no business playing with me.
I stood up forcefully and grabbed her in my arms, pushing her against the wall. I undid her bikini clip and let the bikini fall to the floor. Her perfectly smooth white breasts now appeared even larger than they had under that piece of textile. I grabbed and squeezed them. The breasts of my wives were droopy and saggy after having fed so many babies, but Freya’s were fresh like those of a virgin. She didn’t resist me.
I unclipped her bikini bottom, letting it fall to her feet. I felt for her labia. She began to moan softly as my fingers explored the entrance. It was soft and tight and moist.
She undid my trunks and began to rub my erection while kissing me intensely.
“It’s so huge,” she whispered, “my boyfriend’s is half the size. It’s incredible.”
“It happy.” I replied, “It want inside you.”
“I’ve never been with a black man before,” she said, “this is so exciting”
“Freya first white woman too, me like, so good.”
She was now standing pressed with her back against the wall and me pressed against her. My dark black naked body against her pale white naked body. The contact of black skin on white skin was electrifying. She lifted her feet of the ground and hooked them around me. The tip of my erection just about touched the moist entrance of her vagina. I moved my hips slightly and felt the tip of my erection enter a little way.
“Shit,” she said, “Have you got a condom?”
“Condom?” I replied, “No! No condoms my country.”
“My boyfriend always uses a condom. I’m not on birth control.”
“Rahmeed careful,” I said.
“Will you pull out? Will you promise to pull out?”
“Rahmeed never pulled out before. Always inside. But Rahmeed pull out. Yes. If Freya want.”
“Freya want. Raheed must. Raheed pull out.”
“Ok, Raheed promise.”
She relaxed her legs a little, allowing her body to slip further onto my erection. I moved the tip in and out by gently rocking my hips. She kissed me intensely. Her vagina was getting moister by the second.
I pushed in a little deeper. Although I have taken the virginity of both of my wives, I could have sworn that Freya was far tighter than either of them had been on their first night. Could it really be true that she wasn’t a virgin? Were white men’s erections really so small as to fit into something so tight?
I could feel she was struggling not to moan or maybe even scream. Here in the changing rooms of a swimming pool, surrounded only by thin cubicle walls with countless unsuspecting people all around, that was not something she wanted to do.
I pushed in deeper still. The tightness of her vagina pressed in on my erection from all sides and drove my excitement to levels I had never experienced at home.
“Don’t stop,” she whimpered between kisses, “yes, keep going, yes, this is so good, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh yes, oh fuck, I’m going to come.”
She was going to come and I wasn’t even half way inside yet.
And then she did come. The grip of her legs and arms around me suddenly tightened and froze for a moment. Her breathing seemed to stop. Her mouth was open and her eyes glassy as if in a trance. And then her whole body shook at once and a tiny little scream came from her.
I held her tighter and pushed a little deeper and it happened again. Only this time she managed to suppress the scream. We were still in a public swimming pool after all.
I had been trying to hold back my own ejaculation. Firstly, because her tightness was making me come far too quickly and I was pushing really hard to keep it back, secondly she had wanted me to pull out, but thirdly because I hadn’t even got all the way inside her yet, and it would be disappointing to come without having felt her all the way.
I continued to push deeper, knowing I had little time.
“Nobody has ever been this deep inside me before.” she whispered, “Nobody has been so big inside me before. I never felt so much. This is my best fuck ever. Yes. Fuck me.”
And fuck her I did.
Finally I was all the way inside. I was more excited than I had ever been. I tried to hold back but I knew I couldn’t hold back much longer.
“Rahmeed come soon.” I said, “Rahmeed pull out?”
“Yes, pull out!”
Then it occurred to me that this was the solution to my problems. If Freya had my baby, I would have ****** in Sweden and my lawyer would find a way to allow me to stay.
I didn’t pull out. I pushed in harder.
I felt she was trying to pull me out, but I was stronger. She whimpered.
And then I erupted.
I hadn’t had sex since leaving my village. That was maybe two months ago. I never even masturbated. Two months worth of sperm had collected inside me. Never in my life had I shot so much sperm at once. The first shot was followed by a second and then a third. It felt so good. I felt like the king of all Sweden. I was shooting the biggest shot of my life straight into her body where a fertile egg was waiting.
“So sorry, could not control,” I said.
She pushed me out of her and away from her.
“You bastard”, she hissed, “you promised.”
“Rahmeed sorry.”
She sat down on the seat, her hands in her face and she cried.
I tried to comfort her.
“What will my boyfriend say when I have a black baby, or my father,” she whimpered.
