Death by fucking ch. 16 by Andrew Wiggin

The Year Five

Andrew’s Story

Our little head-to-head confrontation with the government, fleeting and ethereal as it was, has finally opened my eyes. Emmy almost brought down the entire US government and she didn’t even try hard. I asked her to zap the A.G. and zap him she did.

In the meantime she was still trying to hit the tennis ball closer to the net, training the puppies to be guard dogs, doing essentially graduate work in six different languages, taking her naps, annoying everyone who came in contact with her, and watching her anime cartoons.

The Flash, Green Lantern, the Incredible Hulk and the Silver Surfer combined didn’t have such power. If Lex Luther was as smart as he thought he was, Superman wouldn’t have lasted a week.

But Emma is smarter than I’m capable of understanding. It’s like trying to envision 65 million years. Dinosaurs died off 65 million years ago, but to my brain that number means nothing. To me it takes an eternity waiting for the water to boil.

I understand intelligence and its degrees. I can look at an Einstein or a Jefferson and can pretty much imagine how smart they were in relation to other people. JFK once gave a dinner for Nobel laureates at the White House. In his opening remarks he noted that ‘there hasn’t been so much brilliance at this table since Jefferson dined alone’ – or something like that. Jefferson was smart, very smart. But at least you can compare him to other people.

To date I’ve been unable to calibrate the difference in intelligence between a really smart h Sapiens and New Man. There is a gulf there that defies my imagination.

Our girls are babies – five-year olds. Elle sits at her workstation and makes decisions affecting millions of dollars while sucking her thumb! Edie has to choose between writing the best code in the history of computing or playing on the swing.

We haven’t begun to see the limit of their abilities. And that is just individually. What can they do together, knowing they communicate telepathically? Is it possible that their brains can be cumulative? Can they add their brainpower together? Is it a network of minds, or can it become one super-mind? Even that begs the question. Individually each is a super-mind. What do they get if they can add them together?

I’ve been having these crazy thoughts ever since Emmy snapped her fingers and the government rolled over. For a while there we had this ‘us-versus-them’ mentality going on here. It was our family against the world.

But I’ve had the fleeting thought that maybe the ‘us-versus-them’ scenario might start to involve one species against another. Right now it’s six billion against two hundred. Could the six billion win? More importantly, should they win?

It all boils down to ethics. Are my little munchkins sheep dogs or wolves? That is the question. How did this evolutionary thing work related to their take on the world? I’m not sure that compassion is something that can be legislated or even taught at this level. It better be home-grown.

We may be able to teach the kids our values or not. But how their brains are pre-disposed to work is going to be the determining factor for the future of h. Sapiens. I suppose there is nothing to do but love them and hope they love us back.

The children can’t teach themselves everything, even with the internet. There are facts and concepts that they need to be taught. It isn’t all instinctive, even with my little Einsteins. So the wives started to home-school the eGirls before they turned four.

One of the nice things about Statesboro is that it is a college town. We engaged some graduate students from Georgia Southern to teach the kids their particular specialties, first languages then things like calculus, physics and economics (I handled the computer programming education myself – at least I’m good for something around here), and suddenly we had our own little school.

None of the IAM kids will ever fit into a normal school environment. Talk about disrupting the curve! Now that Elle has earned some big bucks we’ve decided to address the educational needs of all the members of the next generation by creating our own college.

This is going to require that Elle earn a lot more than fifteen million dollars. But once we have a proper endowment, we can create a place where all of the children of the next generation will fit in. I mentioned it to her last week. I said that if she could maybe grow her personal fund to more like fifty-million we might have a use for it.

It isn’t selfishness on my part. What does Elle care what we do with the money? From her point of view she’s just playing Monopoly only with real cash. I’m telling her to get Boardwalk and Park Place and then put a dozen hotels on them and hope someone lands there. If we are going to build New Man University we can’t do it on the cheap. Maybe next year.

The Year Six

Deirdre’s Story

Sometimes we’ll watch the news as a family. We don’t allow a lot of television in our house. Andrew watches certain sporting events, we watch old movies (though usually on tape or CD), and then we select shows that are acceptable for the family or just the children to watch. Occasionally the news is one of those shows.

We never watch the local news, since it is driven by violence and fires. Ratings dictate that it not be ‘news’ but ‘entertainment’. A sad number of h. sapiens finds disastrous occurrences to their neighbors to be entertaining, but we are not among that number.

We will watch the world news sometimes, though Andrew prefers to watch BBC World News, claiming that coverage provided by American networks is often ‘influenced’ by the government. Perhaps he is being paranoid.

We were watching the news when the very, very British announcer noted that “the Ambassador to the United States from Botswana has visited the US Secretary of State, requesting that US aid in the form of wheat shipments be halted for the remainder of the year. It seems that the warehousing capability in that country has reached the limit of its capacity. There is no where else to put the wheat. Sources claim that a ‘computer glitch’ had increased the grain due to go to Botswana from 50 million to 50 thousand million dollars worth.”

The girls were lying on the floor watching the news. I heard Emma comment, “I sure hope they like sandwiches in Botswana. Maybe they could use some peanut butter and jelly.”

