Death by Fucking © 2004 by Andrew Wiggin
Chapter 25 The Quick Years
The Year 13
Deirdre’s Story:
I had to go into town to pick up something at the
drugstore, so I grabbed Emma to go along for the ride. We
have a rule in our house: no parent goes anywhere without
being accompanied by an eKid.
There have been rumblings over the years about us.
We’ve heard them. We’ve read about them. We aren’t
necessarily the most popular people in eastern Georgia.
It’s strange to take a teenager along as one’s personal
bodyguard.
The eKids are powerful. No one really knows how
powerful. We’ve spent their lifetime trying to teach them
not to abuse their powers. And in the idyllic existence
we’ve made for them, why should they have to display their
strengths?
Emmy and I had been into the drugstore to pick up a
prescription to help Donnie and me with our menopausal woes.
We had parked in the little parking lot in the alley behind
the store. The drugstore was one of the old-fashioned ones
that still have a soda fountain, so Emma had lingered behind
to pick up something to drink. I should know better than to
walk the streets alone, but Statesboro is such a lovely,
safe little town.
I saw him standing in the alley. I know it is my
prejudices speaking, but I just am less than comfortable
around men who have tattoos covering their entire bodies
from the chin down; especially ones who weigh two hundred
and fifty pounds and wear leather vests with no shirt.
Like any other woman, I pretended to ignore his
existence and made for my car in the lot. I felt myself
willing him away. After all, what interest would he have in
a person like me, a late-forties, frumpy old lady? But it
was not to be.
As I approached my car, he stepped in front of me.
“Hey, baby. Where you goin’ in such a hurry?”
For the first time I looked him in the eye. I would
have looked him in the eyes, but one of his was obviously
glass.
I said, “Excuse me, sir, but you are in my way.” I
quickly glanced around and realized that I saw no one. I
suspected that this man may not have my best interests at
heart, so I issued a little mental distress call to my
daughter, still in the drugstore.
He said, “You’re her, ain’t ya’ babe?”
I replied, “I’m who?”
He laughed. “You’re the Progenitor’s bitch! I’ve seen
pictures of your naked ass. I’ve always wanted to see that
ass for myself. Come on, baby, let me see that ass.”
I said, “Please young man, you don’t really want to
talk to me that way. It would be best if you just backed
away before someone gets hurt.”
Just then Emma walked out of the drugstore and came
hurrying up to me.
“Momma, is everything all right?”
I said, “Everything’s fine, sweetie. This man is going
to allow us to walk past him and go to our car.”
But the man had other ideas. “Damn, you are one hot
little thing! You’re sexier than your mama. I might just
have to do me a family sandwich. Yeah, you two are goin’ to
have a good time with me.”
Then the huge ugly thing drew out a large ugly knife.
“Why don’t you two just get in the back of my van over
there? It’s time for a little mother-daughter fuckin’.”
Emma actually laughed. “Little boy, you aren’t man
enough to take care of one of us, let alone handle two at a
time. Why don’t you take your puny little dick home and
whack off?”
I have no idea why she finds situations like this
amusing. I said, “Now Emma, you leave the man alone. I’m
sure that he doesn’t mean any harm.”
The fat ugly thing looked confused. “What the hell are
you two sluts talkin’ about? Now get in the van before I
cut someone!”
Suddenly the man looked past us and I saw a look of
fear come into his eyes. I turned but couldn’t see
anything. Emma whispered to me, “You wanna hear this?” I
just nodded.
In my mind I heard a herald of trumpets followed by a
voice that sounded suspiciously like Cecil B. DeMille in
“The Ten Commandments”. You’d think that Emma would have
some originality.
The voice said, “Thus saith the Lord: If thy right eye
offends thee, pluck it out. If thy dick offends thee, cut
it off!”
I whispered to Emma, “Is that really in the Bible?”
Emma said to the fat man, “It looks like you already
did the eye part; how about the dick?”
The fat man looked stricken. He pulled down the zipper
of his pants and reached in and pulled out a truly puny
penis. I said to Emma, “For heaven’s sake, don’t let him
cut it off!”
I heard the sonorous voice of DeMille shout “Stop! Go
sinner and sin no more! If you try this again, you will be
eating your balls for breakfast!”
The fat man turned and ran like hell. Both Emma and I
were laughing by the time the man’s van had sped down the
street. I hugged her. She can turn even a dangerous event
into a comic misadventure.
