Death by Fucking
© 2005 by Andrew Wiggin
Chapter 19
Concerns of the Progenitor
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
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
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
To date I’ve been unable
to calibrate the difference in intelligence between a really smart h Sapiens
and
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
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
The girls were lying on
the floor watching the news. I heard Emma comment, “I sure hope they like
sandwiches in
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?”
He said, “Just tell me
how much peanut butter and jelly you sent to
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
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
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
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
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.
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
“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,
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?”
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.”
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?”
Righty said, “The woman’s name is Delia, Dee Dee. Are you getting senile?”
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
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
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
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.
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.
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!
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.”