Death by Fucking © 2003 by Andrew Wiggin
Chapter 14 Scenes from the Year Zero
Andrew’s Story - Meeting Mom
I may look back on this year and say ‘that’s when it
all started’. It might be the year that things changed just
for me. Or it might be the year that things changed for the
whole world.
This might be the Year Zero. This could be our
Genesis. Some future historians will look back and mark
2003 A.D. as the start of the new calendar, the third era of
mankind. Naahh!
If I talk to people about this they will think I am
nuts. They already think I’m nuts, going from no woman to
two women almost overnight.
My Mother! Oh, boy was this a shock to her? I thought
of introducing Dee Dee and Donnie to her separately to
lessen the surprise, make things go down a little more
smoothly. But I realized that she just wouldn’t believe
that there were two different women involved. She would
think I was making some strange joke at her expense, yanking
her chain for no apparent reason.
Now she knows I’m not joking. We walked into the old
homestead up in Canton. It was never much, and it looks
even less now. Mom owns one of those duplex-type houses on
about a half-acre of land. It’s the kind that you own both
halves, but live in one half and rent out the other.
After Dad died, that income came in real handy for Mom.
It’s a nice setup for her, but bringing the girls home to
Mom isn’t an exercise in affluence. One can’t pretend that
my other house is a mansion.
The girls seemed perfectly happy with my old digs. But
‘perfectly happy’ is not the term I would apply to Mom when
I brought these two beautiful but identical girls into her
living room and told her that I was spending the rest of my
life with both of them.
I had called and told her I was coming; told her I was
bringing guests; told her it was very important. I have no
idea what she expected, but I bet it wasn’t this.
Mom greeted us at the door. I gave her a big hug and a
kiss on the cheek, then led all four of us into the living
room. I wanted Mom sitting down for this one. We took
seats, Mom in her favorite chair, the girls on the couch,
and me in the recliner that my Dad used to watch football
games in.
“Mom I want to introduce Deirdre and Donnie Martin.”
Mom looked a little unsure of herself, but smiled and
said “Oh, aren’t you lovely! Are you twins?” She was
always a few cans short of a six-pack.
Dee Dee said, “Yes, Mrs. Adkins, we are. This is my
sister, Donnie, and I’m Deirdre. Please call me Dee Dee.”
Well that was a lost cause. Mom would probably end up
calling them both Dee Dee. She had trouble remembering my
name, and there is only one of me.
I could see Mom was confused – not an unusual state for
her. “Andrew, I’ve always wondered if you would ever bring
a girl home. I’ve never wondered if you would bring two
girls home at the same time. Is there something I should
know?”
Maybe she’s not so dumb after all. It could have been
that both girls were looking at me with a bit of a
possessive air. They appeared serenely calm and lovely. I
on the other hand was a nervous wreck.
“Eh, Mom, Dee Dee and Donnie and I are like, uh, a
permanent thing, if you know what I mean.”
Mom said, “No, Andrew, I don’t know what you mean.
What exactly does ‘a permanent thing’ mean?”
The girls took over, seeing that I was uncomfortable
and coming across as if I were a teenager meeting his girl’s
father for the first time. This was my mother after all.
I’m the one who has to tell her that her son is a pervert.
Donnie said, “Mrs. Adkins, Dee Dee and I have fallen in
love with your son.”
Dee Dee said, “We know it’s unconventional, but it just
happened, and we are too in love with him to end it because
it doesn’t adhere to convention.”
‘Convention’, ‘unconventional’, ‘adhere’ – I wasn’t
sure this was the approach to take with my mother who
sometimes gets confused by Bob Barker on The Price is Right.
But Mom seemed to be following. Maybe it’s a woman thing.
Mom appeared to be catching on. “There are two of you.
Andrew wants you both? Isn’t that a bit greedy, Andrew?
You are both very lovely, but, ahem, isn’t there an age
difference?”
I said “Mom, there isn’t anything you can say that we
haven’t already thought of. We know there’s an age
difference. We know that there are in fact two women
involved. Those are things we are going to have to live
with. I’m very happily living with them right now.”
“You are already living together? Oh my! Are there,
well, are there marriage plans in the future. Please,
Andrew, tell me you only plan to marry one of them. No
offense, ladies.”
The girls smiled that eye-lighting smile of theirs.
