Chapter 5

This was not the kind of career our parents had envisioned for us. Oz told them it was her idea and that I was only going so that I could keep an eye on her. She carped on that, saying she didn’t need a keeper, but thanks to them, that’s how I thought of myself, now. It was because she was going overseas that I felt so compelled to go with her. They swallowed that hook, line, and sinker. Oz had always been able to sway them to whatever she wanted. That’s what had gotten me blackmailed in the first place. I knew she could make good on her threat to ruin my life by telling my parents stuff. Her ‘negotiation’ skills had only gotten better as she learned how to sway strangers to accept her help.

The real objection came when Dad found out we’d be going to a city called Natitingou, which is in the Republic of Benin, which is on the continent of ... Africa.

Even the most out-of-touch person knows Africa is substantially populated with black people.

Dad went ballistic and forbade Oz from going there. She was smart enough to have already signed a contract when this tidbit of information was provided to our parents. Dad, bless his racist heart, was ignorant enough to believe that contracts were set in stone and couldn’t be gotten out of. That was ridiculous, of course, but most ignorant people (among them, racists) believe a lot of things that aren’t true.

It also helped that our travel date was only a week hence, which didn’t give him time to contact his congressman (who wouldn’t have cared) or find some other way for Oz to get out of her contract.

At that point, he was actually glad I was going along, to protect his baby girl from the black devils she would be forced to live among. I was informed that there were no suitable men in Africa for his daughter to “get interested in” and that my main job would be to make sure her lily white body wasn’t sullied by a native.

The history of Benin will illuminate why The Haverson Foundation chose it to be their center of operations for sub-Saharan Africa. This region is in the part of Africa that was referred to as the Slave Coast in the 17th and 18th centuries, due to the large number of people who were kidnapped and trafficked to the New World during the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. As a point of interest, we learned after we got there that all the kidnapping and trafficking was done by black men. White men were only the customers who fueled this industry. After slavery was abolished France colonized the region and named it French Dahomey. France granted them independence in 1960 and left the jackals to fight over what was left. And fight, they did. The Benin governments have included democratic governments, military governments, and a Marxist-Leninist government. It has been democratic since 1991 and those governments sought safety and security by joining every organization that might offer them such. That included the UN, the African Union, the Economic Community of West African States, the Organization of Islamic Cooperation, the South Atlantic Peace and Cooperation Zone, the Community of Sahel-Saharan States, the African Petroleum Producers Association, and the Niger Basin Authority, to name the major ones.

The representatives of all these organizations, as well as the local officials who interacted with them, all stayed in the capital, Porto Novo, or in Cotonou, on the coast, which is one reason Haverson established their headquarters inland, in Natitingou. Those officials could be contacted, but they weren’t under foot all the time. The country was small, as African states go, so there were fewer government bureaucrats to deal with who might be corrupt. It had a port that supplies could be shipped into and it was relatively close to ten different nations in which The Haverson Foundation was doing its work.

The directors of Haverson kept projects small and oriented towards teaching people, as opposed to throwing money around. If you have money in Africa, it tends to be like the smell of blood to a hyena. Haverson tried to keep their presence under the radar of the hyenas. Another specialty was the introduction of technology that would help increase crop yields without destroying the land. The idea was, if possible, to equip local entrepreneurs for the production of such technology, so that jobs were created as well as increases in edible and marketable crops and food products. Benin was already highly dependent on agriculture and exported cotton and palm oil. If they could help subsistence farmers produce a surplus of food, it could be exported to other African nations, which would be better for everybody involved.

So why did Haverson send two wet-behind-the-ears rookies to Benin? Well, one reason was that the official language was French, and Oz had taken French for two years in high school and two more years in college. She didn’t call herself fluent, but she sure sounded fluent to me when we got there. I knew maybe ten French words and I never felt so helpless in my life. It turned out that lots of people knew a little English, but didn’t want to sound stupid to a rich American (all Americans are rich, from the perspective of many Africans) so they didn’t use that English. Once they found out Oz and I were as poor as church mice, that helped. The major thing that improved relations was when Oz told them she was too busy to teach me French and asked them if they’d help me learn it. Along with French I got passable in several local dialects.

The local Catholic priest tried to enlist us to attend his church for mass. Our other choices were Islam or the small Protestant group in town. We explained to all that we wanted to be non-sectarian, which convinced them all we were beyond help. I believe in my heart of hearts that the only reason we got as good a start as we did was because one day I helped an old woman who was walking by our house and stepped on a piece of broken glass, cutting her foot. She had been carrying sacks of something and I happened to see her fall to the ground with a yelp.

Oz wasn’t there at the time, but I went to see if this old woman was all right. When I saw the bleeding foot I returned to the house to get first aid supplies. She was already up and picking up her burden when I got back and I made her sit back down so I could clean and bandage her foot. I couldn’t speak any of the languages at that point and just smiled a lot, trying to reassure her. She sat and let me bandage her foot and when she got up, I picked up three or four of the plastic bags she’d been carrying and gestured for her to go on. She picked up the remaining two bags and limped off to a house several blocks from our house. Her house was very plain, but I didn’t stick around to stare at things. I just smiled some more and waved goodbye.

