Death by Fucking © 2003 by Andrew Wiggin
Chapter 15 Children of the Damned
Andrew’s Story Telempathy
It happened one night. I had been going down on Dee Dee, giving
her one of my patented ‘make her talk’ jobs. Because of her fragile
condition (she is seven months preggers after all) I relented after
only about fifteen minutes of gentle torture and got her off big
time. Her screams could have woken the dead. But it wasn’t the dead
she woke.
I lay there with my head on her enlarged belly. She is
incredibly beautiful pregnant. Her face is aglow. Her tits are
sensitive, her skin radiates health. I hear Donnie and Deirdre
complain about how fat and ugly they are, but they just don’t get it.
They are ravishingly beautiful. Any man looking at them must be
torn between wanting to protect them from harm and wanting to fuck
them senseless. That’s the way I feel every day of my life. I spend
fifty percent of my life protecting them from harm. I spend fifty
percent of my life fucking them senseless. It seems like a fair
trade-off to me.
I was hugging her gently, my head on her protuberant belly when
I felt them. They weren’t kicking. Dee Dee felt nothing physical,
I’m sure. I felt them inside of me. In my head, I guess. It was a
presence. It was two presences. I just knew there were two things
that were touching me, aware of me. I felt like the theme song of
the Twilight Zone should be playing in the background.
Dee Dee didn’t even notice. She was trying to recover from her
most recent orgasm, knowing that there were more on the agenda. But
those orgasms might have to wait.
My life hasn’t been exactly normal since I met Deirdre, but this
took the cake. I suddenly knew that she was having twins. Of course
we expected her to have twins. There is a precedent after all; only
like four generations. But we didn’t bother with ultrasound or any
other means of determining sex or number or children. We opted for
going as natural as possible.
But here were these two motes, these tiny intelligences, and
they were touching my being. Had Dee Dee woken them up with her
screams? Well that’s a hell of a way to come to life: Mom screams in
orgasm, child wakes up.
Is it me? My first reactions were a mixture of awe, wonderment,
disbelief and cynicism. My cynicism derived from the possibility,
nay likelihood, that I was losing my mind. When one’s head is
invaded by two other presences, believe me the surest explanation is
that you’ve gone nuts. All other possible explanations pall on the
probability scale next to ‘you’ve lost your mind’. That one
approaches one hundred per cent, and all the other possible
explanations fall into the realm of ‘not bloody likely’.
I realize that a madman who diagnoses himself has a lunatic for
a doctor. But my gut feeling was that I hadn’t gone crazy. Looking
at my head in an objective way, what had I thought, said, or done
that would indicate that I was losing my mind?
Let’s consider. I had fallen in love with a woman ten years my
senior. I had then fallen in love with her identical twin sister
while still loving the original one. I quit my job from a place
where I was the fair-haired boy to go into business for myself. I
talked my wives (yes, for all intents and purposes, I have two wives)
into accepting responsibility for a 175 year old plantation that
doesn’t grow anything but termites. I took over some obscure
organization that was being run by an eighty-five year old woman,
invested every penny I have along with a fair amount of money from my
wives to fix up a tumble-down wreck of a house, dropped everything
and moved to fucking Georgia of all places. Why would anyone call me
crazy?
I put the ‘I’ve lost my mind’ scenario on the back burner,
willing to listen to my instinct that maybe I wasn’t crazy. If I
wasn’t, then the second most likely scenario is that I was feeling
the presence of my children.
What was I feeling? I tried to analyze it. It wasn’t thought.
It was more like emotion: bewilderment, wonder, mild surprise,
something like that.
It was telempathy. Is that a word? If it wasn’t, it is now.
They were projecting their emotions onto me. It’s a possible theory
anyway. My theory is: these things, these fetuses, these future
people, have no consciousness or at least no conscious thought. All
they can do is feel, am I right?
Perhaps they are conscious in the womb, almost certainly are,
otherwise why the kicking deal? But what could they think? They
have no language. They are in this warm wet place, hearing garbled
noises through a wall of flesh, feeling the beat of their mother’s
heart. They were inside of Deirdre. I speak from experience: they
were in heaven. Let’s face it: it can only go downhill from there.
Does this telempathy only go one way? I can feel them. Can
they feel me? I was already starting to be overwhelmed with emotion.
