Death By Fucking Ch 11

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.