Everyone laughed when she said that except for Andrew. I was surprised when he said, “Emmy, lay off of the State Department, do you hear me?”

She looked back with her innocent eyes and said, “Yes, Daddy.”

The news continued. After a few minutes, Andrew, whose eyes never left the tube, said “How much?”

I didn’t know what he was talking about. I asked, “How much what?”

He didn’t look at me. He was still watching TV. He said, “Come on, Emmy, how much?”

Like me, Emma asked, “How much what, Daddy?”

He said, “Just tell me how much peanut butter and jelly you sent to Botswana.”

I laughed. It was the silliest question I’d ever heard.

But Emma took the question seriously. “Not much, Daddy; only thirty tons. Each.”

He sat up at that. “You sent sixty tons of peanut butter and jelly to Botswana?!”

She still looked innocent. “But they have to do something with all that bread they are going to make!”

Donnie asked, “Do they even eat PB & J in Botswana?”

Elle answered, “They do now!”

I don’t think I’ve ever been so shocked in my life. My seven year old was sending peanut butter and jelly to strange countries around the world. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. Why did she do it? Andrew on the other hand seemed neither shocked nor very surprised.

He sat back in his chair with a resigned look on his face. ‘Em, just knock it off, will ya’?”

Emma said, “Okay, Daddy.” I guess the subject was closed.

Donnie’s Story

Ever since Andrew was on television last year, we’ve been besieged with requests for his services, his sexual favors, as it were. In a way it is funny but a little sad to receive these proposals from all over the world. Most are from average women in the real world who want Andrew to impregnate them or just want a chance to get him into the sack.

Those we toss, except for the really outlandish ones that we save for Andrew to read. He likes the ones that include pictures; sometimes in poses that are suggestive, sometimes in poses that are obscene. Why not give him a little vicarious pleasure?

But many are from IAM twins. These we take seriously. Our waiting list of twins is well over a thousand now. I can tell that this is starting to get to Andrew. This particular ‘chore’ has never been on his list of favorite things to do. Now it seems to be endless and daunting.

Perhaps some men might look at this as a fantasy come true – a thousand women just waiting for the opportunity to be impregnated at one’s beck and call. But the reality might not be as attractive as the fantasy.

We had set him up for a ‘twofer’. Both twins in a single set needed impregnation and wanted to have it done in one session. We had acquiesced to this request, as it saves Andrew time – he could save himself a whole afternoon by doing two for the price of one.

These girls, Debbie and Delia, were extremely attractive – model level attractive – in their late twenties or early thirties. We called Andrew out of his office and introduced him to the twins. It was obvious to me that he was everything the twins had hoped for. They were practically salivating.

We talked for a short while as is our custom. Andrew occasionally glanced at these lovely young things, but I must admit to being relieved that he gave his primary attention to Dee Dee and me.

At times like these Andrew seems even more affectionate to us than he normally is. When our chat was completed, each of our guests having downed a glass of wine, Andrew came to us and gave us each a passionate kiss, then a hug and an affectionate little peck on the cheek.

He led the twins into the ‘Get Andrew Laid” room and for the next two hours we heard the occasional scream coming from the room, usually accompanied by someone calling Andrew’s name. He was performing to specs, as usual. Our sweet boy has never let anyone down yet.

Finally Andrew left the room and went upstairs to shower. Dee Dee and I waited a reasonable time and then entered the bedroom. As often happens, these girls were wasted. They were collapsed in a heap on the bed, asleep.

We woke them up, explained to them what happened (the term “death by fucking” may have come up) and showed them where to clean up. When they came back into the living room they seemed reluctant to leave. They asked if they could say goodbye to Andrew, so we called him back into the room.

They couldn’t have been nicer and thanked Andrew for his help. He seemed a bit uncomfortable with their thanks. I could tell he would rather be back in his office working.

As the twins made their way to the door, Andrew looked at me with that sexy little smile of his and said, “So Donnie, what are you doing after?” Well, I guess I’m doing after whatever Andrew wants me to do. That smile of his gets me every time.

Eventually they left, happy and pregnant I suppose. At least they were happy.

The next day we were seated in the living room just shooting the breeze when Andrew wandered in from his office. He looked lost. He looked sad. Deirdre looked at me. I looked at her. We both had the feeling: Andrew had reached his limit.

He sank into an overstuffed chair. He didn’t look at us, he looked at the floor. He didn’t talk. We had to have this out with him. He needed us to take the lead.

Deirdre said, “Well Andrew, are we to assume that you just don’t want to do this anymore?”

Andrew looked up. He saw us staring at him. He looked like he might cry. We’ve never seen our love so down. It was heartbreaking.

He said, “I don’t know. I just don’t know. All these women need what I have. Why can’t we find any other men? To be honest, ladies, I just don’t know how much more I have to give.”

We know it’s serious when he calls us ‘ladies’. It’s ‘girls’ when he’s feeling good. It’s ‘ladies’ when he is all business. Andrew is incapable of hiding anything from us. He doesn’t even try.

I said, “What’s eating at you sweetheart?”