These motes that had invaded my head, they were my babies! I
was flooded with love, tears were in my eyes. My arms tightened a
bit around Dee Dee’s waist. I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t
want to hurt them. I wanted to hold all three of them to my heart
forever.
I felt their response! They knew what it was to be loved. They
were content. And slowly I felt them leave me. They were going back
to sleep happy.
Deirdre was looking at me. “Andrew what’s the matter? Why are
you crying, sweetie?”
I merely shook my head. I felt it best to sit on this one for a
while. Who knows if it would ever happen again? And why should I
worry Dee Dee about the state of my mental health when she is in her
delicate condition?
I said, “I’m just happy. How couldn’t I be happy? I have the
most beautiful wife in the world, and she’s ready to give birth to
our children. I’m just happy, baby.”
Dee Dee smiled warmly. “I love you, Andrew. I hope you’re
right about children. If it is only one child, I’ll never be able to
lose all of this weight. I feel like a tub of lard.”
I could only respond with the obvious. “You look like an angel.
There has never been a more beautiful prospective mother. You glow.”
She pulled me up to her. We lay side-by-side basking in each
other’s company. This was the woman I had loved at first sight.
Well I had lusted after at first sight. Maybe love didn’t come into
the picture for a day or two. My emotions weren’t exactly under
control back then.
And now she was giving birth to our children. Our emotions had
to be the same ones shared by men and women since the invention of
pair bonding. It’s a primal feeling that the race would continue,
your line will continue. We are fulfilling the primary purpose of
our existence.
I held her to me and we kissed. Again she tasted herself on my
lips. It seemed fitting somehow, completing a cycle like that. We
are forever, Dee Dee and I.
What is extremely weird about our situation is that in an hour
or two I would be with Donnie experiencing the very same emotions all
over again. Talk about your Déjà vu?
Would Donnie’s babies also be telempathatic? Hey, I’ve got to
develop a whole new word structure here. Not to digress, but I could
become famous as the man who introduced the term telempathy to the
world. Yes, some people talk of telepathy as if it might exist. But
I’ve got something real that does exist and no one has thought of it
yet. Well if they thought of it, nobody told me. I better pass it
through my spell-checker before I make any claims.
Anyway, what of Donnie’s babies? Are there two? Are they
telempathatic? Why would they be? Why wouldn’t they be? Is this
part of the ‘next generation’ or have the dice just come up sevens
for Dee Dee and I?
If it is a genetic thing related to the way Dee Dee and I mixed
our DNA at the time of conception, then what is the likelihood of
Donnie’s and my DNA mixing the same way? Not very, I would imagine.
But maybe this is a trait that breeds true. Had you thought of
that? (Damn I’m sounding more and more like those two women every
day, if you know what I mean.) What if whatever combination of genes
that has apparently developed within Deirdre is the natural result of
the combination of our gene sets, rather than some fluke of nature,
some aberration, some mutation?
That would answer a lot of questions. Well, it would create a
lot more questions than it answers, but it would answer some
questions that have been in my mind for quite some time. The biggy
is: how can I tell them apart?
Yes, that is a question that has bugged me for a while. I don’t
do anything special. I haven’t noticed any blemish on one twin that
isn’t on the other. They are both blemish-free in my eyes.
No one in their lives has ever been able to tell them apart
before, not even their parents. How bad is that? But I can. I can
tell them apart. Without even thinking about it I can tell them
apart. Do we have a seed of empathy between us, so deeply ingrained
that we don’t even know that it exists? Is that it?
And is that seed set to grow even more empathy in our offspring,
empathy to the point of telempathy? This is an interesting
development, assuming it is a development. IAM might be breeding for
intelligence and might end up with telempathy on top of it. How do
you like them apples?
Of course, this is just a theory I’m working on. Hey, I’ve only
had one experience with Dee Dee’s babies. I still haven’t
established my own sanity yet. That will be the first test. Then
let’s see if I can feel Donnie’s babies. Well, that still won’t
establish my sanity, will it? Rather the opposite, I should think.
There’s only one thing for me to do now. Give Dee Dee those
promised orgasms. The rest will have to wait.
Donnie’s Story
It was late Sunday morning when my water broke. I was in the
bathroom performing my morning rituals when it happened. Strangely,
I wasn’t nervous or scared. I calmly went downstairs to inform
Andrew and Deirdre.