Donnie said “Don’t worry Mrs. Adkins, Andrew will only marry
Dee Dee. But I will still be living with him. We are going
to be legal, so don’t worry about that. But I will be
giving birth to your grandchildren too.”
Donnie said the right thing as always. Mom had been
worrying about me for years: no girlfriend, no wife, no
children, no grandchildren. She might have been overwhelmed
by the sudden abundance of girlfriends, but the thought of
grandchildren was enough to slow down the judgment process.
Mom said “Oh. Grandchildren! You girls plan on having
children? I thought that you were perhaps a little old, no
offense, but maybe the biological clock was winding down.”
Dee Dee said, “Mrs. Adkins, we are both pregnant. We
are in our first trimester, but before long you will be a
grandmother again.”
Mom turned to Donnie. “Oh my! Well it appears that a
marriage is in order. Dee Dee, will you be the one marrying
my Andrew? Or will it be the other, what’s her name again?”
Donnie said “It’s Donnie. Me. I’m Donnie. Dee Dee is
my sister and yes, she will be the one marrying Andrew.”
Mom said, “Oh, this is all very confusing, isn’t it.”
She looked at Dee Dee. “How do you feel about your sister
marrying Andrew? Won’t you be jealous?”
Dee Dee said, “I’m Dee Dee and I’m marrying Andrew.
But Donnie won’t be jealous. It doesn’t matter which of us
has the legal document. We are both married to him in our
hearts even now.”
Mom was talking herself into a circle. “You’re both
married to him? Isn’t that illegal? Perhaps you had better
check with a lawyer about all of this. I’m sure I don’t
know what I would do if I had two husbands to take care of.
Andrew are you sure about all of this?”
I said, “Mom, Dee Dee was saying that we may as well be
married, because we are so committed to each other. Get it?
We aren’t married yet. I am going to have a legal document
saying that I am married to Dee Dee. But Donnie and I will
act like we are married because we will be, in our hearts.”
Mom decided to take her usual approach to things that
confused her. She punted. “That’s nice dear. Would anyone
like some iced tea?”
Donnie’s Story
We had our first argument the other day. It was more a
discussion than an argument, I suppose, but there was
certainly a difference of opinion.
Andrew knows perfectly well that Dee Dee and I are
vegetarians. Granted, we will eat seafood occasionally, and
we will eat dairy. We still consider ourselves vegetarians.
We would be pleased if Andrew would join us in this, though
we really can’t force him to do it.
But I suppose we became a bit strident when Andrew went
to the drive-thru at McDonalds and brought home a Big Mac
for his lunch. We of course were having a salad: watercress
and assorted greens with a light dressing topped with
crumbled goat cheese.
Dee Dee was trying to make Andrew understand our
feelings about meat. “Andrew, do you realize the number of
acres it takes to grow beef? Do you know how many more
acres it takes to grow beef than it does to grow an
equivalent amount of vegetables?”
Andrew answered, “No. Do you?”
That wasn’t the right answer. “What I know or don’t
know is irrelevant. You are eating yourself into an early
grave, supporting the worst excesses of corporate America.
This food you are eating is poison! You’re turning into a
junk food junkie, Andrew Adkins!”
Andrew wouldn’t take that lying down. He said, “Now
hold on, little lady. You can say what you want about me.
But you just better watch your tongue about the Big Mac.
I’ll have you know that the Big Mac is America. Many of
life’s greatest moments play out on a stage with a Big Mac
in the background. I’m proud to say that I got a blowjob
while eating a Big Mac. More than one. The Big Mac has
been there for me.
I fully intend to be there for it when Communists and
environmental weirdoes like you attempt to destroy an
American icon!
Did you know that the Big Mac is a semi-official unit
of measure? Did you ever look at a package of food, and it
says there are six grams of fat? Is that a lot of fat? Or
is that just a little fat? I have no idea. What the hell
is a gram? They might as well say that the package of food
has .0000325 metric tons of fat. The number is just
meaningless to me.
But some enterprising newsperson or academic came up
with the concept of using the Big Mac as a unit of measure,
the criteria by which all fat-enriched foods can be
compared. Suddenly everyone knew how much fat we were
talking about. Everyone is familiar with the Big Mac and
its fat content.
So when some nutritional expert says that your little
watercress salad with the water and vinegar dressing and a
pound and a half of crumbled goat cheese has three times the
fat of a Big Mac, then everyone is on the same page!