He looked miserable. “I’m just so tired of this. Don’t get me wrong. I love making love. It’s my favorite thing. But with these women I’m not making love. I’m fucking. Donnie I’m all fucked out.

When we are together, you and me and Dee Dee, every second is precious. Each day we find time to be with each other. The sexual part of it is wonderful, but it’s the being with each other that makes it wonderful.

I only want to be with you. Taking away the love aspect of the act makes it clinical and boring and sad. I’m trying my best to make these women happy. I even think I pull it off most of the time. But I’m not happy.

I’m sure most of them are very nice people. But how the hell would I know? They come; we fuck; they go. Ten minutes after they are gone I don’t remember their names.

If you brought the same ones back the day after tomorrow I wouldn’t notice. They are all nameless and faceless. This is depressing. Please, please let’s find someone else to perform the stud service. I just can’t do it anymore.”

Deirdre said “What about those matches you made from the website? Have any of those been successfully mated?”

Andrew said, “Well yes, we’ve had dozens of marriages. I don’t know about children, I just haven’t thought to look at the statistics. They post their own information if they feel like it. You know I’m lousy with these accounting things. I’m a programmer, damn it!”

“And even if there have been children, we don’t know if they are children of the next generation, New Man. They might just be another generation of girl twins, smart average homo sapiens.”

Dee Dee perked up. “I know how we can find out!” She turned toward the back window.

Elle came scurrying in from the outside. The eGirls were playing tag with the dogs. There is some kind of odd bond between those girls and those pups. The pups seem so much more intelligent when the eGirls are around.

Our little girl came in, out of breath. “What do you want, Mamma?”

Deirdre looked at us smugly. “With our kids you don’t have to scream to get their attention.” To Elle she said, “Sweetie, do you remember that list we made up for you to contact your other sisters and brothers?”

Elle said, “Sure, Momma. I still have it in my computer. I contacted everyone on the list who could talk.”

Dee Dee asked, “Were there any children that you contacted that weren’t on the list?”

Elle looked puzzled. “No Momma. You told me to contact the kids on the list. There were lots of kids not on the list, but I didn’t contact them. I figured that if you wanted me to reach them you would have told me.”

Andrew jumped out of his seat, grabbed Elle and spun her around over his head. He was laughing and hugging her. She was laughing too, mostly from the intensity of her father’s reaction. I’ve never seen him so relieved. This must have been awful for our sweet boy. He was enduring this for so long and never said anything to us!

Who would have guessed? Given the opportunity to have sex with many different women and with our consent, he only wants us! He only wants me! He only wants Deirdre!

We have the sexiest man on earth as verified by every CNN/ABC poll. His picture is on the cover of People Magazine regularly, usually with a picture of Brittany Spears or some other sex kitten somehow inserted next to him as if he actually knew them. We have proposals of marriage and proposals that are far less decent arriving in our mail every day.

And yet he only wants us, his two dowdy, middle-aged wives. Both Deirdre and I were actually crying. This was something inside us we didn’t even let ourselves know about.

We are all business during these trysts that we ourselves set up for our husband. We encourage him to perform well. We chat with these women, help them recover from the shock of the greatest sex they could ever imagine and send them on their way.

And yet somewhere inside of us so deep we didn’t even recognize it was this seed of doubt. We had this doubt about what this was doing to our marriage. Were these women what he wanted? Many were far more beautiful than we are. Would Andrew prefer them?

How could we ever doubt him? In his heart he’s been true to only us from the moment we met. We were crying and then we were hugging each other, crying on each other’s shoulder. Andrew let Elle down and she ran out towards the back.

As she reached the door she turned to us. “Daddy, I think Momma Dee Dee and Momma Donnie need you. Make love to them. That will make them feel better.” And then she was gone. Our six year old is wise beyond her years.

Both of us opened our arms and welcomed Andrew in. We were crying. He was crying too. This thing had been happening that could have caused a rift between us and we never even recognized it!

Poor Andrew was performing because we asked him to, not because he wanted to. He will do anything for us, even something so against his nature. Our love is pure and permanent. It feels so good to know it again.

Suddenly Andrew took each of us under an arm, me on his right, Dee Dee on his left, and carried us up the stairs like two sacks of laundry. He wanted us. But he wanted us in our bedroom. We were going to make love to our husband! I don’t remember when I was this happy.

Deirdre’s Story

It wasn’t what I expected. Often when our lust comes upon us our love-making sessions are wild and demanding. He takes us or we take him. There are intense orgasms and there is rampant passion, sometimes to the point of lost consciousness. This wasn’t one of those times.

Andrew placed us on our bed. And then he ever so gently began removing our clothing. He kissed us lovingly, softly. He was so romantic. We are an old married couple – oh, triad, who cares about the terminology – and yet our love is deep and pure. It has endured through everything that has been thrown our way.

He was attentive, gentle and loving. We gave back to him in kind. Ours is the love that every woman dreams about when she is young, but very few can ever fully achieve.

Andrew and Donnie and I are forever. Subconsciously we had this fear of loss. And yet it was an irrational fear, the kind of fear that is in every Homo sapien because he is truly isolated. We can only know we are loved by the actions of others.