Andrew was in the den watching the pre-game hype. I knew that
he had his Heineken in the refrigerator and was thinking about making
his noon-time run to McDonald’s for his Big Mac. He has habits that
he lives by. Today they would have to wait.
“Andrew, my water broke. We need to go to the hospital.”
He looked at me with a confused expression on his face. “Your
water broke? Are you sure?”
I said, “Andrew it’s hard to miss something like that.”
He was in denial. “But it’s Sunday. The Browns are playing the
Ravens! It’s a grudge match! These kids won’t be born till
tomorrow, right?”
I said to him, “Go call our doctor. Tell him what happened, and
then ask him what we should do.” Let the doctor take the
responsibility of blowing off the Ravens and the Browns. You would
think that since we are in Georgia he would want to root for the
Falcons.
I was headed to the kitchen to tell Deirdre when I bumped into
her coming the other way. We both said, “Guess what! My water
broke!”
We hugged each other and laughed. Tears were streaming down our
faces. I told Dee Dee, “You tell Andrew, will you? He’s going to
have a heart attack, and he’s going to miss his football game.”
Dee Dee waddled into the den with me waddling behind her. She
said, “Andrew, our water broke.”
Andrew said, “What is this, an epidemic? Are you sure? This is
Sunday, you know.”
Dee Dee laughed. “Andrew, get a grip. We’re having a baby!
We’re having babies. Today; do you get it? You’re going to be a
father today.”
We have different ways of dealing with our Andrew. Deirdre has
him wrapped around her little finger. He’ll do anything she wants
almost without question. I handle our relationship with laughter.
He does anything I want too, come to think of it. Maybe he’s wrapped
around my finger too.
Anyway, she convinced him to take our impending deliveries
seriously. He called our doctor, who told him to take us to the
hospital where she would meet us.
As we got into the car, Andrew said, “Doesn’t it strike you as a
bit odd that both of you had your water break at the same time?”
Dee Dee and I looked at each other. We’ve always done
everything together. We get our periods together. Why shouldn’t our
water break together? Such was our assumption. Andrew felt
differently.
“Did it occur to you that perhaps both sets of children want to
be born together?”
I laughed. “Andrew, you’ve had some unusual theories in your
life, but that’s the strangest.”
He looked smug. “We’ll see. We’ll see.”
We were over an hour from the hospital, Memorial Health in
Savannah. We checked in, and I guess there was more than a little
consternation on the face of the check-in person. Maybe they aren’t
used to having identical twins deliver at the same time. All our
papers were in order so we went right up to the women’s services area
and prepared ourselves.
We needed to be in the same delivery room. We had made
arrangements through our doctor to arrange that, even though it was
most unusual. We didn’t know that we would deliver at the same time,
but both of us need Andrew to be with us.
I’m not one to have my husband wait in the hall, smoking
cigarettes and feeling miserable. Well, the hospital doesn’t allow
smoking and anyway Andrew doesn’t smoke, uh, cigarettes. And I don’t
want him being miserable. And I need him with me. And so does
Deirdre.
We planned on natural childbirth. We’d all been to the classes.
We read the books. We watched the videos. We weren’t a bit
concerned. And our doctor was quite satisfied with the progress of
our pregnancies.
We went through the process, the dilations becoming greater as
the frequency of contractions increased, just as all mothers go
through the process. Andrew was looking at the clock, calculating
the amount of time gone by in his precious ball game.
But time passed, we were suffering just a bit. One should
suffer a bit during these times. It makes the experience more
starkly real. Too much suffering makes it too real. We were in a
birthing unit, with parallel birthing beds.
Andrew’s opinion was that we should remain upright for as long
as possible to allow gravity to help with the process. I think he
read that in some science fiction book so it must be true.
And then they started popping out. Andrew was between us,
holding a hand of each of us. Dee Dee gave birth first. It was a
girl! Shortly thereafter I gave birth. It was a girl! Not too long
after that, Dee Dee gave birth again. It was a girl! Then I gave
birth again. It was a girl!
As each baby came out, the doctor placed her on our naked
breasts and allowed us to talk to her, comfort her, warm her. Then
they took the tiny little thing to be cleaned, dried, weighed, and
wrapped in a blanket. Andrew sat on a chair and waited. Each baby
was crying as the nurse was cleaning her. Since Deirdre and I were
still in labor, the nurse took each of the first two babies and gave
them to Andrew, one in each arm.