I said, “Emma, that man is a menace to society. We
should do something to be sure he doesn’t try to harm anyone
else.”
She laughed. “I saw ‘A Clockwork Orange’, Momma. That
little heavenly vision is implanted in his brain. Every
time he thinks about being violent he’s going to have a
visit from an angel.”
I was shocked. “Emma, I didn’t know you had any
religion at all. When did you read the Bible?”
She just shrugged. “Of course I’ve read the Bible. Do
you take me for an illiterate? H. sapiens like their
religion, Momma. I sensed that the fat man was raised in
one of those Southern Baptist sects that drive Daddy crazy.
He doesn’t go to church, but he still thinks he will burn in
hell for all of the bad things he has done. Maybe now he’ll
stop doing bad things and he will end up in whatever weird
little vision of heaven he sees.
“One day I’m going to write a book quoting all the
contradictory passages in the Bible. I’ll write a chapter
using one set of verses, then another chapter condemning the
previous chapter with another set of verses. I’ll call it
‘Dueling Bibles’”.
I was horrified. “Well if you do, please use an
assumed name. Don’t mention your father at all. Please
don’t involve IAM in this. Most of the Religious Right
already believes that we are blasphemers and heretics. Your
father is the Anti-Christ. Don’t give them any more
ammunition.”
We drove home. Everyone was waiting for us and we were
mobbed when we got out of the car. Andrew looked so
worried. I don’t now whether Emma had somehow let the
others know about our little confrontation, or if the others
had sensed it by themselves.
He said, “Dee Dee, are you okay? Emmy, are you all
right? That S.O.B. didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Before Andrew could start lecturing me on making sure I
am safe, I went for a preemptive strike.
I said, “Andrew, just calm down. We were never in
danger. Emma is our personal little anti-violence crusader.
She convinced the man to leave us alone and to be good from
now on. He won’t be a danger to anyone ever again.”
Andrew hugged Emma. He always hugs Emma. I heard him
whisper to her, “Maybe we can sneak you into the White
House. You can train the President to be anti-violent and
we can stop having all of these crazy little wars.”
She just smiled and basked in his affection. She is a
sucker for her Daddy’s affection. So am I.
The Year 18
Donnie’s Story: New Man U.
New Man University is ten years old. Already it’s one
of the most respected institutes of higher learning in the
country. That certainly has something to do with the
advances made in scientific areas by the faculty and
students – mostly the students. But it also must in part be
due to the integrity and ethics that are such an integral
part of the university.
After we received our charter we started hiring the
best possible faculty. We pay top dollar to top-of-the-line
professors who want an opportunity to teach the intellectual
elite of the world. The top minds on earth don’t teach at
New Man U. The top minds are the students at New Man U.
We’ve got research facilities being built constantly,
upgrading to state-of-the-art hardware, much of it designed
by our own students. We’ve received additional funding from
major corporations who only want the opportunity to take
advantage of the research that is a minor by-product of the
education of the next generation. None of that research
involves weapons.
Ours is a unique setup. Every attendee of New Man U.
is on full scholarship. We don’t charge anything. However,
we make them sign an honor pledge when they come to school.
They agree to give the University endowment fund 10% of the
net profits of anything they develop while in attendance,
continuing for five years after graduation. Like Andrew
says, somebody has to pay for all of those scholarships. We
can’t expect Elle to devote her entire life to financing New
Man U.
We don’t do contracts. Contracts are things written to
let people know what they can do to get out of the terms of
the contract. We don’t work that way. We have the eKids
state that on their honor they will give back to the
university some of what they got out of it. There is a
stipulation in the pledge that if any kid really needs the
money, the pledge is null and void. They can honor the
pledge or not honor the pledge. There is nothing legally
binding about it. We try to teach them that legality
doesn’t matter. It is their word of honor that counts.
We aren’t a four-year college. An eKid can come to New
Man U., stay for as long as she likes, announce her
graduation and leave. If at some point later the eKid
decides to return to the University, she will merely
renounce her degree and come back. All of the older eKids
are females. The D-generation didn’t start popping out
males until later.
We’ve only been around for ten years, but governments
and businesses are panting for the graduates of New Man U.
Our oldest students are eighteen years old. Our youngest
are six. We even built quarters so that parents can come
and be with their children.
Little does the outside world know that our basic
curriculum here revolves around the teaching of ethics. We
want to equip these kids to go out into the world and act as
shepherds. They are already well equipped to handle life in
the world of H. sapiens. We’re worried about H. sapiens
handling life in a world controlled by New Man. Because
there is no doubt that eventually, sooner rather than later,
the eKids will run the world.