“Black baby cute, make Freya happy,” I tried to plead.
“You bastard. You fucking bastard. Go away now. Get out. Leave me.”
I had no choice but to get back into my swimming trunks and leave her in the cubicle.
The next morning my lawyer came to see me again.
“Lawyer man mister,” I asked him, “You say if I make baby, Swedish baby, that ******, I can stay Sweden?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Yesterday I think I make baby with Swedish girl.”
“Very good. Now we need to get that recognized.”
“What that difficult word mean?”
“For example if you marry her, or if you just get her to put your name on the birth certificate, then we can use that as proof you have ******.”
“That can’t do now.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t know where she live. Don’t know zero.”
“Will you see her again?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not much use, is it?”
“What we do then?”
“Well, if you did it once, you can do it again. With a different girl maybe?”
“Thank you lawyer, Rahmeed do that. Rahmeed like that.”
To be continued …
Now here I was in Sweden. They gave me a bed in a refugee reception center, sleeping six to a room. The days were long and boring. I played dominoes or chess with the other men or watched TV. Sometimes a lawyer would come and ask me questions I couldn’t answer. I had to sign forms I could not read. The weeks passed by.
The lawyer had said that because there was no war in my country and I wasn’t part of any persecuted minority and I didn’t have ****** here, I was probably going to be sent home. I didn’t want to stay here in this misery, but I didn’t want to go home either. I imagined how disappointed my ****** would be if I returned without money. They had taken out every last cent to pay the smugglers. They expected me to get rich here and help them with money soon. They were already asking me when I would be sending money home. I was too ashamed to tell them the truth.
Today I had gone to the city’s swimming pool. There were plenty of Swedish girls there in bikinis. Some were swimming in the water, graceful as dolphins. Others were sitting on the edge of the pool and chatting, their long legs swinging lazily and their feet splashing the water. I stared at their slender shapes and pale white skin. I was mesmerized by their blonde hair, their large breasts and gently curved bodies.
I hadn’t had sex since leaving my village. Sharing a hiding space and then a room with many other men meant I hadn’t even masturbated. The sight of dozens of practically naked white bodies was driving me crazy. Back in my village, women covered themselves in public, leaving only the hands and eyes visible. The only female bodies I ever got to see any more of were my own two wives. And neither of them were particularly beautiful.
These Swedish girls were in different class altogether. Their white flesh shone in the sunlight that poured in through the great windows. Their blonde hair swirled as they turned their happy heads.
I looked at them wishing one could be mine. That would be the end to all my problems. I would stay in Sweden. I would make love to a beautiful woman, and I would somehow send money home. But I remembered that I had spent all of my own money and the money of my ****** just to be able to come here. How could I ever afford a Swedish wife? How much money would her father even want for her? I had struggled to pay up to marry my wives back home. In Sweden everything was far more expensive.
I was sitting on the edge of the pool and I cried.
“What’s the matter? Why are you so sad?” said a sympathetic voice.
I looked up. A tall blonde girl with large pale blue eyes and a sea of freckles on her cheeks was standing in the water and looking at me. Her wet hair hung over her shoulders. Water was running from it and meandered over her shoulders in rivulets, down towards the bikini that restrained her large round breasts. The fabric of the bikini appeared to very thin; and I thought I could recognize her nipples underneath. I had never perceived nipples on any women except my own wives. I immediately had an erection, which made me feel embarrassed.
“You so beautiful,” I said.
She immediately went red with awkwardness.
“You’re not bad yourself,” she replied.
“What you name?” I asked, “Me Rahmeed.”
“Rahmeed, I’m Freya.”
“How many money you father want for marry you?”
“You’re funny,” she laughed.
The laugh was contagious. I found myself laughing with her. But I didn’t quite understand her point.
“Me want marry,” I tried to explain, “Me come Africa village long time. Long time no woman.”
“In this country you don’t need to ask a father’s permission to marry his ********. If you like somebody and they agree you marry.”
“Me marry you?”
“Goodness,” she laughed, “I have a boyfriend.”
“He a man?”
“Yes, a man.”
“And he let you here alone, where people see you naked?”
“I’m not naked. This is a swimsuit.”
“But everybody see you body.”
“This is how we swim here.”
She pulled herself onto the poolside besides me and I began to tell her my sad story. About leaving my village, the long journey and the misery of the refugee shelter. I started crying. She placed a tender wet hand on my wrist. I immediately had another erection. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice.
“How old you?” I asked.
“Twenty one, and you?”
“Me twenty three,” I replied, “why Freya twenty-one and no man married? You problem?”