It was then that I had my revelation, my theory! It is the theory that is mine, and belongs to me and what is. I suddenly knew that Andrew’s other fear, the real long-term fear that he held, not about us and our marriage but about New Man, was totally unfounded. Our children know love! To them love isn’t an abstraction, it’s a physical presence. Every h. sapien knows what it like to love, but none really knows what it is like to be loved.

New Man, our daughters, can feel the love of others. Donnie and I love them unconditionally! But Andrew! Andrew is capable of love like no other person I ever knew. They must feel constantly enveloped in his love. They are safe and secure because of him, because of all of us.

Love will save h. sapiens. New Man will care for us because they love us and because we love them. Theirs is a world where compassion is not a concept but a constant. It’s as we hoped so long ago. I know it is. The urge to hurt, to dominate, to abuse, can only come from isolation. For New Man, no man will ever be isolated again.

Andrew was looking at me with concern. “Sweetheart, you look to be a million miles away. What’s wrong?”

I smiled. I was so happy! All of my fears, real or imagined, conscious and subconscious had been laid to rest today.

“Nothing’s wrong, Andrew. Everything is so right! Make love to us now. Later we’ll talk. The world is going to be wonderful, not just for us, but for everyone!”

The Year Seven

Andrew’s Story

My buddy Jake called. I figured he wanted to change our tennis date or something. But no! He had some news and he wanted to torture me with it.

“Drew, you are my hero! What a man! Here I thought you were this pussy-whipped little dweeb who could occasionally hit a tennis ball. Now I find out you are God’s gift to women.”

Now what? Don’t I have enough trouble as it is? I asked him. “Okay, Jake. Tell me the bad news. What’s going on?”

He sounded smug. “So Drew, have you perused the latest copy of Playboy yet?”

Playboy? Now what the hell! “You know perfectly well that my wives would have a shit-fit if I brought that magazine into the house. I am pussy-whipped for crying out loud. Tell me, damn you. What’s in Playboy that’s going to make my life even more miserable than it already is?”

Jake said, “I think your wives may want to take a look at this one. The playmates of the month are on the cover.”

Uh oh, I could see a disaster about to happen. “Playmates, as in plural?”

Jake knew he had me now. “Playmates as in twins. Oh, yeah, and such lovely young things, you lucky son of a bitch. The story inside is titled “Death by Fucking: Getting knocked up by the Progenitor”.

I started in with “ahubada, ahubada, ahubada.” What do you say to news like that? I asked him “Are we still on for tennis this afternoon?”

He said, “Sure, if you have time between girls. You slut!”

“Don’t start with me, Jake! Bring the fucking magazine with you, will you? My wives had better hear it from me. I don’t want them to hear this from some fucking biddy at a club meeting. So who are these twins, anyhow? Do they look good?”

He laughed. “What are you, sick? If I fucked these chicks, their faces would be permanently embedded on my brain. And you don’t even know which ones they are? What the hell am I doing wrong? Tell me, oh great one. How do I get a gig like yours?”

I was serious. “Jake, you knock up just one of these damn IAM twins and I swear to you I’ll give you all the bootie you can handle. Take them all! Just don’t take my wives. Please.”

Donnie’s Story

Jake Randolph, the county prosecutor, was coming over this afternoon for his weekly tennis match. Jake had played for UNC and is quite good. Andrew was a state champion in high school and starred at Youngstown State in Ohio. They are evenly matched and are quite entertaining to watch, especially in light of the insulting banter that flies across the net almost as quickly as the tennis balls.

Dee Dee and I make a habit of sitting in the back yard with glasses of iced tea, watching the match and chatting. Jake is a very attractive man. We quite enjoy watching two tennis studs plying their talents under the hot Georgia sun, sweating and looking sexy.

By the time the match is over, we are both ready for anything Andrew has to offer, if you know what I mean. My life is good.

But today was going to be different. We received a phone call the other day from a writer for Cosmopolitan magazine. She was eager to interview Deirdre and me of all people. We were reluctant to agree, but she pressured us, saying that she had some news that would be of great interest to us, and wanted to get our reaction to it.

We finally agreed to see her. She arranged to fly down to visit us this afternoon. She came by a little after 4 o’clock. I knew that Andrew was scheduled to play his match with Jake at 4:30. We were sitting in our living room getting acquainted when Andrew passed through on his way up to get ready for his match.

This woman, Helen Gammon was her name, was lovely in a thin, fashion-model kind of way. She looked to us to be competing with the covers of her own magazine.

When Andrew saw her sitting there his face fell. He said “Uh, Donnie, did we have an appointment scheduled this afternoon? I thought not. I’m playing Jake in twenty minutes, you know.” He turned to this Gammon woman. “How are you? I’m Drew Adkins. And you are…”

I jumped in. “This is Helen Gammon. She’s come to talk with Deirdre and me, Andrew. Go play your game and don’t bother us.”

The relief on his face was palpable. “Oh, Okay. Sorry to interrupt.” And he was off.

Ms. Gammon said, “He seemed sorry to see me.”

I wasn’t sure how to put it. “Well Deirdre and I schedule several women a week to visit with Andrew. It’s part of his work with the Institute for the Advancement of Mankind. He thought you were one of those women.”