You might say ‘the hell with it’ and eat the salad
anyway. But you also might realize the insanity of it all
and go ahead and eat three Big Macs instead. Suddenly
you’ve got options, choices. This country was founded on
choices.
It’s people like you who would undermine the very
fabric of America by eliminating the Big Mac, or worse,
turning it into a tofu burger.
When you bad-mouth the Big Mac, you are bad-mouthing
America. Well I am not just going to stand here and listen
to you bad-mouth the United States of America!”
And with that he exited the kitchen and went down to
the den to watch Ohio State play Michigan State while eating
a Big Mac and drinking a beer. As I walked by the den on
the way to the living room, Andrew yelled “Hey Donnie, what
are your plans for half time?”
Andrew has learned to slip sex into every available
waking moment. He is a time schedule juggler par
excellence. Half time of the ball game is one of my
favorite times to have sex.
If it’s a good game, Andrew will plan our orgasms to
start just before the kickoff in the second half. If the
game stinks, then Andrew will with a little encouragement
forget the second half and give someone a good hard fuck.
I really love a bad football game.
Dee Dee’s Story
Andrew is such a dear. He is willing to do just about
anything for us, and being pregnant, we have no qualms about
asking him for anything. That does not include running out
to the grocery store at 2 o’clock in the morning for pickles
and ice cream. I have no idea where that whole thing came
from. I’ve yet to have a craving for pickles. I don’t like
pickles.
But we are eating a lot. My God, I’ve gained thirty
pounds. I am a blimp. So is Donnie. Isn’t it odd that
pregnant we continue to look alike, even to the size of our
waistline?
Andrew is probably happy that our breasts have been
getting bigger, but he won’t admit it. My cup size has gone
from A to B. He was playing baby with me last night. (It’s
just a little game he came up with, where he spends a lot of
time suckling on my nipple, then tries to go back into my
womb, penis first.) Andrew does have issues, but we try to
play along with him. After all, he is trying to service two
horny pregnant women.
Anyway, he was suckling on my nipple (this is a game I
really like), when I mentioned that he must love all the
additional material he has to work with, now that my cup
size has increased.
He repeated that old saw, “Anything larger than a mouth-
full is a waste.”
I wasn’t buying that. “Andrew, why don’t you just
admit that you’ve learned to live with small boobs, but
would prefer something larger? We won’t be offended and we
won’t be surprised.”
Andrew actually laughed. “You two are sure hung up on
the size of your tits, aren’t you? How have you bought into
this American obsession with size? It’s designed to make
women feel inadequate, when they are perfectly adequate.
You, my dear, are the most perfectly adequate woman I’ve
ever met. Your tits are two of your best features. I revel
in your tits. I could live off of your tits. If you don’t
have twins, I plan to use one side myself. If it weren’t
for your eyes, your face, your hair, your ass and your legs,
I would be looking at nothing but your tits all of the time.
Oh, yeah, your back and your shoulders warrant a lot of my
attention too. Did you ever hear that Gallagher line: Why
do women wear a pair of panties but only one bra?”
I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him back to
my nipple. Andrew is one of these people who given the
opportunity can talk and talk and talk. He seems incapable
of winding down on his own sometime. I’ve found the best
way to stop him is to stick my tit in his mouth. It’s
pleasant for both of us. I only hope our baby is half as
eager as Andrew is.
We’ve had an exciting few months together. Andrew and
I got married in a civil ceremony. Even though I was a
church member while growing up, I really have no religious
affiliation at this time. Andrew, of course, is an
agnostic. He claims it is difficult for him to believe in
anything at all, let alone some God-thing.
We were talking to Mrs. Adkins (I still have trouble
thinking of that dear little lady as ‘Mom’.) She mentioned
that he sang in a boy’s choir when he was little. That I
would have loved to see. He had a beautiful soprano voice,
according to her. We even listened to a tape they had made
of the choir. After he had been in the choir a while (he
was 9), his father asked Andrew how he liked it.
Andrew said, “It’s great except for that God thing.”
That’s our Andrew.
So we had a civil ceremony. Donnie was the maid of
honor. We wore the same outfits, the same shoes (Donnie and
I). At some point in the ceremony when the J.P. wasn’t
looking, we casually switched places. No one noticed except
Andrew. He always knows who is who. He was glad. It was
like we were both marrying him. Donnie was the one who got
to say, “I do.”
