Date: Fri, 19 Jun 2015 20:59:54 -0400
From: David Mathenge <romantykeas@gmail.com>
Subject: Unknowledge Of A Modus Operandi

Unknowledge Of A Modus Operandi

I, Alexandre Savoie alias Romantyke, claims to have written and produced
this book. All ideas, characters and events hereby are thoroughly fictional
and if any sort of the subject has ever been to be, this is purely
coincidential.

Only three days until I get married. That whole situation was catching my
breath. The list of tasks on my list was almost all rayed out.  My pen was
still bent down on the paper, but I was so much in my thoughts that I did
not even realise I forgot to dip its tip in the ink bottle.  My cigarette
was still smoking between my lips, its bluish smoke trying to burn my eyes
without managing it at all. The sunshine filtering through the high windows
was blazing towards a orange ignition throughout my office.

It was a beautiful room. All panelled with somberly wood, with a dark ebony
cabinet, a gothique armour and my shiningly waxed desk.  A richly
magnificent pendant ornated with diamonds and a huge emerald on its chain
was hanging on its pedestal. It was the gift I bought for my fiancee. Apart
from it, the top of my desk was all empty except my golden ink bottle, my
pack of Marlboro Reds cigarettes and my sheet of paper.

'Planification Of The Wedding - June 1947' was its underlined title.

It was all covered with the Sweetie's Gifts, Caterer, Wedding March,
Invitation Cards...

I took a deep drag on my cigarette and threw the butt by the opened
window. I sighed while the smoke was venting out of my mouth and nose. But
this gave me no relief.

Another thing I would have been glad to add on the list is 'Refuse to Marry
Loretta'.

The reason is that I was not into marrying women. I was a man loving
men. But how could I ever say it to anybody? How would my parents react?
How would Loretta take this? Being a gay man was something I ought to do in
silence. In hiding. That wedding would be a lie, no matter how Loretta
would think while we are both making our vows on the Church autel.

There was a man I was having regular sex with. A handsome Black man. He was
living in Africa thirty years ago, before he was taken by force here in
America.  They marked him with red iron and gave him countless whip
strikes. They made him a slave. He no longer was nowadays, what with the
law stating the release of all Black slaves in America. However, his body
still bears the scars of the whip. He might never get rid of those.

We met after I got engaged with Loretta. He was a trade merchant coming
from the southern state of Georgia. I felt all excited and had a huge boner
when he met my eyes, with his dark skin, his somberly eyes, his huge shiny
nose and his thick brown lips enclosing a cigarette. As I came to him, we
had this sparkle which only gay men could have when two men meet. He had
taken me into an abandoned barn, layed me gently on the old straw and
started kissing me and exploring my body. My eyes did not miss anything he
was doing, from the way he removed my impeccable smoking shirt to the
infinitely tender manner he used while taking off my underwear.  And he
sucked my dick with such a loving manner. He made me cum like a firehose in
his own mouth, and he drank it all without wincing.

Then it was my turn to explore him. He made it look perfectly clear as he
lied down beside me, took out a Marlboro Red cigarette, lit it, blew out a
wisp of smoke and just stayed there comfortably, looking meaningly at me.

It was the very time I ever had the experience of exploring a Black
man. The whole prospect of it was making me so excited I felt like throwing
up. Undressing him was easy. But admiring him was not comparable. He was
definitely a handsome Black man, issuing from his African origins. He was
muscly, his whole body was all dark as coal, and his dick was thirteen
inches and a half, bulging and beautifully twitching with mad desire, as if
it was hungry of showing off the power hidden therein. It was circumsized,
and the glans was as dark as the skin on the shaft. The belly was so puffed
it felt as if there was two dicks within one.

As my lips closed on the glans, my thumb and first finger felt the shaft
throb with excitement. I sucked his dick head as if it was a lollipop. It
took what felt like ages to me for him to cum, but he was not a precocious
guy and he knew how to have true pleasure before cumming. The dick belly
was throbbing like a heartbeat. Precum was streaming in my mouth. The guy's
cigarette dangling between his lips was twitching, as if at every pleasures
he took puff on it to make it more enjoyable.

He moaned with his deep calming voice. I felt something tasty on my tongue
and knew he was about to mum. I did not want to miss the whole power of his
penis, however, so I placed one of my hands on the shaft base, making sure
my sensitive fingers would feel the throbs, and my other hand beneath the
ball sack, with the fingers encircling it and the top of the base shaft.

And he came. It was heaven. I had stopped moving my mouth so my lips could
feel the glans' throbs. My tongue was the cup for the huge amount of sperm
the Black wonder pumped. My hands felt the immense throbs. The guy was
moaning deeply. The penis was hugely powerful as it was ejaculating, in its
moment of triumph, of pure manly pleasure of power. The feel of it was
unimaginable for me. Without touching it, my dick came a second time.

I swallowed all the sperm that layed on my tongue. This was a Black man's
male liquid. A pure African genitalium. I took great pride in this deed. I
removed my mouth from the Black penis. The impressive erection was still
not resorbing at all, as if it needed more.

The guy opened his arms to me, as if inviting me. I lied down on him. We
had a cigarette and smoked in silence. And drifted into a peaceful sleep.

When we woke up, he did not seem like regretting anything at all. He told
me his name. Orounla was his African name. But here he was known as
Eugene. From this time on we became usual sex partners, friends, and soon
enough almost real lovers. He had stayed here in Seattle and resigned on
his trade merchant job. Without a job or any money, I have introduced him
to Loretta as an 'old friend of mine' and employed him as my vassal. I am a
old money person, like Loretta, so of course it was never seen as a problem
by the community.  To make sure Orounla was not to be in trouble, I had
given him a brand new smoking suit representing the credentials of a
servant.  I gave him a butler's quarters as well. Loretta never found out
the bed there was not only supporting Orounla, but myself as well.