The lady said, “I suppose I should feel insulted. I know what ‘his work’ is. Am I that ugly that the Progenitor would rather play tennis than make love to me?”

Dee Dee demurred. “It has nothing to do with you, Ms. Gammon, and it has nothing to do with making love. Andrew performs ‘his work’ out of duty, not out of desire. His would prefer to stop altogether. He doesn’t ‘make love’ to these women. He only makes love to us. The women he impregnates. Because of the needs of IAM, we haven’t been able to allow him to stop.”

She said, “Wow, that’s news if I ever heard it. Andrew Adkins prefers his wives.”

I was a bit miffed with this New York bitch. I said, “Perhaps we should get to the point of this interview. You said you had news for us and wanted our comments.”

She looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. She said, “There is an article in Playboy magazine. The current issue hits the stands today. The title of the story is “Death by Fucking: Getting knocked up by the Progenitor.”

Helen’s Story

I expected any of a number of reactions from these two women who were the wives of this ‘Progenitor’: hurt feelings, anger, panic, tears, at the least embarrassment. I was looking forward to it. My story would be the female angle: what it is like to be cuckolded in front of the nation by two gorgeous playmates.

Instead these two clones that looked surprisingly like Joanne Woodward began to laugh. It reached the point that they were leaning on each other’s shoulders with tears streaming down their cheeks.

When they regained control, one of them (I have no idea which one, they are as alike as two peas in a pod) asked, “Did you bring a copy for us to see?”

I could have kicked myself. “No, I’m sorry. It totally slipped my mind. I do know that the story is told by the Playmates of the Month: twins.”

The two women smiled and I suddenly realized that they are incredibly beautiful. Their eyes lit up as if a switch had been turned on. I must admit that I suddenly wondered if they had ever considered going both ways. I’m bi myself. I prefer men, but if the right woman comes along, I’m game. I’ve never had two women at once before, though. I was getting wet just being around these lovely things.

The doorbell rang and one of the twins got up to answer. I heard her say “Jake! So good to see you. What’s that you’ve got under your arm?”

I couldn’t see the man in question, but I heard him say, “Uh, it’s nothing, really. Just something I promised Drew I’d let him look at. I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested.”

The twin was dragging this very attractive man into the living room. He was tall and slender, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was very similar, in fact, to the Progenitor, though not nearly as handsome. It was obvious to me that the man was very uncomfortable about something.

The other twin stood up as the man entered the living room. “Helen Gammon, meet Jake Randolph. Jake is our local county prosecutor. He visits us once a week to try to determine the tennis champion of Bullock County. No definitive winner has emerged yet.”

The man, Jake, eyed me with interest. “Uh, Dee Dee, would you like me to come back later? Does Drew have time to play tennis?”

I was wondering if everyone in this town knows about Andrew Adkins’ ‘work’ for IAM. It was obvious that this lawyer thought I was here for Andrew. I said, “I’m a writer for Cosmopolitan, here to interview Deirdre and Donna. Feel free to play your tennis match.”

One of the twins looked to be ready to laugh again. “Yes, Jake, she’s here for us, would you believe. Now what is that you’ve got tucked under your arm?”

Before he could respond, the twin reached in and grabbed it. It was obviously a magazine discretely wrapped in brown paper. The twin slipped the magazine out of the wrapping. Of course it was the current issue of Playboy, with two very beautiful, very naked twins on the cover. The headline on the cover was “Making Andrew Adkins”.

One of the twins said, “Check it out, Dee Dee. Do you remember them?”

The other, Deirdre I suppose, said “Oh my God! What were their names? Debby and Delilah, something like that.”

The other, I guess she was Donna, said, “Delia. Her name was Delia. They were good looking, but not this good looking. The air brushers must have worked overtime to make them look this good.”

Deirdre laughed. “Don’t be a bitch, Donnie. They have the bodies, the boobs, and the faces. I thought they were Playboy material when they came to visit Andrew last year. It’s only been a little over a year. Give them credit for getting their bodies back in shape so soon after having their babies.”

Donnie (I thought her name was Donna, but her sister called her Donnie) said to the man, “Go on and play your tennis match, Jake. I know you’re dying to screw Andrew into the ground about this. Don’t hesitate. When you’re done, we’ll take over. This is going to be a fun night!”

I sat down and took out my notepad, starting to jot down some comments about the little scene I had just witnessed. This was not going the way I had envisioned. I had imagined this Andrew Adkins to be a dictatorial jerk, intimidating his meek and mild wives into living with his perverted lifestyle. Now I’m not so sure who runs this household after all.

I said, “You don’t seem very upset about all this.”

They had sat back down and I had no idea which was which. One said, “Upset? Why should we be? We knew what we were getting in to when we decided to go public about things. The government was after our children. Once that came out, how could we hide the rest?”

“But aren’t you upset about your husband being with all of these other women? He must have been with hundreds of women, am I right.”

