I am an Asian woman, 32 years old, (turning 33 in August,) and have been happily married since November of 2018. I am currently pregnant with my first child who is due Friday, 23 July. My husband and I know our first baby is mixed-race: the Asian half comes from me, and the other half is... black.
My husband is also Asian, the same ethnic as me. We are both 100-percent East Asian.
My Asian husband is obviously not the biological father of our baby. Yet our baby is the fruition of the depraved, shameful, utterly thrilling life that my husband and have chosen to live together. I know that many couples are into the so-called "blacked" lifestyle. Both husbands and wives are typically white. Few wives in this lifestyle are Asian like me, and Asian wives who have been blacked always have white husbands. As far as we know, we are the only Asian couples, both husband and wife of East Asian descent, who have chosen to devote ourselves to a life of being blacked, albeit in our own twist that is unique and different from other blacked couples.
Even fewer in this lifestyle are devoted enough — or brave, crazy or in love enough — to breed black, much less to intentionally carry a blacked pregnancy to full term, give birth to a black baby, and then devote their life to raising a child whose appearance will immediately reveal to everyone that the baby daddy is clearly not the husband and obviously a black man. On Friday, I will give birth to such a black baby. A baby whose biological father is black and will never be known to me. A baby whose appearance will bring shame and scandal, which I have to live with for the rest of my life and never be able to hide from anyone and everyone. Yet I am resolved to give birth to such a black baby, to willingly condemn myself into a life of blacked depravity and shame with no way of ever turning back... because there is no better way for me to love my husband. My husband also knows that his wife giving birth to a black baby will bring him a lifetime of scorn and shame. Yet he is resolved to endure the hardship together with me, to raise my baby seeded into me by one of many possible black baby daddies... because there is no better way for him to love me.
I admit I am feeling nervous and scared. Ever since a home pregnancy test confirmed in November that an unknown black man's seed was growing inside me, I have been going through a roller coaster of emotional swings: anxiety, doubt, excitement, fear, guilt, joy, loss, regret, sadness, shame, and so much more and all over again. My husband has been comforting me and tried to be brave for me. However, in our tender moments, he has admitted that he was scared as well. We know our life will be changed forever when I give birth to a black baby. We really don't know what to expect because we don't know any other Asian couples — or any couples — who have chosen our lifestyle and gone through our experience.
I desperately want to know how my Blasian baby will look like. For months I have been googling and perusing photos of Blasian babies, children and people. I saw that, among Blasian people, from babies to adults, the African genes are always very dominant. I expect our baby will similarly have dominant African traits. She will have very brown or dark skin, much darker my porcelain skin or my husband's that is only slightly less pale than mine. I've seen all the blasian photos. Even the lightest Blasian baby has a darker skin that any Northeast Asians, and the baby's skin would only darken after birth. Both my husband and I have mostly straight hair. My hair is slightly curly, which is unusual among people from my region, but that is still very different from the distinctive kinky hair that almost all Blasian babies share.
Our baby will be obvious. Everyone will see our baby — her African features, her dark skin, her kinky hair — and realize my husband is not the baby daddy. It will be obvious to everyone that my baby is a black man's seed. It will be difficult to explain our black baby to our friends and family. My husband and I have decided that, for our baby's self-esteem and well-being, we will not lie or hide the truth. When our child or people ask, we will explain that we had — or have — an open marriage, that our child is a wonderful gift to us from a black man, that the baby daddy is not in the picture, and that my husband is the real father who raises and loves our child. We will also want them to know that my husband and I are happy and in love, that we are forever grateful for our child and to the black man who has given us a wonderful gift to love and raise... and that we will not hesistate to do the same thing all over again.
Most importantly, I want our child and people to know that she was conceived in love, born out of love, and will be raised with all the love in our hearts and we can offer. When she was conceived and was growing inside me, my husband was right beside me the whole time, giving his love, support and encoragement. I remember the moments when my baby was seeded inside me: black men, one after another after another, was taking turns to inseminate and impregnate me, as I was pleading for them to fuck a black baby into my belly. My body aborbed their powerful trusts and the carnal pleasures of being used and bred as a woman. Yet in my heart and soul, I felt a lingering sense of loss and sadness.
I felt lost and sad for the depth of depravity and shame I have fallen. Yet I did not want to get out or stop falling. I wanted to keep falling and falling even deeper. I knew something was broken inside me. In those moments, I saw in my husband's eyes the same sense of loss and sadness that was swirling inside me, but I also saw love and devotion. My husband had stayed beside me during the whole time as black men, one after another, took turns to use me, demean me, breed me. My husband comforted me, cuddled me, held me, kissed me and loved me. He whispered words of love, devotion and encouragement in my ears. We stared longingly into each other's eyes, both longing for same thing: for one of the black men to fuck a baby into my womb and mark me with a lifetime of shame. A shame that everyone will be to see and I won't be able to hide. Yet I longed to be marked with that shame, to carry that shame with me for the rest of my life — because that shame is the ultimate expression of my love for my husband and his love for me. I was broken inside, and my husband's love put back what was broken inside me. His love and devotion held me together, not to pull me out of the abyss of depravity and shame but to fall in together with me. We embraced tightly together as we both was free-falling deeper and deeper into the utterly depraved, shameful life that we both knew we are destined to live.
Those moment were of true love and romance. In those moments of being blacked and bred, I became emotionally and spiritually bonded to my husband. In those moments, our child was created. In an abstract sense, those black men merely seeded a vessal in my womb. It was my husband's love for me — and my love for him — that planted and grew a soul in our baby. It is the most powerful way to create a child. It is true and unconditional love. In my heart, I know our baby is a life created out of the deepest love and truest devotion. Our black baby is the ultimate testament of our love, bond and devotion, between my husband and I.