Foreign Exchange

It all started in what was supposed to be a one week stay in Cape Town. I don’t know what the airline had smoked, but a round trip from Europe sold for almost nothing during a few hours. Probably some clerical error in the pricing department. Whatever the reason, I shuffled some tasks around and manage to arrange myself a one-week spring vacation. I had no idea what to expect. Only thing I knew about South Africa was the Kruger Park, the world's first heart transplant, excellent red wines, Apartheid, and Mandela.

It started out amazing. I found a cheap place in Green Point, close to lots of the tourist places, and started to drink my way through South African wine bottles. It was on the third evening I made the wrong move. No, life-altering move.

I was heading back to the hotel after some late evening seaside action. I had emptied a particularly good bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, rich with those mineral tones so prevalent in most South African wines. I was slightly sunburned, possibly lost, and decidedly round footed when I walked up to two well dressed white men beating the shit out of a black kid.

- Hey, stop that!

I said before my brain had fully reengaged. They did stop. One of the men stared right at me, eyes filled with disdain.

- What you say?

I didn’t have time to answer him when something hard hit the back of my head with a thud and everything lost focus and disappeared.

When I came to everything was black and my head hurt like hell. I was lying awkwardly, hands bound behind my back, feet tied together, and some sort of bag tied around my head. The sound made me think I was in someone's trunk, but I guess it could have been a van or a covered pickup flatbed just as well. In any event, the vehicle was running fast on what I assumed to be a highway. After a bit of struggle I concluded that I was not just bound up, but also tied down and couldn’t move much at all. After a boring hour or so still drunk me slipped back into sleep.

Next time I woke up the vehicle was standing still. I was still as tied up as before, but I could hear someone speaking Afrikaan a few steps away. He came close, shuffled some things around, and then I felt a small prick on my arm. I barely had time to realize it was some sort of injection when I lost consciousness again.

Regaining consciousness was quite different third time around. I still couldn’t see anything, but I could feel some swim style goggles around my head, probably blacked out. Now I was lying more properly on a firm bed or padded table. I tried to move, but like before I was tightly restrained. This time it felt more professional, like cuffs around arms and legs, and some kind of material pushing against the chest. And I was naked, I think. It was hard to determine, as the temperature was nice and I couldn’t move, but I couldn’t feel any clothes on my body. I tried to say “hello”, but nothing came out.

This quickly became incredibly boring. I couldn’t see or feel much. The smell was basically just some generic clean smell of faint detergent. With sounds there was a bit more variation. I could hear some HVAC rumbling once every 5 minutes, or so I guessed. In addition there was a constant low humming in the room. I could hear some faint sounds from outside the room. Perhaps infrequent cars coming and leaving outside the building.

By my estimate I was at least into the third wake hour when suddenly a door opened and I could hear a conversation between the two men who entered the room. They sounded quite far away, so the room was probably large.

“…so many in the database?”

“We use five key measurements combined into one value as sorting key. The circumference and length, both on flaccid and erect, are approximated into two cylinders. Balls are approximated as spheres. Then we just multiply the three volumes together to make the sorting key. First selection priority is of course bio-compatibility, but this size metric allows for fast selection within that set. It only brings candidates though. The final decision is more complex, of course.”

“Complex how?”

“Well, let’s ask the doctor himself. His coming here.”

A third person entered the room.

“You talking about me?”

“Yes, we were just discussing the selection criteria”

“Ah. Well, since this is a demonstration we want to be bold, while being mindful of proportions and aesthetics. In addition to appearance we want to maximize as many of the secondary factors as possible from the paper. For this one we landed in using the Congo supply.”

They were standing right next to me now. The “doctor” continued.

“So this is the subject. The first agent is being administered right now, as you can see. Any questions?”

I tried to say something. Anything. But only wheezing air came out.

“Is he trying to speak?”, asked the first voice.

“No, he isn’t. Come, let’s look at the model”, replied the doctor, and they left the room as quickly as they entered it.

6-8 HVAC cycles later I heard the door open again and several people walking into the room. I heard a women’s voice close to me saying “Everything is green. Go ahead.” and I again lost consciousness.

The room was barely furnished, completely white and bathed in light when I opened my eyes.

“Oh, how good. You are awake.”

I heard a female voice in a strong South African accent. I turned my head and saw a fat, black South African lady smiling at me. I was super confused. I was in a hospital bed, but this didn’t really look like a hospital, and she didn’t look like a nurse.

“Wheh…”, was as far as I managed on “Where am I” before my voice gave out.

“You need to drink a lot. Here, let me help”, said the lady and gave me something that looked like a hospital version of a gym bottle. As I drank she continued.

“You had a traffic accident. Nothing serious. Just a concussion, so you were dismissed from the hospital to make room. This is a recovery home.”

