It took me a few days to take up new ideas for this book. I apologise for being late. However, I am back with something. This happens to be the fourth part. Thus it will soon be completed. I plan on making five chapters. I am not planning to disappear though. I, Romantyke, claims ownership of this novel.
It was obvious. I was not aging at all, or I was just blessed with some kind of potent life longevity. How could I still look twenty to everyone, when my true age was seventy seven? Orounla had just celebrated his eighty first birthday, and he looked his age. June 1st 1998. A new millenium soon to come. Almost thirty years after the first lunar landing. Thirty years since Martin Luther King's death. Fifty two years since the Nuremberg jury was on session.
I turned away from the mirror. I sighed. And I standed there, still, and thinking. Why would I stay this young forever? I did not plan to be immortal...
Orounla Junior had left ages ago. He married, of course, and gave his wife and his parents triplets. Three beautiful baby boys. He was a marine, and he was his father's son. He was independant. He creeped everyone out at high school. However, he seldom had any trouble, and he got top marks in just about everything. In the meantime he exercised his muscles and his brains, always with a cigarette in his mouth, and never shied away from helping us, his dads. He soon became a big brother to the eleven following children Orounla Senior gave me.
When Orounla was back home in 1958, I became pregnant again. I got twins. The next time it was triplets. And finally, quadriplets. Horrifiyingly, I got boys, solely. I had wanted daughters, but nay! My genes and Orounla's created chromosomes that were just masculine. It creeps me out.
Orounla Junior helped me take care of his siblings. All of them, however, turned out almost exactly like Orounla. Serious. Too serious. Taciturnian, even. Seldom troublesome. Bulky when growing up... but brilliant. And masculine enough to do the same as their big brother and their macho father... which meant smoke cigarettes, cruising hubbies or girls around,, and be the kind of backpacky, crunchy granola and way into grunge.
Three of my children turned out to be gay. They were married very early and I was the one to be their best man. The rest all are married with their girls. Most of them whiteys like me. Our family is now reputed as marginals. Why marginal? First, I am now known worldwide, even on Internet and books, to be the first and only man to ever be able to carry a child, and thus by swallowing the sperm of another man. Second, a huge sentiment of interracial love running in the family. I had to be examinated several times while the medicine was evolving through the decades. The last theory uttered was that my blood group coincides with Orounla's. If it was not, I could never have had children. Others also mentioned my birth to boys solely, and uttered remarks of my masculine genes mixed with Orounla's. I have a penis. I have a scrotum. I have balls. I have a beard. I look thoroughly a man. But I carry children. And I can breastfeed.
My children were all gone now. After the 70s, I lost my lordship. Lordship was no longer recognised in the States nowadays. It was a time of modern stuff and technology. Even the cigarettes lost their initial charm. Stigma! That is what it is all about! How pathetic! Do I look ill? I have smoked for sixty two years now. And my children were all healthy, I have pink lungs, and a beautiful skin... But I am... not human, am I?...
Orounla Junior still wrote to me every day. By email now. He left us soon after to enroll himself in the US Army thirty years ago. He could not tell much of his job. Military secrets. But he cared for us, his fathers. He was always present.
I went to lie down in the bedroom. I lit a cigarette. And again, another boner.... Orounla was not here today. He was taking walks outside, now with his cane. He enjoyed the warm rays of the Seattle summer.
I started to masturbate. My glans was puffed up. My shaft was making throbs. I smoked at the same time. It felt so relaxing. I felt like being in a nest of comfort. But before I actually came, the door opened, and Orounla actually came in.
His eyes had spotted and understood the situation quick like. His African blood was blessed with the talent of sex and romance. He walked to the bed. And sat down on it. He removed his shoes. Long ago, he was just tossing them away with a kick of his other foot. I helped him loose his buttons of his shirt. Under it, the coal coloured skin was all strewn with age lines, and white hair. It used to be powerfully muscly, tender, firm and full of the vigor of Africa's masculine youth. I felt even more love. My penis was throbbing with love for my everlasting partner. Countless days and nights with him .I got him rid of his pants, and his bowers. He was old, frail and thin. But his skin kept its pure coal colour, and its musky smell of damp earth and tobacco smoke. And most of all, his beautiful penis was still as virile as during that time we first had sex over fifty years ago. As long and thick, as throbby and juicy...
He used to take me in his arms, and turn me while we kissed, and he gently lied me on the bed. and, like a troll caressing its fairy, his ebeony lourdeau fingers were exploring my body, while his thick and brown lips were kissing every parts of me. As frail as he was now, he simply waited for me to lie down and let him take care of me. And he did. Cigarette in our mouth, he sat on my legs, and frotted our penises together. His African blood was giving him that technique Black people used for masturbating. Our eyes met, and he winked at me, his cigarette dangling from his worn out but beautiful lips. The pleasure struck both of us like a thunder. I felt his urethra throb on mine as we both came at the same time. Our breaths were in unison. He lied down beside me. I went into his arms and we both fell asleep.
That night, he felt colder than ever before. He was getting cold. Too much cold. Far too much... A red dawn came up. The sunlight was filtering on his noble coal coloured face. I opened my eyes, looked at him, and smiled.
My beautiful love. Orounla. I'll miss you.
To be continued... to a short part that I will call an epilogue. Hope you enjoyed this one.
Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts, Quebec, Canada Dedicated to my dead Black husband, Wilson. Born 1986. Dead 2010.