“Why should I have a problem? In this country we don’t usually marry until later.”
“I two womans and six childrens. Me marry Aisha, then me eighteen and Aisha sixteen. Then I save more money and when me twenty-one me marry Fatima. She seventeen then. Two womans good for one man. I think three womans better. Blonde woman yes? Make nice babys?”
She went red again.
“My boyfriend, Sven, and I hope to get married when we are finished with university.”
“You boyfriend man so long wait? So long no sex?”
“Why no sex? Of course we have sex.”
“So you no virgin?”
“Me?” she laughed, “you are so funny. But no, I’m not a virgin”
“Sorry. Then me not marry you. You bad woman. Not clean.”
I pulled my hand away from her in disgust.
She laughed even louder.
“You are cute,” she said, “But you have a lot to learn.”
She slipped into the water and I followed her lead. She turned around and pushed me against the side of the pool, pressing her body frontally onto mine. Now I was sure she could feel my erection through my swimming trunks. Her breasts pushed against my torso, the fabric of her bikini flattened between us. The skin of her stomach pressed against the skin of mine. It felt so good. The intensity of wet skin on wet skin. The irresistible attraction between a black man and a blonde woman. She put her arms around my neck and kissed me on the mouth. The mixture of the pool’s chlorine and her saliva tasted magical from her lips.
She released her kiss and took a furtive guilty glance to make sure nobody was looking. She then took my hand in hers and guided it to her bikini and briefly pushed my fingers between the fabric and her large round breast. She smiled at me mischievously and pulled my hand away again.
I took her hand in mine and guided it down into my swimming trunks and to my erection. She ran her fingers along it and let out a gasp.
“This is huge. So much bigger than my boyfriend’s.”
“We sex? Yes?”
“No, that’s not how it works,” she said, withdrawing her hand and brushing mine away.
“You sex you boyfriend but you not married?”, I answered back. “Why no sex me?”
“No Rahmeed. Stop insisting. I got carried away, but we can’t. OK? You’re married. I have a boyfriend. And you need to go away now.”
“My wife womans far away. And for you sex not married not problem. And you like African man. You like feel my cock. I see you like. Blonde woman and black man so good sex. Best sex.”
She looked at me for a few seconds, a smile spreading across her freckled face, her eyes lighting up..
“OK, Rahmeed”, she said at last, “but just once.”
We bundled into a changing cubicle and locked the door. These cubicles were designed for one person at a time, so it was a rather tight fit. She pushed me onto the narrow seat with a mischievous grin and stood in front of me, stretching her body and then gyrating her hips in front of me. I reached out to touch her but she pushed my hands aside.
Slowly, she undid the clip at the front of her bikini and opened it just a little way, revealing about half of one breast, and then snapping the clip closed again. I guess she was doing that thing called a strip tease. The excitement and anticipation built up inside me and my erection was huge. My wives never did anything like this to me. For the first time I felt happy I had left them behind.
She turned around and gyrated her tight bottom in my face. Her bikini bottom was held in place by two clips, one on either side of her graceful torso. I felt emboldened to pull on one and think I managed to open it partially. Again she pushed my hand away and turned around to face me again, clipping back the clasp I had just opened. She took both my hands and placed then on her bikini clip. I thought this was the cue to open it, but she laughed and clipped it back together, only to unclip it again and show me one breast, running her fingers along it and looking at me lustfully.
Her game was obviously to offer me something and then snap it away from me, like a child teasing a kitten with chicken scraps. How long would this go on? I felt somewhat offended. I wasn’t a kitten. I was a man, a married honorable man, and she was a sinful woman who had given away her virginity without marriage. In my country she would have been a whore, and she had no business playing with me.
I stood up forcefully and grabbed her in my arms, pushing her against the wall. I undid her bikini clip and let the bikini fall to the floor. Her perfectly smooth white breasts now appeared even larger than they had under that piece of textile. I grabbed and squeezed them. The breasts of my wives were droopy and saggy after having fed so many babies, but Freya’s were fresh like those of a virgin. She didn’t resist me.
I unclipped her bikini bottom, letting it fall to her feet. I felt for her labia. She began to moan softly as my fingers explored the entrance. It was soft and tight and moist.
She undid my trunks and began to rub my erection while kissing me intensely.
“It’s so huge,” she whispered, “my boyfriend’s is half the size. It’s incredible.”
“It happy.” I replied, “It want inside you.”
“I’ve never been with a black man before,” she said, “this is so exciting”
“Freya first white woman too, me like, so good.”