They cried the entire time they were with the nurse. But as
soon as they were in Andrew’s arms, they quieted right down. The
nurse was amazed. Here was this large, lovely boy holding two tiny,
tiny babies. The little ones seemed perfectly content in those
loving arms. They must take after their mothers. Those are the arms
I want to die in.
Andrew didn’t say anything to the babies. He held them and
looked in their eyes, although it is my understanding that new-born
babies can’t track with their eyes for a while after birth. They
just seemed to be comfortable with him.
When our second batch was prepared by the nurses, Andrew gave a
baby each to Dee Dee and me. They were as identical as peas in a
pod, and I certainly was unsure which baby was which.
But Andrew just handed one to me and said, “This is Edie.”
Then he handed the other baby to Deirdre and said, “This is
Emma.”
He seemed to know and I believed him. We had agreed on the
names Edie and Edda. Deirdre and Andrew had decided on Emma and
Elle. I think the Elle name had something to do with a particular
fashion model Andrew favors.
The nurse handed our second pair to Andrew. Again they calmed
right down and seemed content just to be held by our beloved. The
nurse was shaking her head: four babies, all identical, from two
different, identical mothers. It was a most unusual birthing.
Andrew came over between the two of us. He leaned over and
kissed Deirdre. Then he leaned over and kissed me. He put
everything he had into that kiss, because exhausted as I was, I still
felt it to my soul. All I wanted to do was sleep.
Dee Dee’s Story
Something strange is going on with Andrew and the children.
They absolutely never cry when he is near them. What kind of a spell
has he cast over them? They adore him, and yet he barely speaks when
he is around them. They just have a rapport that I don’t understand.
Andrew not speaking is a major turn of events from our point of view.
With Donnie and me they act like normal babies. Poor Andrew
must get up every night to get the babies for feeding time. We are
lucky that all of them are on the same feeding schedule. How likely
is that?
So Andrew brings them to us. We apply one to each breast and
let the feeding frenzy begin. Andrew helps with the burping process,
the girls eat their fill, and then Andrew puts them back to bed.
They are all so beautiful and all so identical that Donnie and I
have no idea which two we are feeding. Andrew assures us that he is
giving each of us our own babies, but we only have his word for that.
Not that it matters. We long ago decided that we would be group
mothers. I may have given birth to Emma and Elle. Donnie may have
given birth to Edie and Edda. And I mean may. We have no idea who
gave birth to who. It doesn’t matter anyway, because we are the
mother of each of them.
But Andrew claims to know. He tells them apart, he confidently
picks them up and calls them by name. Who knows? Maybe he can tell
them apart. I think he may have talents that Donnie and I never
guessed at.
But it would be nice to know exactly what is going on here. We
have five month old babies who think the world revolves around their
father. Their mothers are merely their food source.
I finally decided to force the truth out of him. There is
something he isn’t telling us. I don’t know what and I don’t know
why. I just know.
I confronted him after the morning feeding. The babies had
stayed up for almost two hours, then Andrew put them back to bed. He
touches them on the forehead as he places them in the crib and they
fall right asleep.
I made him sit with us. We were still in bed, Donnie and I.
These feedings at all hours of the day and night are a bit trying.
Of course, Andrew is right there with us, and yet he never seems to
be tired.
I asked him, “Andrew, isn’t it about time you told us? We are
your wives, you know.”
He looked surprised. I know that look. It’s his ‘I’m
surprised’ look when he was really not a bit surprised. “Told you
what, Dee Dee?”
I was a bit touchy. I’m tired. “Andrew, don’t make me go
through this again. You always know exactly what I’m talking about
before I even ask the question. Yet you play innocent as if you have
no idea where I am going with it. Do we have to torture you, or are
you just going to spit it out?”
He was reluctant, I can tell. It was as if he thought we
wouldn’t like the answer. But Andrew could never keep anything from
us.
“Deirdre, do you think I’m insane?”
So he wants to play it this way, huh? Okay, I’ll play. “No
Andrew, we don’t think you are insane. Does that make you feel
better?”
He forced the words out. “The girls and I understand each
other.”
