Unknowledge Of A Modus Operandi
This the third part of the story of love between Lord Mordecai and his handsome Orounla. The second part was hard to get published -- I have no answer to the reason. Because of this, I waited long before writing this continuation. I hope this one will satisfy you. Good reading!
He was gone. For ever. I was sure now. Too many years waiting for him. Perhaps he was dead, or he has fled. But the sundry was more to be true.
Orounla was away. He has been absent from my life and his child's for a decade by now. Why had he disappeared? I had no clue. Nobody had.
Orounla Junior was a beautiful Black child. He looked so much like his father. He was brilliant, knowledgable and serious. Top marks everywhere at school.
In this month of December 1959, I was rocking on my chair. The same old rocking chair I set up over ten years ago for my son. I was knitting. A cigarette was dangling between my lips. A coffeepot was on the end table near the old crib. Steam was pouring out from its spout.
The grandfather clock rang somewhere in the manor. Four chimes. Orounla Junior would soon be back from school. I sighed, got up, put away my knitting gear, and left the room. The new butler would take care of the plate of biscuits and the coffeepot I left behind.
Snow was falling again. Dusk was already underway. I checked in the oven to make sure the dinner was sizzling properly. It was. I lit another cigarette and sat down on the bergere near the window.
How much would I give to have Orounla Senior for Christmas? Too much. Or maybe nothing would be enough. I missed him. His son never even knew him enough. He barely had walked in when his father disappeared.
The doorbell rang. I choked and coughed in my cloud of smoke. Startled and somewhat irritated, I called the butler to answer. But the doorbell rang again. So I got up and, rather stiffily, answered.
What was in front of me was someone completely envelopped in a huge coat. His face was hidden by a balaclava and I could not discern who would that person be.
' Who are you? Can I help you? '
The person did not answer. He just removed his balaclava and stared at me in the eyes. But... it could not be...
It was him. Orounla. His eyes gave no mistake. His face was dark like coal. His lips were holding an unlit cigarette butt. His big nose shining with cold sweat. Age lines wrinkling his eye corners.
No word needed to be spoken. None at all. The lightning strike was good enough. He took me in his arms. He kissed me. The smell of wet earth and tobacco gave no mistake. My Orounla! My man. He was back!
He was in my bedroom in no time at all. His hands, so much older now, were impatiently trying to undress me. His lips were kissing my neck. He was fumbling with my crotch.
My whole body, deprived of a man's love for a decade, was all lit with a burning mad desire for pleasure. For him. Orounla.
We were all undressed in record time. He was already going down on me. We were on my bed and his spendid black penis seemed hungry for love.
My mouth gave love to him. The glans throbbed and reacted violently to the attention I gave to it. The belly was contracting madly. He had cum in no time at all. His ejaculation lasted thirty seconds. The beautiful black penis made twenty nine spurts. As if Orounla refused to have sex all these years.
It happened to me almost as fast as he did. However, I masturbated a lot. So I came less than him. But the love he gave to my penis was alarmingly mad. It seemed he was waiting for ages to have sex with me. To make a cock worship with me like we used to in the past.
We were very tired after this. He lit a cigarette and gave one of his to me. And then we talked. Where was he? He was shot. Racist hecklers had shot him and he was forced to be healed. Nobody ever thought to send me word. Then, when he was recovered, they sent him to Texas. He got forced to make community work for the country. They only set him free two months ago.
The work and the time put to all this had operated an accelerated aging process on him. He was so much older. So much.
I did not age as fast as him. I was only thirty seven after all. He was now forty one. But he looked much more aged than it.
' What about sex ?' ' Never had any. I refused even to masturbate. You know why I came that way tonight. I love you too much. I missed you, Mordecai. I did. '
He was now looking straight into my eyes, and tears were trickling down his cheeks.
' I am sorry I was late. '
It was too much for me. I cried with him. He holded me. We cried. And we gazed in each other's eyes, and cried again. And we wept. Just wept.
' Father? Is everything okay, Father? '
Little Orounla walked in the room. It took him about ten seconds to realise what was happening in front of him.
' Father! '
I smiled through my tears. Under the blankets, I straightened up. So did Orounla Senior.
' Yes, my sweet. Your father is back. '
The little one stared, then wept as well.
To be continued...