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Introduction:

Chapter 12 : 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 precedence 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 diagnosis 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. “You’re 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’ve 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.


-- to be continued
8 comments

READERReport

2006-01-09 15:00:09
Out of the mouths of babes about a bloke and a couple of real babes. What a film script!

READERReport

2005-12-31 22:48:52
I'm enjoying the imagination and development of a weel written story although the sex does not make me come like it did in the first few chapters.

READERReport

2005-09-03 02:40:22
reading all the stories they arre fucking hilarious
good sex and man.... this guy can write a good story

READERReport

2005-08-05 16:17:11
DAYS OF OUR LIVES.................

READERReport

2005-02-22 16:42:12
Great story!

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