So we teach them right from wrong, insofar as we
understand it. I’m sure that soon they will be teaching us.
Each and every one of them is a potential weapon. Each can
achieve whatever he desires in the world of H. sapiens. Is
it wrong for us to want them to fulfill their dreams without
destroying the dreams of others? Is it wrong to teach them
to leave a minimalist footprint wherever they walk?
One could call us bleeding heart liberals, I suppose,
even though we don’t look at ourselves that way. We look
for a world where everyone is treated with respect and
honor. That’s our goal, Andrew’s, Dee Dee’s and mine.
Before the first brick was laid, the first foundation dug,
the first professor interviewed, we had a plan in place. We
were going to create a wedge of intelligence and goodwill
designed to split apart the mean-spirited, greedy, and self-
destructive world that H. sapiens had created.
All of the living quarters and most of the college
itself is underground. Our son Ethan designed a plan that
called for minimally invasive buildings. There are people
movers, also underground, taking students and faculty,
mothers and fathers back and forth between their homes,
classrooms, facilities, and the underground parking garage.
So except for the few original buildings that were designed
by an H. sapiens architect, and which are quite lovely, the
area of the University and the Institute for the Advancement
of Mankind still retains its antebellum appearance. Well,
except for Andrew’s tennis court and our swimming pool.
Because very young children come to New Man U., usually
they are accompanied by their mothers, fathers or both. We
provide room and board for them, too. And that gives us a
nice pool of people to draw on for the University and
corporate staff. We offer extremely competitive wages, full
health care, and a very nice 401k plan. Our staff doesn’t
have to drive to work and they can eat for free in the
cafeteria.
On the other hand, we don’t need a bursar’s office
since we don’t charge anything. We don’t have a recruitment
office. Well, there aren’t that many applicants to
consider, just the current batch of New Men. And if the
family situation allows, they all come here. They certainly
can’t attend any normal school. Where else could they go?
Our only qualification for admission is proof of IQ.
In an ecumenical move, we have allowed any person with an IQ
above 180 to come to New Man U. That allows for the very
upper echelon of H. sapiens to attend as well.
Oh, have I mentioned who runs the place? That’s me:
Dr. Donna M. Adkins, PhD., President of New Man University.
Who’d a thought it?
The Year 20
Andrew’s Story
Someone has to do the administrative work around here.
Donnie sits in the President’s office and looks official.
Dee Dee spends all her time dealing with the family’s
business interests. That leaves me to do the dirty work. I
try to put in four to eight hours a day at New Man U., just
handling all the things that have to be handled in the life
of a college. Even New Man U. has things that have to be
dealt with.
So I have me an office, a workstation, a laser printer.
I feel like I’m back at AWC but have moved up a step in
middle-management. I’m not complaining. As I said, someone
has to do this shit. Might as well be me.
I have a few administrative assistants under me,
figuratively speaking. I’m pretty sure that at least one of
them would like it to be more than figurative, if you know
what I mean.
Every woman who works at New Man U. is a D-generation
twin from the President on down. That’s a little freaky.
Well they are here anyway supporting their kids. I can’t
think of many other colleges where the students have their
mommies with them. I’m just being a grump. I hate doing
all of this paperwork.
So Doris Fleming is one of my Administrative
Assistants. I mean, what is it with this job terminology
today? She’s a fucking secretary! Why don’t we just admit
it?
This is one sexy chick. Just about every time she
comes in to my office to deliver a paper or pick up
something or ask for assistance, she comes around my desk
and leans over me. She has left a permanent impression of
her tit on my arm. She’s always touching me, thanking me
for my help with a peck on the cheek or a quick hug. It’s
driving me nuts.
This girl is one of the youngest of the D-generation.
She is in her early thirties. And she looks excellent. I’m
not immune to such things, you know. Try having some lovely
young thing hanging over you all day long and see how you
feel.
I mentioned it to Dee Dee the other day, how Doris is
coming on to me. Deirdre just laughed.
She said, “You’ve still got it, Andrew.”
The woman loves to see me suffer. She knows perfectly
well that there is no danger that I’ll accept these
advances. As a matter of fact, I was deep into Dee Dee when
I told her about the way Doris is acting. I was horny. So
I went over to the house and asked Dee Dee if she wanted to
take some time off from presidenting or whatever the hell it
is she does.