“We know that. We just don’t know how or why. We’ve been with
you a whole lot longer, we’re thirty-six years old, we’re doctoral
candidates, and we don’t understand you. How can four five-month old
babies understand you?”
He said “I think they know me on a molecular level. Something
like that anyway. We’ve been in contact with each other since two
months before they were born. Seriously. Dee Dee, you remember the
time. We were engaged in a little hanky panky of the oral kind. I
had just ‘made you talk’ so to speak. Afterwards you thought I was
upset. I was upset. I had just been in contact with Elle and Emma
while they were in the womb. It was just about that time that Edie
and Edda ‘woke up’ as well. And I’ve been with them ever since.”
“It’s an extension of my ‘chemical attractors’ theory, I think.
It has to do with you and me and Donnie having this attraction that
seems to go beyond logic, beyond reason. Well I think that the
genetic makeup of the three of us combined in such a way that the
girls and I have a biological rapport, the ability for our minds to
touch, somehow. Who am I, Uri Geller or John Edwards? I know what
happens. I don’t know why.”
Donnie said, “Well what happens?”
“I can feel their emotions. I call it telempathy. We are in
some sort of empathetic rapport with each other. They feel me when I
try to project to them. Maybe they feel me before I try to project
to them. How should I know? We’re talking about five month old
babies who have yet to say ‘mama’. I certainly can’t have a
discussion with them about empathetic projection, now can I?”
Donnie and I were both flabbergasted; and maybe a bit skeptical,
given the nature of the claim. We’ve been aware of the rapport
between Andrew and the girls. Well this explanation is as good as
any. But he knew them before they were born? Please.
“So how do you keep them from crying?” Donnie asked.
“I just try to project a feeling of love and comfort. I let
them know that we understand what they want and are going to give it
to them. It’s my understanding that young babies cry to let their
mothers know they need something. They usually cry until they get it
– food usually. But the girls know that what they need is coming and
don’t need to cry anymore. That’s my theory, anyway.”
Donnie and I were both moving our mouths but nothing was coming
out. Finally I spit out, “My God! No wonder they calm down when you
are with them. But how? How does it work?”
Andrew had seven months to figure this one out. Knowing him he
has a theory. I just can’t believe he kept quiet about it for so
long.
He said, “Sorry for holding out on you, but I wanted to be sure
you saw there was something going on between the girls and me before
opening up with you. I didn’t want the guys with the little white
coats to come and take me away.”
“I’ve read stories about telepathy, things like that. The
explanation is always that man only uses a small percentage of his
available brain power. Since from an evolutionary point of view,
that is an impossible proposition – if we didn’t need it, it would
never have evolved – they further claim that telepathy (or whatever
other special power is being used) was once used by man but then
lost, though the ability remained, just lying dormant.”
“Naah! Sorry, but I just don’t buy that explanation. Those
people who say that man only uses a small percentage of his available
brain power are banking on the fact that science is still learning
about the brain. Just because we don’t know what a part of the brain
is used for, doesn’t mean it isn’t being used. Besides which, I’m
pretty sure that current science has closed a lot of the gap about
brain utilization. What they thought was just extra capacity back in
the 1950’s now is something vital and obvious in 2004.”
“So where does that leave me and the kids? Have you ever heard
of the term ‘exaptation’? It’s a term that refers to something that
evolved to perform one function, then was seized upon to be used for
an entirely different function. The classic example is bird’s
feathers. How could bird feathers evolve? When the first birds or
semi-birds flew, they already had feathers. Evolution doesn’t plan
in advance. Evolution doesn’t plan at all. So how could birds
evolve feathers for flight before they had flight?”
“The obvious answer is: feathers weren’t evolved for flight.
They were evolved to provide insulation, maybe, keeping the animal
warm. It was only later that one of those creatures that had evolved
feathers – a dinosaur of course – happened to work its way to a point
where it started to fly. The feathers made it easier, but they were
there for a totally different purpose.”
“Now let’s talk humans. Did you know that man is the only
mammal that can’t drink and breathe at the same time? Well, there is
an exception, and you see it about every four hours. Babies can
drink and breathe at the same time. But after about the age of two a
human’s larynx drops down and suddenly we can’t drink and breathe –
one or the other, not both. Now what kind of an adaptation is that?