We spent our honeymoon in Niagara Falls. Since we got
married in Canton to allow Andrew’s mother to attend our
little wedding ceremony, it was only about a four hour
drive. None of us had ever been there, and Andrew thought
the idea was so corny that it was cool (his words) so away
we went.
We rode the boat under the falls and spent the rest of
the time in our hotel making love. It was just a typical
honeymoon.
It’s always been my contention that a honeymoon is not
a time to go someplace special. One spends the whole time
in bed anyway. Why waste time and money going somewhere
that you aren’t even going to have time to enjoy?
Of course, who am I to think such things? A honeymoon
was the last thing I expected to go on.
And yet here we are married to a man we never even
dreamed of. We never imagined this kind of happiness was
possible for us. Our needs were so unusual, and after all,
we were of a certain age. How could we even hope for such
an outcome? And then we found Andrew. I don’t believe in
fate, and I don’t believe that evolution has any
predetermined path. But if neither of those things is true,
then how is all of this possible?
After Andrew quit his job and moved down to Cincinnati
to be with us, we established a firm rule about our sleeping
habits. Andrew would alternate bedrooms, spending one night
with Donnie and then the next with me. It was a simple and
elegant solution. There was only one problem.
None of us liked it. Once you have your husband in
bed, you want him there permanently. I know I did. So did
Donnie. And Andrew complained almost immediately that he
didn’t like not going to bed with whoever he wasn’t going to
bed with that night.
There really was only one solution: buy a bigger bed.
That’s what we did. And from that point forward, we all
slept together. Our rule about male-female only remains
unbending.
And almost all of the time our sex is still just one on
one. In the mornings Donnie and I like to wake Andrew up
with a blowjob sometimes; well, most of the time. But in
the evenings it’s no oral sex for dear Andrew. We wouldn’t
want to tire him out, poor dear. After all, he does each of
us almost every night.
We are two horny pregnant girls. We’ve found this man who
somehow is very good at pleasing two horny pregnant girls
over and over again, night after night, week after week. We
watch a lot less television than we used to.
Andrew’s Story IAM what I am
It occurred to me that standing behind the entire ‘next
generation’ myth is that mysterious organization the
Institute for the Advancement of Mankind. The girls had
told me that it helped the twin families as much as it could
but was running out of cash. We knew its history, but what
is its present?
The girls said that once a year they received a
mimeographed report that listed statistics such as the
number of births in the current year, number of births to
date, and number of current living twins. I asked them if
they didn’t think it a bit odd that this organization was
sending out its report on a mimeographed form. They said
that the thought never crossed their minds.
The annual IAM newsletter listed a Georgia address,
some town called Statesboro. We decided that we should
visit this bastion of the future, the next great hope for
mankind.
It’s something like seven hundred miles from Cincinnati
to Statesboro. That is a trek. I’ll admit that if I hadn’t
been in the same car with two incredibly beautiful women I
might have been bored out of my mind. Instead I spent two
straight days being horny.
We made about 500 miles on Interstate 75 the first day
and stopped somewhere near Atlanta. By the time we got
there I was so horny I had no choice but to monkey fuck both
of my beautiful wives. I mean they sit in that car and make
their little subtle movements. Flashing me some leg then
flashing me some tit, and suddenly I’m trying to look up
someone’s skirt or down her top.
I’m their husband, damn it. You’d think I wouldn’t be
getting a thrill from peaking at them when they aren’t
looking. But I do. They know it and they play me. It gives
them some kind of perverse pleasure to know that they are
driving me nuts. I personally don’t find it that amusing.
So we camped out at one of those vanilla inns that are
dotting the landscape of America. They are all the same.
There was a time in this country when there was character on
the back roads. That was before McDonalds and Burger King,
Taco Bell and KFC, Wal-Mart and Kmart, Comfort Inn and
Hampton Inn and Sleep Inn and every other derivative Inn
name that these guys can think of. They can think of
different names but still end up with the same damn Inn.
You used to drive through a small town in Ohio or
Pennsylvania and see something. There was a town square,
maybe. There were all the nice little locally owned stores
that made up Main Street. There were quirky little
restaurants which had been in the family for forty years.
But then the big chains came in. They built the mall
outside of town where the land is cheap and there is plenty
of parking. They put up the damn strip shopping centers
where the malls wouldn’t fit. They brought in their fast
food places. And for the upscale people they brought in the
upscale food chains to insure you could get the same damn
dinner in Portland Oregon or Portland Maine.