I was gulping water. Man, was I was thirsty. “Where are we?” I asked.

“Just outside the city, so still close to Johannesburg.”

That’s like at least 10 hours away from Cape Town. What the fuck had happened?

“What day is it?”

“It’s Thursday today, dear. I’ll go and get something for you to eat”, the fat lady answered, and started to move towards the door.

Something just didn’t feel right. It was Wednesday evening when I was kidnapped. “No, what date?”

“Thursday the 28th”, she said from the door.

A whole fucking week.

I felt a sucking black hole in my gut. The lady seemed nice, but there was no way I would trust her right now. Perhaps she believed everything she had just told me, but clearly some things were not true. My head felt fine, as opposed to the last time I was conscious, but what about the rest? I didn’t feel any restraints, just my body in a hospital gown, under some white sheets. In fact, nothing hurt anywhere. Just thirsty, still, hungry, and a need to piss.

I could see a different door in another wall than the nurse had just left through. Presumably a private toilet for this small recovery room. A pair of slippers stood next to the bed, so I threw off the blankets began to sit up and swing out my legs. That’s when I first felt it. It was a weird feeling, familiar, but yet very different.

I quickly kicked my feet into the slippers and carefully, still a bit woozy, shuffled into the bathroom. It was surprisingly roomy. Well, perhaps not surprisingly, given the number of people with casts, wheelchairs, and whatnot passing through. But it had plenty of room around the toilet seat and sink, and a full-length mirror next to the sink, presumably for wheelchair bound people.

I raised the gown from my knees to expose my front, and just stared for several seconds to fully understand what I saw. My dick and balls were gone. In its place was the largest, most aggressively male genitalia I had ever seen, even in pictures. The massive dick went almost down to my knees, and thick as a can of red bull. And even though it was completely flaccid it was veiny as cabbage and the outlines of a massive head was clearly visible through the uncut foreskin.

Behind the dick were two softball-sized testicles hanging low, but unevenly so. It was all topped off with a large bush of coarse hair. And all of it, the hair, the balls, and the dong, where dark chocolate black.

I just stared in disbelief. Then tentatively I touched the penis. Yep, it was real and it was now apparently mine. Standing straight my hands couldn’t even reach halfway down to the tip. My mind caught up with reality and was filling with questions. Who did this? Why did they do this? How did they do this? Isn’t there organ rejection? Aren’t you supposed to eat some sort of pills forever after receiving a transplant? Are there even any pants I can wear anymore? Did baller shorts just become underwear?

I went to the toilet and emptied my bladder. It worked fine. Better than fine even, as aiming just became a lot easier with such a hose, although using paper involved lifting. Lifting! I could feel that it was much more sensitive than what I was used to, and felt it starting to come alive. I quickly dropped it and went back to bed. Just as I did lunch arrived.

Once fed, and having checked with the caretaker, Amahle, that she wouldn’t be back for two hours, I decided to try out my new dong. Tissues were already on the side table. I sat up in bed, kicked off the sheet and had another look under the gown. I was again taken aback with the sight. It wasn't just massive, but somehow everything, length, girth, balls, looked to be in proportion. I must admit that I haven’t spent much time thinking about, looking at or describing cocks, but the first words that came to mind were aggressive, intimidating, and virile. The black skin made it even more so, as the light from the window created contrasting highlights on the veins.

Carefully I looked at the border, where the black skin met my pasty, white body. Rather than a sharp line, as I had expected, there was a narrow gradient where one color blended over to the other. How on earth was this done? It looked like perhaps a decades-old surgery where the scar had long since gone soft.

I resumed where we left off in the bathroom, slowly stroking it. It reacted right away, and apparently was a grower as well as a shower. Holy fuck was it massive. I just lied in bed and over perhaps 20 minutes had the best wank in my life. I have no idea whose dick I was giving a handjob, but this was clearly his loss and my gain. It was filled to the brim with nerve endings, making every stroke amazing. Or perhaps it was designed and grown in a lab somewhere? In that case, props to the cocksmith.

The head was leaking precum like crazy, sending small droplets of man lube for every noisy slosh of foreskin riding up and down the head. I was probably suffering from some sort of auto-erotic asphyxiation with so much blood displaced, but I managed to be amazed over how long I lasted, in the fog of pleasure.

When I finally couldn’t keep it contained anymore, I erupted in rope after rope of cum going everywhere. On my chest, in my face, and some overshooting me altogether. As I was catching my breath, sweaty and sticky, I was thinking about what to tell Amahle. Or if I should get up and do some attempts to clean up the mess first. I realized I had plenty of problems ahead of me. Cleaning up, getting home, ever wearing pants again, figuring out how to use toilets. But at least there and then I could not care less.

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