It turned out this woman was the mother of one of the priests (or whatever they call them) in the religion of Vodun, which outsiders call Voodoo. Vodun was created in Benin and is the oldest religion in the country. I could never get anyone to admit it, but I believe her son put the word out that we were to be left alone, at a minimum, and helped if possible.

So, why is all this important?

Well, because the contract we sighed was for four years.

And they thought we were a married couple.

So, of course, we were housed together.

Oz got partnered with a guy named Pierre, who wasn’t popular because he was French. It had been thirty years since the French left, but the memory of the colonizers was long. Pierre was due to rotate out in three months, so Oz had to be up to speed by then. Haverson had thirty projects scattered around in Benin, Togo, Burkina Faso, and a few in Ghana. Nigeria, to the east, was considered capable of taking care of their own agricultural needs.

We weren’t the only white people in town. There were others there who represented mining companies and the agricultural industry. There was even a man there named Rudolph who I suspected was hiding out from either the law or someone who wanted him dead. He didn’t work and he never seemed to run out of money. He wasn’t a problem for me, though, so I didn’t worry about him.

I wasn’t allowed to just be an idle househusband. While Oz learned how to keep tabs on all the projects and solve problems, I went out and got my hands dirty in the field. For the first year I couldn’t speak to anyone who didn’t speak English. Luckily, I had a “helper” who was indigenous to the region. Even he had communication problems, sometimes. There were at least fifteen local languages and the kind of people we were interacting with were poor farmers who had never gone more than a few miles from their birthplace. They had no need to learn languages other than their own. Many of them didn’t even speak French. Ngumbe, my assistant, managed magnificently, even when he didn’t understand the local dialect.

What I was doing, in most cases, was taking soil samples to be tested for mineral content and other stuff I didn’t understand. I also gathered information about water sources and irrigation practices. Most farmers in that area of the world depended on rainfall for their crops, and irrigation was believed to be able to increase yields by 50%. Haverson liked drip irrigation and a lot of what they shipped in were materials for that process. Once farmers understood it, they welcomed that kind of thing with open arms. No longer did their children have to make trips to the local stream, lake, or whatever to bring back pails of water to dump around plants. That freed kids up to go to school, though many parents thought that was a waste of time.

Most of my trips weren’t longer than a hundred miles, so I was usually able to get back home at night to sleep with my ‘wife’.

Oz loved it. I was a little less enthusiastic in the beginning, but once I learned some language skills, and made a few friends with local farmers, it got better.

I don’t want to give the impression I was unhappy. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. I no longer had to go to classes and while I made trips quite often in the beginning, that slowed down after the first six months. Africa, in areas where there is no war or conflict, has a relaxed attitude about life in general. That meant I could go to Oz’s office and communicate with her that I was horny and she could take a break to go home with me.

We made love frequently, and by that I mean almost daily. In some cases I’d pull her away from her work for lunch and make love with her before she went back to the office. Then, at night, we’d spend an hour or two with her riding me, sitting up all pale and beautiful in the darkness. Or I’d hunch over her sliding my cock in and out of her clasping pussy. I always came inside her unless she sucked a load out of my balls with her mouth. She was on the pill so there was no danger of impregnating her.

That’s what I thought: she was on the pill. In reality, she stopped taking it three months after we got there. That wasn’t planned on Oz’s part. She’d brought a three month supply with her. When they were gone, she found out that buying the pill required a doctor’s permission and doctors in that area considered the pill to be only for emergency contraception after sex. It wasn’t available for routine use.

So she just stopped taking it.

I wasn’t aware she was pregnant until we’d been there six months. She was in routine contact with a local doctor, who took care of her like he took care of indigenous women. At the point where she decided to tell me she was sure I’d be angry.

We were making love and she was on top. She liked that position because she could squeeze out orgasms almost on command. She’d had two, in fact, when I casually mentioned she needed to get more exercise because she was “developing a little gut.”

“I don’t need more exercise,” she said, catching her breath. “I’m not fat. I’m pregnant, Bobby.”

She stopped, leaning on my chest with her hands. She just waited.

“You’re not supposed to be pregnant,” I commented. I was stunned.

“Well, I am. We’re going to have a baby.”

I looked at her pooch and realized I was looking at my child, pushing out from the inside. I could easily envision a little curled up baby in there. Of course that baby was only three or four inches long, at that point, and weighed maybe an ounce, but in my mind he was fully formed. I assumed it would be a ‘he’. Don’t ask me why.

“Mom and Dad are going to be furious,” I said.

“I don’t care about them,” she said. “How do you feel about it?”

“How did this happen?” I asked.

“I think you know how it happened,” she said, dryly. Her pussy muscles squeezed my hard cock, buried deep inside her.