One responded, “No it’s closer to a thousand. He does it because we’ve asked him to do it. The IAM women find it extremely difficult to become pregnant. Many are desperate for children. Andrew has the gift of being able to impregnate them with no difficulty. It must be a genetic thing. Andrew gives himself to these women to please us. The day we tell him to stop, he will never look at another woman.”

I found that hard to believe but let it ride. “And how do you feel about him being with these women? How do you feel about information like this Playboy article? The whole nation knows that your husband cheats on you regularly!”

One seemed angry with me. Good. She said “Andrew never cheats on us. There has never been a man with more fidelity in his heart than our Andrew. He does what we ask him to do and no more.”

I tried to follow up. “But doesn’t it affect your love lives? How do you feel, giving up your own love lives so that your husband can be wildly promiscuous?”

The other twin, the calm one, laughed again. “You’re trying to bait us. I’m afraid it won’t work. We haven’t given up our love lives at all. How often do you get it, Ms. Gammon? We both get laid every day of our lives. Sometimes we get it twice a day. Andrew gives us all the loving we can handle and still has enough left over to be as you so archly put it, ‘wildly promiscuous’. Andrew’s work in service of IAM has not affected our love lives a little bit.”

I was having a difficult time maintaining my journalistic detachment. Perhaps my mouth was hanging open. “You get laid every day of your lives; both of you? How is that possible?”

One looked smug. I suppose she had every right to be. “Andrew finds us irresistible. He can’t keep his hands off of us, not that we want him to. We feel the same way about him, by the way. I’ve never met a woman who wouldn’t give her eye teeth for a chance to get Andrew Adkins in the sack. We don’t mind that women feel that way. We feel that way ourselves.”

I said, “Yes, well, he is quite attractive. But he finds you irresistible? Yes, I can see why. Well this isn’t going exactly as I had planned, to be honest. You two aren’t what I expected.”

One smiled and said, “I assure you, Andrew isn’t what you expected either. He is the sweetest kindest man alive. If you are looking for some aggressive overbearing stud that uses women and then casts them aside, you are looking in the wrong place. Yes, Andrew is extremely sexy. He likes sex. It’s his hobby. But it’s our hobby too. Everyone needs to have a hobby.”

“And although he is all man, we, Donnie and I, run the family businesses. You see, we both have our PhD’s in Business Management from Duke University. Andrew always defers to us when making financial decisions.”

“But outside of that, and outside of the fact that he is beautiful (you noticed that he is beautiful, I suppose), he is also loving and kind, affectionate and warm. And he is a dedicated husband and father.”

I said, “Oh, yes. You have six children, don’t you?”

One responded, “What I don’t understand is why you media people are so interested in Andrew. The real story is the children, you know. Andrew is the first to admit that. Our Andrew is a sweet, stodgy, set-in-his-ways man who looks great and is probably the world’s greatest lover, but otherwise is just a man. Our children are the smartest people on the face of the earth, and no one is the least bit interested.”

I was surprised. “What do you mean, ‘the smartest people on the face of the earth’?”

The blonde on the right asked “What could we mean? Einstein, Edison, Plato, Leonardo, pall next to these kids. They are a different species than h. sapiens. We aren’t making this up. Our children, all of the IAM children fathered by Andrew, are super-geniuses. Why do you think the government wanted them?”

I said, “It never occurred to me. I knew they were smart. But how could they be as smart as you say they are?”

The one on the left said, “We aren’t saying how smart they are. We are incapable of knowing how smart they are. We only know that they are smarter than any h. sapien that ever lived. Mozart was writing symphonies when he was a child, so perhaps he was close. But one of our daughters made her first million when she was four.”

I laughed. I’ve heard bullshit before, but these women were in a class by themselves. “You’ve got a daughter who is a millionaire. And she earned it herself? How does she do it, print it on a computer?” Come on girls, stop treating me like an idiot, I was trying to say.

The one on the right said, “She’s a day trader. We gave her ten thousand dollars when she was three so she could learn the markets. Then we threw in another hundred thousand when she was four. By the time she was five she had built it up to a million and a half. Andrew thinks that that information set off alarms at the IRS, who then informed the Attorney General. We don’t know, but it’s a theory he’s working on.”

I was still in denial. “So you’ve got a daughter that has earned a million and a half dollars on the stock market?”

Lefty said, “No, she also plays the commodities markets. And she’s earned closer to a hundred million dollars by now. If you noticed the construction going on a few hundred yards from our property, that’s New Man University. Its total endowment is coming from the money Elle earned playing the market.”

I asked “How about your other children. You have four daughters and two sons, right?”

Righty said, “Yes. Well, Edie and Eddie, two of our daughters, are interested in scientific things. Andrew claims they are the two best computer programmers on earth, though we have nothing to base a comparison on and must take his word for it. He says that when they were four, they were so dissatisfied with Windows and Unix that they wrote their own operating system, one that was far more stable and secure.”

“They are planning programs that are too complex for available hardware, given the current state of technology; something about available RAM, internal speeds, multi-parallel processes. I don’t know. They are therefore designing their own hardware to accommodate their own programming. That’s what Andrew tells us. Edie and Eddie don’t talk much about their work.” I heard the other one mumble, “They don’t talk much, period.”

I said, “That leaves your sons and one daughter, right? What about them.”