She said, “Andrew, I’m a busy woman. Can’t this wait
until a more appropriate time?”
I knew she was yanking my chain. She loves to see me
suffer. I said, “Deirdre, there will never be a more
appropriate time than the present. It’s as appropriate as
it is ever going to get. It’s extremely fucking
appropriate! Just put the ‘out to lunch’ placard on your
door and let’s go upstairs.”
She said, “Sweetie you are so romantic. You just sweep
a girl right off of her feet.”
I was getting desperate. “Baby, I really need you
right now. Come upstairs and I’ll tell you about it. But I
know I’ll be a lot more comfortable discussing it while we
are doing our Vulcan Mind Meld thing.”
I could see that Dee Dee was pleased with my
discomfiture. “Really, Andrew, I can’t remember when you
were so eager for me. I remember a night back in Cleveland
many years ago when you practically raped me. You were so
impatient! Sometimes I like that. Oh, well. I suppose the
world can wait on my next executive decision. Let’s go
upstairs, sweetie, and scratch that itch.”
I guess I was practically dragging her upstairs. We
got in our bedroom and I attacked her. I couldn’t help it.
Her clothes were flying. My clothes were flying. I picked
her up and kissed her as I carried her to the bed.
Dee Dee is older now, and she requires a little working
up to become properly lubricated. But I was ecstatic to
note that her juices were already flowing. I’ve still got
it? She’s still got it! The woman is fifty-five years old
and still loves to make love. I think she really likes to
know that she makes me hot.
It’s not something that I can hide from them you know.
We have this thing between us, Donnie and Dee Dee and me.
We feel each other’s emotions. It is a gift that Emmy gave
us many years ago. We are an open book to each other.
She’s fifty-five and already past menopause. I’m forty-
five and still horny. It doesn’t matter. She is still the
same enthusiastic bed partner; still the soft and lovely
girl of my dreams. Age will never wither her beauty; nor
slow down her sex drive, apparently, thank goodness.
She lay on the bed with that Mona Lisa smile of hers,
her soft round little body still lovely after all these
years. She reached out for me and again I answered her
siren call.
This still happens every now and then. I get crazed, I
guess. I have to take her, hard. I get this overwhelming
feeling of possessiveness or lust, one of those. I know
she’s mine. Deep in her soul, down at her most primitive,
primal level, she belongs to only me and always has. Just
as I belong to only her.
I like the way Doris is throwing herself at me, I’ll
admit it. It gets my juices flowing, that’s for sure.
She’s a lovely and sexy young woman. Do I look like a
eunuch? But once the juices are flowing, I go looking for
my wife.
I rubbed my dick around Deirdre’s sexy and soft pussy
lips, just to pick up some of her lubrication. Well, hell,
it felt damn good too! And then I drove it home.
Dee Dee’s eyes glazed over as she felt the force of my
entrance. I couldn’t help it; I slammed into her, making
her, marking her. She knew that this was going to be one of
those fucks. I think she really likes one of those fucks.
My mouth was suckling her left nipple; my right hand
was fondling that wonderful tit of hers. It’s like cotton
candy or clouds or something. Her breasts are so soft, so
light, they practically defy gravity.
Let me parenthetically note that I’ve fondled a couple
of thousand pairs of tits in my life, and none of them ever
turned me on like Dee Dee’s. Well, except for Donnie’s.
They are both the same. I have constant and ready access to
the four greatest tits in the world. And if I’m a very good
boy, sometimes all four at once. Just lucky, I guess.
I was hammering my cock into her, eliciting moans of
arousal and delight from my arousing, delightful wife. I
lifted my mouth from her tit and we kissed. Her lips are as
soft as the rest of her. We were full circle, my mouth on
her lips, my dick buried deeply within her, our souls merged
in our dance of love and passion.
I mean, Doris is one sexy chick and I would be lying if
I said she doesn’t turn me on. But I’ve come to expect my
sex life to be absolutely perfect. Perfection like that
could only be achieved with Deirdre or Donnie. I can accept
no substitutes.
I was having my way with Dee Dee. I guess she was
having her way with me too. Our souls were in synch, but in
these kinds of fucks, these balls-to-the-wall monkey fucks,
our souls played second fiddle to our mutual, seemingly
unquenchable, lust. We were humping like two teenagers on
their first date.
