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Introduction:

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. His 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 wont 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 Belle 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.


-- to be continued
4 comments

Anonymous readerReport

2010-04-25 23:39:33
Dude learn not to hate all of corporate America. Yes they did totally ruin the countries in one respect,but in another they provide millions of jobs.

READERReport

2006-03-25 13:49:02
another great storie

READERReport

2004-04-20 17:57:35
Hilarious! I laughed all the way through it!

READERReport

2004-04-08 17:29:11
umm...well...yeah that was terrible

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