It doesn’t make much sense. It seems kind of counter-evolutionary to
make man vulnerable like that.”
“But guess what. Because the larynx is low in the throat, man
can make sounds that other animals are incapable of making. We can
make the complex noises that developed into human speech. Other
animals can make a limited range of noises, but man’s ability to
create noise is limitless.”
“So the larynx dropped in order to facilitate human speech,
right? Wrong, probably. The larynx dropped hundreds of thousands of
years before speech was developed, probably. Sorry for all of these
‘probablies’, but I’m on shaky ground here. As far as I know,
paleontologists can only guess why the larynx dropped. But because
it did, later humans were able to use it for the purpose of speech,
regardless of its original evolutionary function.”
“Now you see where I’m going with this, I bet. The ability to
use telempathy (if that is what we are using) is an exaptation. The
almost limitless functionality of the human brain has developed
another function, using a portion of the brain that was developed for
another purpose altogether, maybe combining several sections of the
brain to create this new functionality.”
“How the hell should I know, Dee Dee? You want a theory, I give
you a theory. I know I don’t want to make this information general
knowledge or the CIA or NSA or the White House will descend upon us,
dissect one of the babies’ brains (or worse, dissect my brain) and
put the rest of us in solitary confinement until they figure out how
to use this as a weapon against their enemies, foreign or domestic.”
“If this information ever comes out, it will be at a time of our
choosing. If this function breeds true, that is if all of our
descendants have this ability, we will wait until it’s a fait
accompli. There will be so many of us that we can fight back. They
can’t stop us and they need us.”
“How’s that for a theory?”
Donnie and I were looking at each other in wonderment. Andrew
never ceases to amaze us. How did we link up with this person? If
he isn’t the ‘next generation’ there is none. As usual, Andrew’s
theory included consequences and responses to consequences. Our
lovely boy always thinks several steps ahead.
Donnie asked him “How do you know that it isn’t telepathy? The
children don’t have language yet, so how do you know that when they
start to think in words you won’t be able to hear each other?”
Andrew just shook his head. “Yeah, I’ve wondered about that one
too. Are these girls going to be able to read my mind? How do you
feel about a one year old using the word ‘fuck’ in every other
sentence? I’m embarrassed to admit that I think the word a lot more
than I say it.”
Donnie and I just started to laugh. Our babies are going to be
corrupted by our husband! If they have access to any mind in the
world, his is the one we would want them to have access to. Maybe
they will be able to figure him out.
Andrew’s Story Little Ones
Emma and Ella, Eddie and Edie: two sets of twins that could be
quadruplets. No one else can tell them apart, not even their
mothers. Me, however, I have no problem with any of them.
We’ve got something going, those four little angels and me. I
knew it when they were in the womb. They could sense me. They read
me like a book even then, and I could feel them responding to me
somehow. It was telempathy.
Now they are two years old, precocious to a fault; the kind of
kids you want to hug one minute and then ring their pretty little
necks the next. And the little tykes can read my mind. It’s very
disconcerting.
The other day we were just out for a drive. Donnie stayed home
to do some work. We strapped all four little ones into their car
seats in the back seat of that monster car we were forced to buy to
accommodate them.
We were riding down the road, and I was minding my own business.
I never said a word, I swear, when some guy passed me in the passing
lane, dove right in front of me and then slowed down.
I like to drive with cruise control. It relaxes me. Nothing
pisses me off more than to be forced to hit the brake because of
someone else’s irresponsible driving. But I kept my mouth shut. I
never said a word.
A little further up the road we came to a light. Mr.
Inconsiderate was making a left hand turn so we pulled up beside him.
That’s when Emma rolled down her window turned to the other car
and yelled “YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!”
Mr. Inconsiderate just gaped at the blonde haired angel with the
dimples who was giving him the finger. I quickly pulled away as soon
as the light changed.
Ella said, “Mommy, what’s a fucking idiot?”
Dee Dee was looking daggers at me by this time. She said,
“That’s anyone driving a car directly in front of your father.”
Of course, that’s when Eddie had to come out with “Mommy, why
don’t you pull up your skirt so Daddy can look at your pussy?”
Dee Dee’s turned bright red. I thought she was going hit me. I
swear I never said a word. I was trying to will my little girls to
cut it out, quiet down, get off of it.