Our lives were centered on the skin-to-skin contact of
my dick and her pussy. Nothing else mattered. Our
intensity increased as our motions became more frenzied,
wilder, more animalistic. She loves me to fuck her this
way. I can feel it. Sometimes she likes my easy going
nature to become subservient to my implacable need. I think
it’s reassuring to her to know that after twenty plus years
I can still be crazed by my desire for only my wives. No
one else will do.
She brought her knees up until they were almost
touching her tits. I drilled deeper within her and she
clawed my back with her approval, with her lust. Suddenly
she was screaming her completion. I felt the spasming of
her cunt and her passion caused me to explode within her.
My pumping semen prolonged her climax as her pussy clenched
around my dick. We’ve fucked maybe five or six thousand
times in our lives and the next one will still be like the
first. She is so sensual, so submissive, so demanding, so
Deirdre. My love for her is so deep that I couldn’t live
without her.
I just held her for a while, basking in the afterglow,
feeling the resurgent shocks passing through my sweet
lover’s body as it fought to come down from her passionate
high. I was still semi-hard so I just stayed inside her.
Being inside Deirdre is one of my two favorite places in the
world to be.
At first her eyes were closed, her face was in that
grimace, that sexual clench she acquires when in the deepest
throes of her most intense orgasms. She calls it death by
fucking. But I looked again and now she was wearing that
beatific smile, the one that makes her look like the most
softly contented woman in the world.
She said, “Thank you, Andrew. That was lovely. I’ll
have to thank Doris Fleming.”
I had to laugh. My wife knows me at the molecular
level. I said, “That woman is all over me, Dee Dee. My
right arm is familiar with every inch of her left tit.
She’s always finding some reason to rub against me, giving
me little pecks on the cheek, stuff like that.”
Deirdre asked, “Is she sexy?”
I said, “Does a cat have an ass?”
She looked confused. “Well, I suppose it does.”
I said, “There you go.”
Jealousy went out the window in our relationship a
long, long time ago. I might have experienced some jealous
twinges with Donnie at one time in my life, but other than
that we just trust each other. Deirdre and I have known
from the beginning that we didn’t have room in our hearts
for anyone else, we are so full of love for each other.
This wasn’t a jealousy thing. I could feel that mostly Dee
Dee was concerned for Doris.
She said, “Perhaps I should talk to her. We don’t want
the poor girl to have any false hopes. On the other hand,
if she just likes to flirt then my philosophy is: whatever
stokes your furnace is okay with me. Is it all right if I
tell her that?”
I said, “Just make sure she knows you are Deirdre and
not Donnie. Donnie is her boss. You are just the beautiful
woman that works next door.”
She smiled that smile, the one that ignites her eyes,
the one that dazzled me from the moment I met her. She
said, “Perhaps I should talk to Donnie first. If it’s all
right with her maybe we can give Doris one of your ‘baby-
making’ sessions, if you know what I mean. The ‘Get Andrew
Laid’ room has been out of commission for an awfully long
time.”
“Don’t even go there, Dee Dee! You’re pulling my chain
again. We stopped those years ago and they are going to
stay stopped. Just tell the woman that if she throws
herself naked on my desk I’ll just look at her
appreciatively for a moment and then go fuck my wife.”
She laughed. Dee Dee loves life like no one I’ve ever
known. “Okay, sweetie. I’ll defuse the situation for you,
bring Doris down as gently as possible. But if she is just
flirting, do you mind if she continues? I kind of like
being ravished every now and then.”
I said, “Are you kidding? She’s a great girl. I love
her flirting with me. Just as long as she knows that it
won’t go anywhere. I mean, she’s married too, isn’t she?
Maybe she just likes to work herself up for her husband.”
Dee Dee looked at me askance. She said, “Andrew that’s
one of the things I love about you. You are so innocent.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
The Year 30
Deirdre’s Story
Sixty-five! We are sixty-five years old. We’ve been
with our sweetheart for thirty years. Where’d they go? It
seems that what we do today just fades from my mind, but
what we did then is fresh and new. We’re getting old.
Not Andrew, of course. He still is a young man by any
standards. His hair is starting to thin just a bit, and
there are a few touches of gray in his sideburns. But he
remains tall, dark and handsome.
Our Andrew is just about the most famous man in the
world. He is the Progenitor. He is loved, he is hated. No
one is indifferent to our Andrew.