They ripped the guts out of the small towns of
America by underselling the local ma and pa stores till they
were forced to go out of business. Now the center of most
every town has vacancies and charitable organizations where
clothing stores and restaurants used to be. And the
interstate that was brought through to make things easier
just makes it easier for people to bypass the town
altogether.
We are watching the ruination and homogenization of
America. I don’t even mind so much that things are the
same. But why was the bar set so low? Why is this a lowest
common denominator America? What happened to the country
that was once so great, so varied, so original?
I don’t want to get out of bed at my hotel in the
morning and not be able to tell if I’m in Georgia or
Michigan. I don’t want sameness. Fuck sameness.
The next morning we put in a couple of hundred miles I
guess, using the very same interstate highway that I so
detest in theory but can’t avoid using in practice.
Hypocrisy thy name is Andrew. We picked up I16 somewhere
south of Atlanta and took it almost all the way to
Statesboro.
Well the IAM isn’t actually in Statesboro. It’s like
in suburban Statesboro. That’s kind of like saying that it
isn’t in the middle of nowhere, it’s in a suburb of the
middle of nowhere. It turns out that the foundation is
located in the original plantation of the very same Howard
Johns who founded IAM over 160 years ago. I bet it looked
better then.
How was I able to drive right to IAM? One word:
Mapquest. Or is that two words? So we found this obscure
old dilapidated mansion with multiple acres of land, all of
which needed care. The place looked like it had weathered
one too many hurricanes.
There was a large front porch with huge Grecian columns
– with the paint pealing off. By the door was a discrete
sign which read “The Institute for the Advancement of
Mankind” in letters too small to read unless you walked
right up to it. Donnie opened the door.
We walked into the main hallway of this antebellum
mess. Dust was everywhere. The rug which covered the floor
was worn and frayed. There was an open door to our left and
we could see an old desk sitting in the middle of a small
office. Behind the desk was a little old lady with gray
hair held in a bun. Her wire-rimmed glasses gave her a bit
of a John Lennon look. She was wearing a high collared
dress with a crocheted shawl around her shoulders.
I couldn’t begin to guess her age, but she had to be
eighty if she was a day. When she spoke her voice wavered.
Her lips seemed to be stuck together. I wondered when the
last time she spoke was.
“May I help you?” the old lady asked.
I walked up to her desk. “We’re looking for the
Institute for the Advancement of Mankind. I assume this is
it. Could we talk to the person in charge?”
The lady look surprised. “This is the Institute. You
saw the sign didn’t you? What business do you have here?”
She seemed to notice Donnie and Deirdre for the first time.
“Oh, are you two of the twins?”
Dee Dee nodded her head. “Yes, ma’am. We are Donna
and Deirdre Martin. At least we were. Now I am Deirdre
Adkins. And who might you be?”
The old lady replied, “I’m Doris Johns. If you want to
know who runs the institute, you are looking at her.”
I noticed an ancient mimeograph machine sitting in a
corner of the small office. There were several rickety
filing cabinets arrayed across the back wall. A manual
Remington typewriter was perched upon the desk. I idly
wondered how much all of this would fetch on the Antiques
Roadshow.
Doris suddenly moved from behind the desk and it was
then I realized that she hadn’t been sitting down. The
woman was about 4’ 8”.
I said, “Ms. Johns, where is everyone else? Who helps
you with all of this? After all, you send flyers to forty
thousand people.”
“I do it myself, young man. Do ya’ll see anyone else?
I only send out about ten to twelve thousand flyers, since I
send one per pair of twins, and I don’t send any to
children. Their mothers can keep them informed. I do about
1000 a month. That and keeping track of births and deaths
has kept me busy these last sixty years.”
Donnie spoke up. “But mathematically this is getting
worse every year, isn’t it? How will you be able to carry
the increased workload as more babies are born and grow up?
And pardon me for saying so Ms. Johns, but aren’t you
getting on in years?”
Doris cracked a smile. It looked like the expression
was superimposed on a piece of plaster. This is a woman who
rarely smiles. “I’m only eighty-five. I’ve got a few good
years left. But this is a boring job. I’ve always wanted
to go to Disneyland, but I just can’t afford to take the
time off. And there isn’t a lot of money anyway.”
