Sri Lanka

“We’re off to worship,” Marikit said, probably unnecessarily, looking up at her sweating boyfriend. “Too bad you can’t make it.”

Angela studied Kai-Kai’s reaction. A crooked smile in between little gasps. She thought about what Elaine had said, that Kai-Kai’s schedule could easily be tweaked to leave him time to do things on his own, like for example going to Marikit’s church. It would be a strange sight, a naked boy in the middle of exquisitely dressed churchgoers. Angela guessed that Kai-Kai didn’t really want to go, for some reason. Maybe he didn’t buy into their theology. There were so many things that he must have an opinion about, that he never expressed. The boy was just not a talker.

Not that he was unsupportive of Marikit’s church. These folks acted like they had met Kai-Kai many times and were paying a frequent courtesy call; maybe they visited during every Lab draining. And he helped the church out a lot by being the cook at their annual pancake breakfast, held on a Saturday. It was a huge fundraiser for them, since everyone knew what a good cook he was. Angela had gone last year -- held outdoors because it was a fine day -- and discovered why his pancakes were so famous. She also struck up a conversation with the woman, about age 40, sitting next to her at the long table, who was in traditional Sri Lankan clothing. The Sri Lankan woman excused herself, and when Angela went to the back of the tent to compliment Kai-Kai on his cooking skill, she learned that the woman was that day’s I-3 and had taken the naked boy behind the bushes so she could be impregnated by him. A few minutes after that Kai-Kai, having peed in the bushes to clear out his urethra and wiped his penis off, was back behind the griddle, flipping more pancakes. He was characteristically modest when she asked about the recipe. “Not anything special,” he said, as he flipped away, Angela trying not to look down as his genitals swayed with his motions. “Soy flour, whole wheat, a little white. Orange juice to make it fluffier.”

Now in Lab 6 everyone’s attention, somewhat naturally, went to the Project’s penis, being stroked in the tube, and the white semen that sat at the bottom of the collection tube.

“How many loads is that?” Pastor Gloria said. Angela was struck by how even such a dignified woman freely used the colloquial terms. Even Dr. Chatterjee said “load” on occasion, though when he said it one could almost see the quotation marks around it.

“T - two -- ohh,” Kai-Kai said.

“Very good,” Sister Marisol said, bending to look. Her huge breasts were tightly encased in a seamed bra that could easily be detected through the white silk of her blouse. Even so, they swayed side to side heavily as she bent down.

“That’s a lot for two,” Elder Jeremiah said. Not that he would be speaking from experience; he was single and not allowed to have any orgasms himself. The members of Marikit’s church talked freely about Kai-Kai’s ejaculations; they were not considered “sex”, but medicine for the human race. He was thought of as a virgin, never having had a sexual relationship as such. Angela had heard that the church was quite puritanical. No sex before marriage, and no masturbation either. Marriages seemed to be carefully arranged and probably had to be approved by the pastor. Angela was pretty sure Marikit never masturbated, and had never had an orgasm. She must have watched her nude boyfriend spasming through dozens of orgasms, maybe hundreds. Did she ever wonder what a single orgasm felt like? Her constantly unquenched lust probably motivated some of her affection for him. Maybe, with orgasms forbidden to her, she got vicarious pleasure from Kai-Kai’s.

They contemplated the boy’s combined loads, sitting in the tube. “Kai-Kai is the greatest,” Marikit said enthusiastically, or maybe lustily, causing the boy to smile. His breathing got heavier as he ascended to another plateau.