She was now standing pressed with her back against the wall and me pressed against her. My dark black naked body against her pale white naked body. The contact of black skin on white skin was electrifying. She lifted her feet of the ground and hooked them around me. The tip of my erection just about touched the moist entrance of her vagina. I moved my hips slightly and felt the tip of my erection enter a little way.
“Shit,” she said, “Have you got a condom?”
“Condom?” I replied, “No! No condoms my country.”
“My boyfriend always uses a condom. I’m not on birth control.”
“Rahmeed careful,” I said.
“Will you pull out? Will you promise to pull out?”
“Rahmeed never pulled out before. Always inside. But Rahmeed pull out. Yes. If Freya want.”
“Freya want. Raheed must. Raheed pull out.”
“Ok, Raheed promise.”
She relaxed her legs a little, allowing her body to slip further onto my erection. I moved the tip in and out by gently rocking my hips. She kissed me intensely. Her vagina was getting moister by the second.
I pushed in a little deeper. Although I have taken the virginity of both of my wives, I could have sworn that Freya was far tighter than either of them had been on their first night. Could it really be true that she wasn’t a virgin? Were white men’s erections really so small as to fit into something so tight?
I could feel she was struggling not to moan or maybe even scream. Here in the changing rooms of a swimming pool, surrounded only by thin cubicle walls with countless unsuspecting people all around, that was not something she wanted to do.
I pushed in deeper still. The tightness of her vagina pressed in on my erection from all sides and drove my excitement to levels I had never experienced at home.
“Don’t stop,” she whimpered between kisses, “yes, keep going, yes, this is so good, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh yes, oh fuck, I’m going to come.”
She was going to come and I wasn’t even half way inside yet.
And then she did come. The grip of her legs and arms around me suddenly tightened and froze for a moment. Her breathing seemed to stop. Her mouth was open and her eyes glassy as if in a trance. And then her whole body shook at once and a tiny little scream came from her.
I held her tighter and pushed a little deeper and it happened again. Only this time she managed to suppress the scream. We were still in a public swimming pool after all.
I had been trying to hold back my own ejaculation. Firstly, because her tightness was making me come far too quickly and I was pushing really hard to keep it back, secondly she had wanted me to pull out, but thirdly because I hadn’t even got all the way inside her yet, and it would be disappointing to come without having felt her all the way.
I continued to push deeper, knowing I had little time.
“Nobody has ever been this deep inside me before.” she whispered, “Nobody has been so big inside me before. I never felt so much. This is my best fuck ever. Yes. Fuck me.”
And fuck her I did.
Finally I was all the way inside. I was more excited than I had ever been. I tried to hold back but I knew I couldn’t hold back much longer.
“Rahmeed come soon.” I said, “Rahmeed pull out?”
“Yes, pull out!”
Then it occurred to me that this was the solution to my problems. If Freya had my baby, I would have ****** in Sweden and my lawyer would find a way to allow me to stay.
I didn’t pull out. I pushed in harder.
I felt she was trying to pull me out, but I was stronger. She whimpered.
And then I erupted.
I hadn’t had sex since leaving my village. That was maybe two months ago. I never even masturbated. Two months worth of sperm had collected inside me. Never in my life had I shot so much sperm at once. The first shot was followed by a second and then a third. It felt so good. I felt like the king of all Sweden. I was shooting the biggest shot of my life straight into her body where a fertile egg was waiting.
“So sorry, could not control,” I said.
She pushed me out of her and away from her.
“You bastard”, she hissed, “you promised.”
“Rahmeed sorry.”
She sat down on the seat, her hands in her face and she cried.
I tried to comfort her.
“What will my boyfriend say when I have a black baby, or my father,” she whimpered.
“Black baby cute, make Freya happy,” I tried to plead.
“You bastard. You fucking bastard. Go away now. Get out. Leave me.”
I had no choice but to get back into my swimming trunks and leave her in the cubicle.
The next morning my lawyer came to see me again.
“Lawyer man mister,” I asked him, “You say if I make baby, Swedish baby, that ******, I can stay Sweden?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Yesterday I think I make baby with Swedish girl.”
“Very good. Now we need to get that recognized.”
“What that difficult word mean?”
“For example if you marry her, or if you just get her to put your name on the birth certificate, then we can use that as proof you have ******.”
“That can’t do now.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t know where she live. Don’t know zero.”
“Will you see her again?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not much use, is it?”
“What we do then?”
“Well, if you did it once, you can do it again. With a different girl maybe?”
“Thank you lawyer, Rahmeed do that. Rahmeed like that.”
To be continued …