But now the situation had become difficult. I was really going to get
married now. Loretta was fully in love with me. But I was not.  I wanted to
marry Orounla. But gay men could not marry. That was forbidden. Being gay
was even considered as a mental problem.  We have to hide. We cannot live
this lifestyle in the open.

I took another cigarette in the pack and lit it. The deep drag I took on it
relaxed me and gave me a usual hard on. Damn this smoking fetishism. No way
I can stop it. And it was made even more intense with Orounla smoking with
me. He was a Black handsome man, and the Marlboro Red cigarette in his
mouth all the time was making me hard, and it even made me precum without
touching myself. All those nights we were worshipping our dicks, sucking
and masturbating each other. And we both almost included the cigarettes in
our worships. We both loved it. The smell of tobacco smoke. The beautiful
sex appeal of a Marlboro Red cigarette, with the irresistible orange filter
dotted with yellow spots, the fine gray lines on the white paper and the
bluish cloud of smoke.

I took drag after drag on my cigarette. I lit another one, and another, and
yet always another. The pack was empty by nightfall.  Loretta has not come
in my office yet. I stood up, abandoning my list work on the desk and left
the room to get something to eat in the kitchen. The windows were opened in
there, and the white linen curtains were flapping gently on the breeze
blowing in.  Orounla did some cleaning in there. Loretta was nowhere to be
found.

It first happened. I felt nauseous. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. I
cleaned up a bit and took a light supper.  But again my stomach ached. I
vomitted again. In all that night, it happened thrice.

Loretta was back by the morning. She had gone with her mother to buy stuff
for the wedding. She noticed I looked pale. She passed her gentle hand on
my forehead and kindly led me to bed.

'Some rest will make you feel better. Now sleep, Mordecai'.

And I slept. By the next day I felt all wobbly and kind of heavier. I
wondered if I was actually getting fatter.

I went to the bathroom, and looked at the mirror. This was not a feeling. I
WAS looking fatter. What was that bigger belly?  As I walked to the living
room to tell Loretta the news, my belly felt as if something inside was
following my movements.

Loretta was not pleased. Not at all. She decided to postpone the wedding
without me and sent me to bed. On the way she had called a doctor.

'Loretta, why the panic?'

'I am not panicking, Mordecai. I just think something is really off about
your body and we both need IMMEDIATE assistance.'

'What for?'

She did not reply. Or pretended not to notice my question.

The doctor had arrived almost exactly after I was all set in the
bed. Loretta did not admit him to see me right away. But she closed the
bedroom door and whispered urgently in the corridor, so silently that I
could not understand her words. The the doctor had come in.

'Well, well, Lord Helm.' he said 'Your fiancee is telling me weird
stuff. But now I have to see how you are going.'

'O-Of course'

The exam took quite a while. But when the doctor was done, he had
straightened up and gave me a shrewd, calculating look.

'I have to get you to the hospital, mylord. Right away.' he sighed. 'I
don't understand what you have, or what you are going through, but you need
to be in observation'.

Loretta was left to take care of the house while I was to be at the
hospital. I did not even have time to say goodbye to Orounla.


It took me about five months to realise what I was going through. Because
at first I would not believe it. Not even the doctors, nor the whole
hospital personel, nor the medias, or even everybody else in the country,
would have believed that me, a man, was pregnant and carrying a baby.

I stayed in this hospital for ages. I may have had more visits than all the
other patients reunited. And I was feeling the little baby moving in my
belly. Sometimes a foot was kicking my insides. He was there for sure.
There was no doubt anymore.

In the end of my pregnancy, it was not fun anymore. I could not carry the
weight. I was forced to do everything lying down in my hospital bed. I ate,
I drank, I peed, I pooed, I smoked and I slept in this bed. My back was
sore. It was hard for me. My body was not liking this agression. And all
the doctors were wondering how would the baby come out.

On March 21st 1948, I felt as if my back was tearing. I screamed. The same
thing happened for several hours, and then my penis began to gush out
water. As if my waters were breaking. Then I knew where the baby would come
out. And I was stricken with utter fear...

The birth took only an hour. But a unforgetable hour. The pain was
excruciating. My baby had came out by my penis. When it was over, I was
breathing feebly, lying down on my back, covered with sweat and tears of
pain trickling down my cheeks. The doctors had found out the ombilical cord
was still existing.  They had cut it and took care of the baby, while
others were assigned to make an examination of my penis' state. For an
unknown reason, it had resisted the aggresion. It was still all in one
piece, a bit bigger and aching though, but still alive.

The ones taking care of the baby had turned their heads towards me, and
were all staring at me with that shrewd and calculating look again.

'What is it with my baby?' I asked 'Is there a missing toe, or finger--'

'No, mylord...' they all answered. 'This baby is in perfect shape. He
is... well, he is a beautiful baby boy. Right, everyone?'

The all hastily agreed, yet with an uncomfortable expression on their
faces. They turned and gave me the baby, all wrapped in sheets. He was not
crying at all. But his somberly eyes were looking at me with a very
insisting look, and the face itself made me think of--

I removed the sheets and took a look at the body. It was dark as coal. Then
it hit me...

I looked up at the doctors. And one of my eyebrows was raised in total
shock. But I started laughing and crying at the same time.

Orounla's son was born.


To be continued...