Dee Dee asked her, “Isn’t there anyone else to help
you? Who is going to take your place when you retire?
Really, Ms. Johns, you shouldn’t be working at your age.
You should be enjoying your leisure time.”
Doris said, “Somebody has to do it. Since my husband
died I’m the only one left. I’m afraid that when I go that
will be the end of the institute. Anyway, what are you
doing here? I’ve never gotten a visitor who didn’t want
money. Well, I don’t have any money to give you. I’m
sorry, but it’s all gone. I’ve barely enough to live on and
pay the taxes on this monstrosity of a house that my husband
left me.”
Donnie said, “We aren’t here for money, Mrs. Johns. We
are sight-seeing, really. We just wanted to come here and
see how things were being handled. But it seems to us you
need help. Isn’t there anything we can do?”
Doris actually laughed. It sounded like sandpaper
rubbing across a blackboard. “You can buy me out, that’s
what you can do! Got ya, didn’t I? You didn’t expect that,
did you young lady?”
My mind was whirling. The thought occurred to me that
if this ‘next generation’ thing was going to get off of the
ground, Doris Johns was not the person to get it airborne.
Maybe I wasn’t either, but at least I had a longer life
expectancy.
“Mrs. Johns, what would it take to buy you out? We
might be interested in running the institute ourselves.
After all, we are already part of it.” I didn’t look at
either Donnie or Dee Dee, assuming they were aghast at my
foolishness.
“Well, young man (and what is your name, anyway?) I’m
not so sure. I’ve got to live, you know. I want to do a
bit of traveling since I’ve never been further than Atlanta
to the west and Savannah to the east. And I can’t keep up
this old house let alone take care of the lawns. Make me an
offer. But if you aren’t sincere about running the
institute, then don’t bother.”
I thought it was time to cover my ass. “Sorry for the
lack of introductions. I’m Andrew Adkins. Mrs. Johns, let
me talk to my two associates here before we go any further.
We really just came to see the institute. We hadn’t any
intention of buying it. We’ll go outside and talk things
over, if that is alright with you.”
With that, the three of us went outside and walked
around the grounds. Dee Dee was the first to voice her
concerns. “Andrew, are you out of your fucking mind? How
are you going to run the institute? You don’t even know
what it does. You don’t know what information they have.
What about this house? It looks like it hasn’t been painted
since the depression.”
I said, “But how do you feel about it?”
Donnie actually defended my position. “Andrew might be
right. If we don’t do something, IAM is dead. If IAM is
dead then any chance for the next generation is dead with
it.”
I added, “We’ve got to find out if this little burg can
get high speed internet access. Can’t do it without high
speed access, you know.”
Dee Dee asked “Is that some sort of fetish with you?
We’re thinking about changing our entire lives and you’re
talking about high speed access?”
I tried to be reasonable. “It’s true. We cannot do it
without high speed access. It’s a major consideration,
because our primary method of dealing with the twin
population would be on the internet. I know I don’t plan to
send out ten thousand mimeographed flyers every year.”
Donnie said “Let’s talk money. How much should we be
prepared to offer that little old lady? Let’s face it; this
‘mansion’ here is no prize. It will cost us a bundle just
to make it livable. So Andrew, how much do you have to put
into this?”
I grimaced. “Donnie you know I was just a lowly
computer geek. I’ve got maybe 40 grand put away. How much
do you think the old bat will need?”
Dee Dee and Donnie are the business experts in the
family. I don’t know from nothing related to business.
They, on the other hand, are PhD candidates. I’ve no
illusions related to who should be making the final
decisions about the family business.
Deirdre decided to be less negative. “Right now Doris
has nothing. We have no idea what she has in the bank, but
her only real assets are this tumble-down plantation and the
IAM mailing list. Let’s bargain with her. If we bought the
place outright from her, where would she go? She would have
to turn around and buy another house and try to take care of
it. The woman is eight-five years old. She can’t be
starting a new life like that now.”
Donnie picked up the line of reasoning. “We can make
her an offer she can’t refuse. Let’s give her two options.
Option one: find an assisted living facility where she can
be taken care of and be with other old people. We can pay
for her way into the facility and guarantee the monthly fee
for the remainder of her life. And we could give her enough
cash on top of that to travel a bit as well. Option two:
we can let her stay in this house with us for the remainder
of her life; with free room and board along with a healthy
chunk of cash to let her travel. It seems to me that either
of those options would be far better than her present
situation.”
