Omar's large hands caressed Mara's belly admiringly, tenderly, and yet with obvious excitement as well."You have my baby growing in you," Omar said. He was happy about that. It was obvious.Tomas was not the father. The baby was entirely Omar's and Mara's. Yet, rather than be a matter of anger, or frustration, Tomas was pleased that Omar was the father of the baby, rather than his. But even though he knew that Mara loved him, she had not wanted a baby by him; though she certainly wanted to have c***dren---just not his, and not with a white male. Rather, Mara wanted to have babies by black men, and, more than that, she wanted to have, exclusively, babies by African men, in particular; and Tomas had shared the same outlook.Tomas watched Omar kneel down on the floor in front of Mara and, after placing his large hands, one on either side of her huge belly, he kissed her tummy as if kissing a sacred object; which, considering the living and growing baby inside of her, it certainly WAS. " "Nah, no breakage." "Oh well," he said. "Maybe next time," and we both laughed. "Really," he said, "there won't be a next time... unless you piss me off." Much too quickly I said, "No no no... that will never happen." He threw his head back and laughed at my response. That's when I noticed the changes in him. There were pads of muscle in his arms, shoulders and chest that not been their before. In addition to his work-outs, he was of the age when boys develop naturally (although it never happened to me). It occurred to me that, with his enhanced physique and natural meanness, I never stood a chance at the 7-11. I could not help but watch as his hand stroked his upper arm, his chest. I was nervous and frightened. I felt weak. I think my entire body was trembling. He looked up at me. I fell into his gaze. I was mesmerized. He looked immensely pleased. It was a look of supreme confidence and domination. It was a look that told me everything I needed to know: my life was no longer my.
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