He finds it all so amusing, as do I. From his point of
view he has done little to deserve this notoriety. He’s had
sex with a few thousand women who have given birth to
thousands of his offspring, who in turn gave birth to tens
of thousands of his grandchildren. Is it his fault that
every one of them belong to a new species of man? Well, of
course it is. That’s what we were shooting for from the
beginning. But he looks at it more as a lucky coincidence.
He refuses to take credit for being the father of a new
race.
But New Man University, that was his idea. New Man,
Incorporated, that was his idea, too. It is the largest not-
for-profit organization in the history of the world. That
was Andrew’s idea. I believe the man is still fixated on
Joanne Woodward. Long ago Paul Newman started making salad
dressing and giving the profits to charity. So we have
built software. We have out-Microsofted Microsoft. The
little program that Eddy and Edie wrote when they were four
has become the world’s operating system. From the start
Andrew insisted that excess profits be given to charity.
At first it was for policemen. We started small. We
set up a scholarship fund for the children of all of
Georgia’s policemen. Any that were accepted to college were
eligible at first for free tuition, and then later for a
full ride including room and board. As Andrew said, what
were we going to do with all of that money? We had our
home, our family, our little slice of paradise. Anything
more would be obscene.
As the money just poured in, we expanded state by
state. So now the children of any policeman in the United
States can go to any college they can qualify for and it
will cost them nothing.
Of course, Andrew’s devious mind had a secondary
motivation beyond the philanthropy. He knew that as we
grew, as New Man had an ever greater impact on society that
eventually things would come to a head, either with the
government or the religious zealots or both. When that time
came, well at least the police would be on our side. Oh
boy, were they! But that’s a topic for another time.
As New Man U. has expanded over the years to
accommodate more and more students, its footprint on the
land has hardly changed at all. Our sons have delved deeper
and deeper into leading-edge architecture and energy
conservation. So now New Man U. is an underground complex
big enough to comfortably hold a small city. And yet the
local farmers continue to plow their land, hardly noticing
the activity going on barely 20 yards beneath their feet.
I’m afraid that in today’s environment of hand-held
nuclear devices and first resort terrorism, we’ve been
forced to make New Man U. into a veritable fortress. The
witch hunters of the Right consider us to be morally
bankrupt, evil, and a danger to them all. Actually they are
correct about the third point. Their particular brand of
vitriolic hate will never survive in the face of the
unrelenting goodness that is New Man.
The environment disasters that have assaulted the world
in the last fifty years continue to leave everyone’s future
in doubt. Much of the research at the college has been
related to alternative energy sources, efficient food
growth, anything that can reduce the demands that we must
make on the ever dwindling resources of the earth.
And we are doing everything we can to help Europe and
Africa: Europe caught in the throws of a new Ice Age, Africa
experiencing the unending drought. Andrew says that we are
due for a Malthusian reckoning. He just loves to throw
around the word ‘Malthusian’. But I hope he’s wrong.
I’m afraid that our sexual lives have slowed a bit over
recent years. Andrew remains Andrew, always ready and
eager. He still finds us irresistible. But Donnie and I
have been forced to slow down. Goodness, we are sixty-five
years old! We’ve decided the best way to go is to
alternate. Donnie will have her turn, there will be a day
of rest. I’ll have my turn followed by another day of rest.
It’s certainly less spontaneous, but it is still wonderful.
Now each of us only does it about twice a week. Which means
Andrew is getting laid four times a week. That’s not bad
for a fifty-five year old man, is it? From what I
understand, that’s not bad for a twenty-five year old man.
Many years ago Emma joined our souls together. We call
it interactive love. So even if only one of us is joined
with Andrew at a time, the other still shares the emotional
attachment. So our sexual and romantic lives remain full.
It’s just that we are no longer at full throttle as we once
were.
And we don’t have as many of what Andrew refers to as
‘monkey fucks’. The world thinks of him as such a suave and
sophisticated man, but Donnie and I know the truth.
Sometimes I think he is still a teenager. But no, he
doesn’t ravish us like he used to. It’s to protect us.
He’s a sweet and sensitive lover. He fears hurting us.
We’re small boned, and osteoporosis is a real concern.
Goodness me, our memories are fading, our bodies are
falling apart, and still we’re getting laid twice a week.
If that doesn’t keep us young, nothing will.
For those of you who have been following Death by
Fucking from the beginning, you may have wondered what
Deirdre and Donnie Adkins look like. A helpful reader has
gotten hold of a picture of them as they were in their
twenty’s. I’d be glad to email a copy of it to anyone who
may be interested. All you need do is ask.