“But you’re on the pill,” I said.

That was when she admitted she’d made a unilateral decision to go off the pill. Haverson would probably have shipped her in more pills if she’d asked them, but since the paperwork and processing took roughly two months, during which she’d be unprotected anyway, she decided not to do that.

“We’re here for three and a half more years,” she said. “By the time we get back this one will be three. If we have another it will still be on the breast, but Mom will melt. She loves babies.”

“Our father doesn’t love babies,” I said.

“Yes, but if they’re white, that’s all he’ll care about.”

“Okay, but they’ll still want to know who the father is and why you haven’t told them about him in the first place.”

“I work with white men,” she said. “So I have some affairs, and there are accidents. So the fathers rotate out of Africa back to The States or Europe or wherever. So I didn’t want to marry any of them. And if we like it here after this contract is over, maybe we can extend. Is this such a terrible life?”

“You know I love you,” I said. “That’s why I’m here. Wherever you go that’s where I’ll go. America offers some things we can’t get here, but I’m not dying because of that. Did I really fuck a little baby in your belly?”

“You can be really unromantic at times,” she sighed. “You didn’t fuck a baby into me, Bobby. We made love and my egg decided it wanted to be fertilized by your sperm. While we were making love, my egg and your sperm were making love inside me.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, reaching to pinch her nipples. “Can I be on top, now, or will that hurt the baby?”

“You can be on top for months,” she said. “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t change the way I live. Some of the wives we work with squat and have their baby in a field. Then they wrap the baby up and go back to work.”

“Now who’s being unromantic,” I said. “I don’t want you squatting in a field to have our baby.”

“Of course I won’t, Silly,” she said. “I’ll have a midwife and have it right here.”

“Here as in our bed?”

“It’s the one we made her in,” said Oz. “What better place for her to come into the world?”

“Him,” I corrected. “You’re having a boy.”

“If it’s a boy you get to name him,” she said. “If it’s a girl I get to name her.”

“Who died and made you king?” I grumbled.

“Nobody died. And I’m your queen, not your king. I command you to make love to me right now, peasant.”

She rolled off of me and lay with her legs open, her knees bent. I climbed into the saddle and sank into her.

“If you weren’t already pregnant I’d get you that way right now,” I growled.

“I’ll tell you when you can make the next one,” she said, thrusting her hips up against me.

“You did this on purpose,” I said. “You’ve always wanted me to get you pregnant.”

“Guilty as charged. Now, Igbo, make love to your queen!”

“Don’t call me a peasant,” I said. “I might not be a landholder, but I’m married to the queen. That makes me a king!”

“We never got married,” she huffed. “All you are is my consort. You exist at my pleasure, so you’d better pleasure me so I don’t find another consort.”

“You can’t consort with any man except me,” I said, thrusting deep. “You let me impregnate you. That ties us together forever. You can’t kick me out!”

She pulled me down and wrapped her legs around me.

“I don’t want to kick you out,” she groaned. “You make me feel so good. I love you so much. I’m going to have five or six of your babies.”

She meant it. I could just hear it in her voice. If I got her pregnant five or six times she wouldn’t complain.

Just the thought of that made me cum. It was like a switch had been flipped and my balls opened up.

“Ohhh, Oz,” I groaned, as my penis reenacted the process of supplying millions of sperm to her body, and overcoming the defenses of her egg.

“Cum deep,” she moaned. “Squirt your warm stuff way up in there.”

I did.

When your wife is pregnant in Africa (and you’re a white man) you think about things a little differently. Granted, Cotonu and Porto Novo were modern cities, but up north, where we were, we depended on local doctors and health care that was a little less contemporary. That said, we knew the medical personnel very well, and I wasn’t worried about Oz delivering the baby. I was more concerned with her getting sick and that causing problems.

I had plenty to worry about in that vein. The last thing I wanted to add to the plate was explaining to our parents how I managed to let my little sister get knocked up by “someone” in Africa. My dad knew that neither of us had inherited his racist view of the world. That had been made clear years before this. For that reason it would be easy for him to believe, without any evidence whatsoever, that some big, black buck had had his way with Daddy’s little girl. She knew that, too.

It was easier for us to present a little white boy or girl and say, “Surprise! You’re grandparents!” than it was to tell them earlier than that. There would still be questions galore, but the issue of any “big, black bucks” would be avoided altogether.

So we didn’t tell our parents she was pregnant and she continued to work as if she were pregnant in any first-world country. I was pretty sure she was well-liked, because there were smiles everywhere she went. She was short even by African standards, and with her belly sticking out, she looked like a doll who was pregnant. Imagine that, for a moment. They don’t make dolls like that, for some reason. I suppose it has to do with pregnancy being all wrapped up in adult behaviors. But little girls love to imagine that they’re the mothers of their dolls. They have endless fantasies that they’re mommies, just like their own mommy. So wouldn’t little girls love to have a pregnant doll?

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Blackmailed Brother

Lubrican

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