I said, “How much is a healthy chunk of cash? And how
much is option one really going to cost? Can we afford
option one and still rebuild this old house?”
Dee Dee chimed in. “Let’s talk it over with Doris.
Let’s find out what it will take.”
So we walked back into the house to find Doris back at
her desk, doing whatever she does. We let Donnie repeat
what she had thought of. Donnie finished by saying, “We can
write an air-tight contract so you can be sure that you will
be taken care of for the rest of your life. You can give it
to your lawyer and have him sign off on it. This is an
awfully abrupt decision for us. We certainly had no
intention of trying to take over the institute when we came
down here. But the work you are doing is so important to us
that we are willing to change our lives to make sure that it
continues.”
Dee Dee said, “Doris does any of this appeal to you?
Do you have children? What are your thoughts?”
Doris gave us that granite look with the superimposed
smile. “I have no children. My needs aren’t very great. I
certainly don’t want to live with a bunch of old people.
I’ve always been very comfortable right here, though I will
admit that it needs a bit of repair.”
I said, “Yes it does need a bit of repair. We are very
aware of that fact. But do you like option two then? Could
you set a dollar figure that you would be happy with?”
Doris actually gave us a real smile. “Tell you what
young’uns, Write up your contract. Instead of a fixed
dollar amount, guarantee me two trips a year to any place in
the continental US. Then give me time to think it over.”
Donnie said, “Okay. But let’s make it the Western
Hemisphere. You might want to go to Mexico or the Caribbean
or even Canada. You can watch over us to make sure we are
doing it right. Oh, and Andrew says the deal is contingent
on us having high speed internet access.”
Doris asked, “What’s internet access?”
And that’s how we became IAM. It didn’t cost us a
penny out of pocket! Oh, of course we had to spend over a
hundred and thirty grand to renovate the place. It needed a
new roof. Who woulda guessed?
It had to be painted. The plumbing was designed by the
Marquis de Sade. Yes there was cable access. So we
converted one of the downstairs rooms into a computer
center. We took a wall out between two bedrooms upstairs to
make a room for the three of us.
Yes, by this time we had decided to combine our
sleeping arrangements. It was just too difficult not to
sleep with both of them. I’m not talking sex, I’m talking
emotional comfort. So we have this enormous bed. I sleep
in the middle and Donnie and Dee Dee sleep on each side.
My favorite position is when they both cuddle up to me
with a head on each shoulder. Cuddling two pregnant women
at once is sensory overload in action, especially in the
morning when I wake up to two beautiful girls going down on
me.
Donnie’s Story
We’ve had to make some concessions to our pregnancy,
now that we are so far along. It’s just more and more
difficult for Andrew to be on top, if you know what I mean.
I like being on top myself. My tits are bigger and
more sensitive than they were before. When I’m on top
(especially at the start of our lovemaking) Andrew can spend
much more time taking care of my tits. It feels so good.
I can tell that Andrew is getting nervous about the
impending birth. He’s never been with a pregnant woman
before, and from his perspective we look like we could give
birth at any second. We are big.
Andrew was going down on me. I love it when he goes
down on me. He has an amazing tongue, does our Andrew. He
starts so slowly, licking my thighs, feeling my tits,
avoiding my center until I have to demand that he pay
attention to my pussy. He can be very cruel that way. He
likes to hear us beg.
But when he finally reaches my pussy! It hurts so
good. To feel that long tongue of his sliding deep inside
me! God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world. And
then he starts with my clitoris. He always avoids my clit
until I almost have to force him to pay attention to it.
He was being his typical torturing self, drawing out my
pleasure, avoiding my climax, making me crazy. It suddenly
occurred to me that I could exact a measure of revenge. I
was close, but I knew it was too early from Andrew’s point
of view. He was going to bring me up only to bring me down
a little. It isn’t that I mind so much. After all, when he
does this my climax is beyond belief. But I just wanted to
tweak him a little bit.
He was head first between my legs, licking my pussy,
occasionally sucking my clit between his licks (I love that
one). Suddenly I cried out, “Andrew! My water’s breaking”
He dove off of the bed onto the floor. Perhaps he was
afraid of drowning in amniotic fluid. It was so funny! I
was laughing, my tits were bouncing, Andrew first looked
confused, then angry.
He said, “So your water isn’t breaking, is it?”