Lefty said, “Eric and Ethan are younger and are in the learning stages. Eric wants to be a baseball player. He can really hit, by the way. His t-ball coach says so. Both of them help Edie and Eddie with programming. They build things as well. Ethan talks of being an architect. He wants to integrate structures with nature and remove the man-made look of the world. Of course, he’s five and can have such dreams. They may even come true someday if New Man takes over.”

I asked, “And what of your last daughter. What’s her name?”

Righty said, “Emma. Emma is a bit different. She does her own thing and we leave her alone with it. We’re not quite sure what she does, but whatever it is, I’m sure it is brilliant. We’ve learned that everyone is more comfortable if we don’t ask Emma what she is up to.”

Well that was a distinctly odd answer. The children did sound fascinating, and perhaps at another time I could follow up on their story. But I write for Cosmo, not Scientific American. I was here for the juicy parts, the sex lives of the Progenitor and his harem. I wanted to learn more.

Righty asked, “Would you like some lemonade? Why don’t we go out on the patio and watch the boys play tennis. Our children are working right now. The eGirls are in the computer room. The eBoys are having their Russian lesson in the library. If you’d like to meet them I’d be glad to bring them out.”

I had to ask, I guess. “Why do you call them the eGirls?”

Lefty smiled and said, “That’s Andrew for you. If you noticed, all of their names begin with the letter “E”. They are members of the “E” generation from IAM’s point of view, just as Donnie and I are members of the “D” generation. You’ll remember that the Playmates are named Debbie and Delilah. They are also part of the “D” generation. But Andrew took the “E” generation and added the whole modern feel to it, like eBusiness and email. They are the eGirls.”

Righty said, “The woman’s name is Delia, Dee Dee. Are you getting senile?”

Lefty said, “I was too busy looking at her breasts to notice her name. From Andrew’s point of view they were far more than a mouthful. I wonder if they are real.”

We retreated to the back yard. They have a world-class tennis court, and Andrew and his tennis partner, Jake, I think, were going at it. It was obvious that both of them are excellent. They were hitting powerful strokes, then making obscene and unlikely comments to each other. It seemed that the purpose of the comments were to make their opponent laugh and miss the ball. I realized that as good looking as this Jake was, Andrew Adkins, the Progenitor, was a hunk!

I was watching the tennis, but my eyes kept straying to Andrew. Damn, he’s gorgeous! One of the twins obviously caught me. She asked “How are you enjoying the game, dear?”

I was a bit embarrassed. “He is very good, isn’t he?”

The same one said, “He’s even better than you might imagine, honey. Have you read the Playboy article yet?”

I had to admit that I hadn’t. We couldn’t get a pre-publication version of the story, and I just plain forgot to pick up a copy at Kennedy Airport on the way down. Twin number two handed me the copy that Jake had given her. She said, “Read it. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

What was this? The last thing I expected to find was these beautiful, intelligent, serene, self-assured women. They defied logic. Their husband was the current pop icon, even though I was beginning to suspect that the stories that made it to the cover of the National Enquirer were almost certainly false.

Almost every woman in America lusts after Andrew Adkins, as if he were Tom Cruise or Robert Redford. I’m not one of them. Well, I hadn’t been one of them until today. Now I felt like a child in a candy store, wanting to suck on everything I see.

Even this Jake Randolph is terrifically attractive. But the Progenitor may be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. And his wives are to die for. They are older than him, significantly older as I understand it. And yet they are majestic in their beauty and assurance. And they talk openly of sex as if it were a normal part of their everyday lives. And I emphasize the ‘everyday’ aspect.

I’m horny enough as it is. Perhaps I shouldn’t be reading an intimate account of Andrew Adkins’ sex life. Hell, of course I should read it. I’m dying to read it.

Excerpts “Death by Fucking: Getting knocked up by the Progenitor”

You enter his Southern Plantation. It is regal, stately and beautiful. Then you meet his wives. They too are regal, stately and beautiful.

The man himself is tall, dark, courtly and handsome. He seems so calm, so self-confident. He is in love with his wives. Debbie and I are hot! We’ve never met a man we couldn’t seduce. Yet Andrew Adkins couldn’t take his eyes off of his wives. I guess I don’t blame him. They are so very beautiful.

He may be the most handsome man I’ve ever met. When he came into the room it was all I could do to remain calm. Everyone seemed so matter-of-fact, but Debbie and I knew that we were going to be in bed with the Progenitor in just a few minutes! We were so excited that I’m afraid they could smell our wetness.

We were led into a lovely bedroom, done in colonial style. There was a huge four-poster that invited us. Debbie and I were in a hurry, but Andrew had other plans. He told us that his wives had established a rule. If we were going to become pregnant, we should have a memorable experience. His job was to attempt to make it so.

Debbie and I have had threesomes many times before. Usually we are forced to get each other off. No man has been able to satisfy both of us. I for one was having second thoughts. I wanted Andrew to myself. Let Debbie do him another day. It turned out that I needn’t have worried.

Andrew kissed me! He puts everything into a kiss, and it was a toe-curler. Meanwhile I felt my clothes dropping off of me. When we emerged from the kiss, I was already half naked. Andrew turned to my sister and gave her the same treatment.