Edie asked “Mommy, what does ixnay, ixnay mean?”
I threw my hand up in the air in surrender and just gave Dee Dee
an apologetic look. Hey, I think what I think. It’s my opinion that
if you don’t actually say it, then it doesn’t count. Of course now I
have four little cherubs who like to repeat every thought that goes
through my fucking head.
Emma decided to compound the problem. “Mommy, are you horny
too?”
Ella, as always, asked “What’s horny?”
Dee Dee finally couldn’t resist and broke out laughing. Whew!
I was getting a little uncomfortable there. I saw her slowly inch
her skirt up and start to spread her legs until I could see ALL the
way up. God, she wasn’t wearing panties! I tried to keep the car on
the road, but it wasn’t easy.
My favorite little tattletale, Emma asked “Mommy, what’s a
fantastic piece of ass?”
Eddie chimed in “What’s a pussy, Mommy?”
Edie said “Daddy’s getting hard again.”
I pulled the car over and came to a halt. I turned around to
these four little things who continue to drive me nuts and said “Will
you get out of my head!”
I’ve just got to find a way to keep these kids away from my head
or I’ll never be able to get away with anything. What a horrible
thought.
Emma said, “Daddy’s only fun to be with when you’re not around,
Mommy. When you’re around he only ever thinks about getting laid.”
I said “Emma how old are you?”
She said “I’m two years old!”
I said “Do you want to live to be three?”
“Yes.”
“Then shut the hell up!”
Ella said “Oh, Daddy said a bad word! Shame on you!”
Help me God. Please help me.
Donnie’s Story
I love spending time with Andrew and the children. When the
children are around, Andrew doesn’t say much. The children do his
talking for him. It’s very funny. Andrew seems to be resigned to
it.
When the girls started talking at eighteen months, they were
speaking in complete sentences. I’m not sure how much they
understand of what they say, but they say quite a lot.
We were in the den on a Sunday afternoon. Andrew was watching
the ball game as usual, with a Big Mac and a bottle of beer. He
acknowledges his own shortcomings related to the Big Mac. He knows
he shouldn’t be eating it. But it’s a tradition. Andrew takes his
traditions seriously.
The girls were on the floor of the den, playing with some Legos.
They are four lovely little ones with blond hair, blue-green eyes,
and dimples. Their voices are so sweet when Andrew’s words come out
of them that it’s almost shocking.
I’m afraid that Doris has been left speechless more than once
when Emma dropped a four letter word in front of her. Emma is the
troublemaker amongst our daughters. I’m sure she knows what she
should and should not say. She just loves getting a reaction from
us. That’s the reason she is the only one I can pick out among the
four of them. It’s not how she looks, it the way she says things.
Andrew has finally started to watch the Falcons. His devotion
to the Browns verged on self-destruction.
So we were in the den, Andrew watching the game, the girls
playing, me watching them all.
Emma was trying to put two pieces together when she yelled
“Throw the fucking ball, Michael!”
Another one said “Why should Michael throw the fucking ball?”
A different one answered. “If he gets hit he might get hurt.
Then the Falcons would be the same as the fucking Browns.”
Andrew’s mouth never opened. His eyes never left the TV. He
acted like he was oblivious to all of this.
One asked me, “Momma, what are you doing at half-time?”
I looked at her. What was I supposed to say? “I’m doing
whatever your father wants to do at half-time, just as always.”
Emma said confidently “They’re going to get laid.”
Andrew finally spoke up. “Emma, you’re embarrassing your
mother. I’ve told you about that. Do us a favor, will you? Leave
us alone at half-time. Go bother Momma Dee Dee. I’m sure she will
love to have four little brats annoying the hell out of her for half
an hour. You can come back and annoy me after the half.”
Emma said, “We don’t annoy you Daddy. You think we’re funny!”
Daddy said, “But you will annoy me if you don’t let Momma Donnie
and I alone at half-time, won’t you?”
Emma smiled. “Don’t worry, Daddy. We’ll take care of Momma Dee
Dee and you can take care of Momma Donnie.”
She is a precocious little brat. I can’t wait till she is a
teenager and starts to date. Then we are going to embarrass her so
much! Until then I’ll have to grin and bear it.
Half time finally arrived. It was a close game, so I knew that
we only had a half an hour. Andrew never likes to miss the second
half of a close game.