I couldn’t stop laughing. “If it makes you feel
better, I have to pee.” And with that I hopped out of bed
and waddled into the bathroom. I did have to pee.
I came back into bed, still laughing. I’m not sure
that Andrew saw the humor in the situation. I made him lie
on his back and climbed right on. And then I had what I’ve
come to think of as a laugh fuck.
Maybe I’m perverted. Or maybe it harkens back to the
first night I met Andrew. We had been caught in the act by
Deirdre as she came out of her shower. That was when Andrew
didn’t even know that I existed.
When he finally understood the situation, that he had
made love to me thinking I was Dee Dee, he started to laugh.
He was still deeply imbedded in my pussy. And Andrew goes
deeper than any man I had known before.
But then he started to make jokes about the situation:
this was a world record for meeting, fucking and coming to
orgasm. It may have been a world record, but meanwhile we
were still firmly linked together by that magnificent dick.
And he was laughing. And I guess maybe I was laughing too.
And the laughter felt so good as his rock hard manhood
massaged the walls of my pussy. It made short stabbing
motions, like little explosions inside me. Right in mid-
laughter I climaxed. That might have been another world’s
record, I don’t know.
It was a laugh fuck. So here we were again, Andrew
inserting that long fat dick of his into my pussy. Well,
perhaps it was me doing the inserting. He was flat on his
back.
Even though he had looked a little foolish diving onto
the floor (very foolish come to think of it), he maintained
his erection. I’m beginning to think it is an aberration of
Andrew’s. No one can maintain an erection like Andrew can.
When he is with us, just a flash of thigh, or perhaps a look
at our derriere, and Andrew is hard. We do play with him
that way. He tortures us with his tongue. We torture him
by making his dick rise and fall. At some point it refuses
to fall, and that’s when the game ends.
It feels so good to be impaled on Andrew’s dick. I’m
just a big fat thing, but Andrew doesn’t seem to mind. And
I was laughing. It was so funny watching him hit the floor.
He’s so gullible sometimes. It’s hard to believe that he
can be so innocent when he is so smart.
I got into a laughing jag. I do that sometimes,
especially now that I’m pregnant. My emotions are a bit out
of control. There I was, riding Andrew, laughing while my
tits bounced (before they couldn’t bounce), and my pussy
jiggled up and down on his enormous erection. How is it
possible to laugh and cum at the same time? Believe me, it
is.
I was laughing, and then I was screaming. Andrew
hadn’t been laughing until then (I think his feelings were
hurt by my little practical joke). But when I screamed,
then he started to laugh. I guess he thought I looked
funny.
God it felt good. His laughter was pushing me higher
and higher. I started squeezing his dick with my pussy,
applying more and more pressure as his dick moved in short
spastic strokes.
I leaned forward and then Andrew’s dick was massaging
my clitoris. I was in heaven! I couldn’t help myself. I
ground against him, our pubic bones tight against each
other. I was trying to maximize the sensation and it was
sensational.
Suddenly Andrew’s hips plunged up, lifting my fat
pregnant body six inches off of the bed, still fully impaled
on his gorgeous cock. It was too much. I was screaming
again. I felt him spurt inside me. I tried to make it
last. I was screaming and grinding, grinding and screaming.
My eyes were closed, my head swinging back and forth. God I
must look like hell.
And then it was over. I collapsed; a huge pregnant
thing on my loving husband’s chest. He put his arms around
me, pulling me tighter to him. He loves me!
I’m fat and disgusting but he thinks I’m sexy. We
cuddled for a long time, just enjoying the closeness. I
love the feel of his skin, so soft and child-like. But
beneath the softness are the muscles of a man. He only
shows his soft side to us.
I knew that later tonight it would be Deirdre’s turn.
I envied her, knowing that she would get to be close to our
lover. I know I’m being greedy. I get more sex than the
vast majority of women. How many women get laid almost
every day of their lives? And get eaten out a minimum of
several times a week? And try every possible sexual
position (currently limited by our pregnant status)?
And there are two of us. By simple mathematics it is
easy to see that Andrew gets twice as much sex as I do. I
just don’t know how he does it. No wonder he’s so relaxed.
If I were him I would be comatose. We’ve got to get what we
can now, because in a few more weeks the sex will have to
stop.
Poor Andrew, cut off in the prime of his life. I hope
he really, really likes blow jobs.