White Donor: The Rape of a Real Housewife

By Perry Spaid

Imagine you had several miscarriages, and you have one chance at getting pregnant. You and your husband have a special night set up. But your night is upended by a home invasion. You are raped and brutalized while your husband of sixteen years is watching, tied up helpless, and your faithful dog is shot dead. You are not only raped but two months later, you are pregnant with the rapist’s baby who happens to be of another race. Your husband is against keeping it. Your rapist got off free. If you abort this child, you may never conceive again. What would you do?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662478093

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White Donor

The Rape of a Real Housewife

Perry Spaid

Copyright © 2022 Perry Spaid

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-7808-6 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-7809-3 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Aftermath

Here Comes the Drama

A Serious Dilemma

Addition to the Family

Time for Court

Justice?

Two Years Later

Life or Death

A Plea for Help

The End Is Near

Three Years Later

Justice or Injustice

To my family and friends who supported and believed in me—you know who you are.

I also dedicate this to all the people who brought negative energy. You kept me focused and positive.

DMX’s Get at Me Dog plays on volume four in the background.

J. C. calmly lets his pale hands caress the .357 Magnum. Looks over to his homeboy. Smurf, yo, Smurf, you not finished rolling that shit yet?

Man, I like my shit to be perfect, he says while licking the tip.

"One thing I hate is muthafuckn’ blunt rolled fucked up. If u can’t roll right, pass the shit off, feel me?

Smurf passes the blunt to J. C. Here, light this wigger!

Yo, how long have we been homies? asks Smurf.

J. C. exhales. Since we were like fourteen. They both reminisce on when they solidified their friendship. They met at a town watch meeting that Smurf’s mother attended. J. C.’s father was the guest speaker. While the adults were at the meeting, the children were allowed to be themselves down in the rec room.

A known bully was wreaking havoc on anyone who tried to take down his high score on Donkey Kong. J. C. was the only White kid there, even though none of the kids cared about race.

They cared about size. This bully was a bulky kid, and to see this scrawny different kid closing in on his high score had him fuming. J. C.’s body was gyrating all over the place. All the kids surrounded the game. Twenty-thousand and counting, barrel jump, barrel jump, barrel jump. He made it to the top one more barrel jump. He would have the high score. He was focused and excited. The other kids were holding their breath. His fingers were getting cramped. One more jump. Here it comes, his finger closing in on the button. He pressed the button. Mario left his feet to hurdle the final barrel, and suddenly, everything went black. His greatest video moment gone in a flash. Oops, my foot must’ve accidentally pulled out the chord—on purpose. This notorious neighborhood bully with the most arrogant smirk on his face spoke these words that cut through the soul of J. C., depriving him of video game supremacy. J. C. began turning red, and before he could react or respond, this well-known neighborhood bully let out a sound that could only mean one thing—pain. Next thing was a huge thud as he crashed to the floor. Smurf, who witnessed the whole thing, came up from behind and was standing over the now-crying bully and said, Oops, my foot must’ve kicked your balls from the back accidentally—on purpose. That solidified their friendship.

They both begin to laugh as they pass the blunt back and forth.

That was some crazy shit, J. C. says while exhaling smoke.

J. C. grew up in the burbs. In fact, his father is a well-known Republican congressman here in Philly. His mother was well-known and well-liked by all her coworkers down at city hall where she worked for the past seventeen years. However, he wasn’t the average White boy growing up in the suburbs. Most of his friends were Black, and even though his address was in the suburbs, his home was in the inner city. He always had an obsession with the street life. Had nothing to do with trying to be Black. No, he just wanted to be a thug. He didn’t mind being called a wigger by his friends, Black or White. In fact, he embraced it. He loved it. He also did it to despise his parents.

Smurf, on the other hand, grew up in North Philly, deep in the hood. He had a father who was in and out of his life when he wasn’t in prison. He was raised by a single mother struggling to keep food on the table, him out of trouble, and his two younger sisters from bringing home babies. By age fifteen, he was fully on his own and completely out of control.

Smurf reaches in the backseat and grabs the black sawed-off shotgun. Kaaackkk, kaaack, You know what I call this joint, J. C.?

What?

Like Ice Cube said back in the day, the back breaker double pump rump shaker! They both laugh.

Where’s this dude at? J. C. is becoming increasingly impatient.

*****

Monica

A long smooth leg with a tattooed heart on the calf steps out on to the bath mat. A small well-manicured hand wipes the steam from the mirror, revealing a woman with a caramel complexion.

Her jet-black hair rests comfortably on her shoulders. Before she can even get into her grooming routine, ring, ring. Damn, it never fails, she utters in a soft voice.

Hello?

Well, hello, little girl is said with a slight sarcasm.

Hi, Grandma, I’ve been meaning to call, but I’ve been super busy.

Mmmhhmm, well, I’m glad I didn’t die. It’s been so long since I heard your voice.

It’s only been three days, Grandma.

Well, it seemed longer to me. Grandma lets out a small chuckle. Monica started smiling, thinking to herself how she and her grandmother had a special bond. After all, her grandmother is all she had her entire life. Her father was killed by a drunk driver four months into her mother’s pregnancy. Her mother was a great woman, from what she was told. All she wanted to do was have a little girl so she could grow up and they could go shopping together, have hair and nail days, mother-and-daughter spa days, but that was not meant to be. Her mother had an undiagnosed heart condition, and childbirth was too much for her body. The daughter she so much wanted to see, raise, and eventually give her beautiful grandchildren would never know