The girls went out to the kitchen where Dee Dee was puttering
around making dinner. Doris had come out of her cave for a change
and was sitting at the table, occasionally offering criticism of
Deirdre’s methods. When the little ones went running into the
kitchen, Doris made a hasty retreat. Dee Dee probably breathed a
sigh of relief. Doris can be a bit of a trial when she thinks we
aren’t doing something right.
Andrew took my hand and we kissed. It’s always like the first
time when we kiss. Well, not exactly the first time. It’s always
like the first time after Andrew knew who I was. He puts so much
love into his kisses. We have the little ones draining our energy,
but there always seems to be enough energy left over for love.
The children just don’t bother Andrew a bit. I mean they aren’t
a strain for him. He lets them play in his office as he programs.
They are with him almost from the moment he gets up until the moment
they go to bed. They want to be around him and he loves their
company.
It makes it easier for Dee Dee and me to survive. Most mothers
of twins are worn to a frazzle. We have essentially quadruplets, and
still are pretty calm, relatively well rested. I think it’s a
conspiracy between Andrew and the children so that Andrew can
continue to have plenty of sex. The man is insatiable.
But it is because of us, Deirdre and me. He finds us
irresistible. I’m starting to believe him: we are irresistible. At
least for him, we are irresistible. We don’t care what other men
think.
It took us months to get our bodies back to where they were
before. Our weight is back down to 108, right where it was before we
got pregnant. We have stretch marks, but Andrew likes them, he says.
Makes us look lived in, he says.
Isn’t it odd that even our stretch marks are almost identical?
Dee Dee and I are joined at the hip, figuratively.
Andrew and I went into the bedroom. When we are alone together,
Andrew is like a poet of love. He speaks so eloquently of his love
for me. He makes me feel like a princess. This young boy who is our
lover cares for us so. I always feel like I live in a cocoon of
love.
We slowly undressed each other. His chest is beautiful. There
is barely any hair on it, and yet it is so defined and muscular.
He’s a very strong man, but with us and the babies he is so gentle.
I’ve seen him exasperated, I’ve seen him frustrated. But I’ve
never seen him angry. He will not lose his temper with any of us.
Deirdre and I are a bit more mercurial. We have yelled at him upon
occasion, usually in regards to his eating habits. But Andrew never
yells.
When our clothes are off, Andrew picks me up in his strong arms
and carries me to the bed. I feel like a child in his arms,
protected and loved. And horny. Do children feel horny? I don’t
think so.
He stands by the bed holding me in his arms. One hand starts to
explore my body, feeling by bottom, working its way behind my knees,
massaging my thighs. His touch leaves fire wherever it passes.
He places me down on the bed and crawls beside me. He must have
more than two hands, because they are everywhere. My body strains
against his, trying to increase our areas of contact. His skin is
soft and smooth, wonderful.
His hands are playing with my breasts, now restored to their
lowly ‘A’ cup size. He doesn’t seem to mind. He seems to love our
breasts.
I love it when he tweaks my nipple, then takes it into his
mouth. My body arches to go deeper. It’s an involuntary reaction.
By now most of my reactions are involuntary. Andrew has total
control of my body and he takes me wherever he wants me to go.
I am wet and wanting, needy. I can hardly stand it. I need him
to put his hard cock into me. It feels so huge, so filling as it
slides in slowly. Somehow he knows how to rub my clitoris as he
rocks himself in and out of me.
We start with a slow and loving rhythm, but as the pressure
mounts our movements quicken. I feel that huge thing slamming into
me. Andrew has cupped my chin with one hand as he draws my lips to
his. We are kissing, his tongue playing with mine.
His control is unbelievable to me. I have no control. I am
under his control. He drives me wild with his lovemaking. I am
building to a peak so quickly! Oh God, how I love him! I’m
screaming. My climax is immense. I’m on the verge of passing out.
I feel him ejaculate deep inside my pussy. It triggers another
climax from me. I can’t take anymore. I collapse on the bed,
exhausted and satiated. He makes me so happy.
Andrew kisses my nose, then my eyelids, then my cheeks, and
finally my lips. He says, “Thank you baby. What are you doing after
the game?”
I groaned. “I’m looking after the children. Go ask Dee Dee
what she’s doing.” A woman can only take so much.