I went for his clothes. I wanted to see this hunk nude. While he was kissing my sister I reached around and unbuckled his belt, then unsnapped his pants and pulled them down.

He stepped away from Debbie and allowed her to finish undressing. He told me that we had plenty of time, so if I didn’t mind he would rather do us one at a time. That way it is easier to give each girl the proper attention.

Debbie is like me, with 36D tits, and her nipples were already hard and extended. Andrew asked her to lie on the bed while he removed his clothing. He took off his shirt, then his shoes and socks. Then he finished what I had begun, by pulling off his pants and shorts.

Let me say, Andrew Adkins has one tight ass! I couldn’t resist reaching out and fondling those tight cheeks. He turned to me and smiled. He asked me to lie on the far side of the bed. He whispered that he would get to me as soon as he was finished with Debbie.

He finally turned around and I got to see what I’d been waiting for. My God, the man is hung! It’s not as long as some porn stars I’ve seen in the movies, but it is far longer than any man I’ve ever been with. And thick! My mouth was watering. He was proudly erect, ready to take my sister.

She was prepared for him. We both were. But Andrew was not rushing. He kissed her lips, her forehead, her eyelids, her neck. His big hands were fondling her butt, her breasts, tweaking her nipples. His mouth worked down to her tits. He sucked her tits as his hand found her pussy.

Debbie was going wild! Let’s be frank, I’ve been in sexual situations with my sister many times before. I’ve never heard her beg until now. She was so ready!

I watched Andrew slide that huge dick of his around the edge of Debbie’s pussy lips. She kept arching towards it, trying to get it in. He refused to be rushed. I was so horny myself that I found myself sliding a finger deeply into my pussy.

And then he slid it home. I could see that Debbie was already climaxing. And Andrew had yet to complete his first stroke.

I was worried for her. How could she take that huge dick into her pussy? How could I? All I knew was I was dying to find out.

Andrew began making long, slow strokes into Debbie. Her legs wrapped around his hips, trying to keep him in. After several minutes of this (Debbie had another loud orgasm), Andrew began to pick up his pace. Debbie was trying to keep up. Her face was flushed. Her eyes were closed. Her face showed something intense… Pain? Pleasure? Both?

Her head rocked back and forth. Moans were emitting from her lips. Suddenly her moans became screams. I heard her call Andrew’s name. It looked like Andrew was finally achieving climax! He slammed deeply into my sister’s pussy, and held there, as Debbie seemed to lose control of her body. She went limp and I realized she had passed out.

Damn I wanted this man. He kissed her on the forehead and then pulled out. His penis still was larger than any I had ever seen. He took a pillow and placed it under Debbie’s ass. He smiled and said that his wife Deirdre recommended that as a way to help with impregnation, though he had no idea if it worked.

He turned to me and said “You’re next!” I thought I would faint.

Andrew covered my sister up with a blanket and moved over to me. He said, “I’m afraid that I need a little recovery time. But that doesn’t mean that you should wait any longer.”

He began to kiss me, as he had kissed my sister, on my lips, on my eyelids, on my cheeks, then on my neck. He sucked on my neck and I felt myself shudder.

He worked his way to my breasts. I expected him to pay a lot of attention to my breasts. Most men do. Andrew, however, spent no more time there than he had on my neck. His hands replaced his mouth and I felt his fingers working my nipples.

His mouth trailed down my stomach and I realized he was going there. His long arms went under my legs, and lifted. Suddenly my legs were riding on Andrew’s shoulders and he was looking me directly in the eyes. I watched him as he lowered his mouth onto my pussy.

My screams must have been heard in the next county. His tongue – what a tongue! – was deep in my pussy, then licking along the edges, then playing with my clit. I kept cumming and cumming. I don’t know how many times I came.

Andrew finally moved up over me and for the first time I felt that huge dick of his. As wet as I was, I still was unsure whether I could accommodate the whole thing. He knew just what to do. He worked it in slowly, moving it around, and then backing out. He was teaching my pussy to take him inside of me. Each time he moved in he went deeper. I felt so full. His width was forcing me to open up.

He must have sensed that I was ready, because he made a massive stroke and suddenly that whole huge dick was tightly in my cunt. I could feel his balls against my ass. He pulled out and plunged in again. I tried to move with him, but he was so strong! Each time he bottomed out I thought I might explode.

He had lifted my knees with his arms. I was bent over, my knees pressed against my tits. When Andrew Adkins enters you, he goes deeper than any other man. He kept increasing the speed, increasing the power of his strokes. I was building to a massive orgasm. I couldn’t take any more! I felt his dick getting larger and larger.

Finally he was spurting inside me. It must be going straight into my womb. I screamed again, loudly. Then I was shrieking, and then I think I died.

I don’t know how long I was out. I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was then that I realized that Andrew was gone. His wives were waking us up. Debbie had slept through my entire ordeal. I didn’t want to get up. I just wanted to lay there. I felt like I had run the Boston Marathon.

The wife who was helping me whispered in my ear. “Death by Fucking.”

— to be continued

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