Chapter 6

I awoke just after noon in a bed of pregnant wives, and one no longer pregnant wife, and a baby nestled in front of me. His blue eyes captured mine. I worried I would roll over on him when I slept. Eva reminded me she would be vigilant about that. But she wasn’t being vigilant. She slept.

“What?” I murmured.

“Ssh,” Helena sounded behind her. “Let her sleep.”

“But...”

“You didn’t awake when the baby bawled. She did and fed him before sleeping again.”

“But...”

“She’s mortal, Joe, like we will be.”

“But she recovered so quickly,” I managed to say.

“I think we’ll be mortal, but not quite like humans. Perhaps it was a lingering connection between Junior and her, but I think it’s more like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think we’ll be resilient to injury and sickness, like you are. I think we’ll age slower, but we will age. Someday, who knows how long, our hearts will give out. Other things, violent things, could kill us. We could bleed out. But that won’t happen, unless the world becomes chaos. We will be protected.”

“Minions?”

“I think so.”

“But won’t we lose them when we lose their connection to the eternal wanderers?”

“Try connecting,” Eva murmured.

“Sorry to wake you,” I said.

“It’s okay,” she smiled. “I never thought I’d miss sleeping, but it’s so ... relaxing,” she giggled. “And the wild juxtaposition of dreams. So...”

“Surreal?”

“Of course they’re surreal. That’s supposed to be what surrealism is. But I was thinking more ... unhinged. A release from the bland phenomenology of everyday life.”

“Has your life ever been bland?”

“Nor for a while,” she grinned. “Still...” Her stomach growled. “Shit, I’m hungry!” she exclaimed.

My wives and I laughed. Shira offered to make breakfast, hopping out of bed gracefully somehow. Despite being mortal, she seemed to move easier with her burden than the others. Of course she had a month less time being pregnant, but her well trained dancer body managed to adapt to its significant change, going with the flow I guess.

“Shouldn’t you...” I started.

“I’m fine,” she chuckled, hiding her sexy bulging ebony body in a diaphanous robe, so not really hiding it, and proceeded to make a feast of eggs, bacon and waffles.

Since everyone was awake and Shira worked on the other side of the loft, we no longer whispered.

“Who should I contact?” I wondered out loud. Choices like Seraphine or my dad seemed too connected. Other reasons might allow the contact.

“Try Bob,” Helena suggested.

As far as I knew, Bob had no other influence than Simon. To be certain, I concentrated exclusively on my baby as conduit and power source like I had when he remained inside Eva. “Uh,” he sounded, and his amazing eyes went a little wider, but he revealed no other response. He felt something, but nothing disconcerting. I closed my eyes and found Bob midway through a lengthy day of internship. A baguette with brie had fueled his tired body, provided by Seraphine, along with another cup of black espresso. I gave him images of Michiko and Seraphine fucking him, Michiko receiving his seed, getting her pregnant, while Seraphine rode his mouth. Neither looked pregnant. I sensed his body flush and his cock harden and nearly ejaculate. I also sensed a wave of needed energy. “What the fuck?” I heard him think. I chuckled after I retreated from his mind.

“Works?” asked Eva with a mischievous grin.

“You sensed it?”

“I always did when little Joey was inside me. I guess I still do.”

“Cool,” I smiled.

“Naughty boy,” she smirked.

“What did he send?” asked Zhenzhen, so I sent the image to my wives.

“Ooh fuck,” I heard from the kitchen.

“You okay, Shira?” I asked.

“Just horny all of sudden.”

“You want me to...”

“Yes. Please. But let me finish breakfast.”

“I could help?”

“Don’t distract me.”

“You can distract me,” said my French wife, climbing over me and sending my cock into her pussy. The image had affected me as well. I turned her over and took control, staying on my knees so as not to press on her large stomach. We fucked slowly. I fondled her larger tits. Helena and Eva took over, sucking them. Junior lay there in front of Eva. For some reason he didn’t bother me. Spooned behind Helena, Zhenzhen watched, smiling at me.

Despite the distraction, a thought took my mind. “What about you?” I asked Zhenzhen.

“What about me?”

“I had two major minions from my two parents. It must be why I have been ... chosen I guess, with my father, even though from the enemy side, having the stud nature I have, and mother being clever or smart or something, a companion to Nick in nature if not in reality. But Xo...”

“Master is the master of the mind,” she reminded me.

“Yes,” I moaned, feeling Angelique’s pussy shiver around my cock in a small orgasm. I looked at the smiling, blushing French beauty. “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” she responded breathlessly. “You’re still hard, still fucking me, and I find it weirdly sexy that you’re conversing with my wife. It’s not like your mouth can be otherwise occupied, kissing me, what with my big belly.”

“True,” I chuckled, and the muscular contraction of my diaphragm effected my cock, making Angelique moan.

“Keep talking,” Angelique insisted afterwards, glancing at Helena who leaned forward and kissed her.

“You were saying?” I said to my cute Chinese wife. Another chuckle caused another moan from Angelique, muted by Helena’s lips.

“There’s a channel from our combined minds in him,” she rubbed her belly.

“But still,” I pointed out, “As far as I know, none of Xo’s blood exists in me. No constructs in my mind of his presence, unlike Nick and Simon.”

“In order to function as a minion.”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re certain that Nick didn’t father you.”

“Yes,” I moaned. Whether Angelique writhing beneath me, creating sweeter pleasure against my cock, especially when she lifted faster against me, or gasps and quickening breath, Helena letting her breathe, attaching her lips to a nipple, but nothing else could distract my focus. My thrusts became rapid as I watched her climb towards ecstasy. She led me to it, and soon I jetted my potent cream deep, and the pulses sent waves of pure pleasure throughout my body. I saw her feel it equally, in her eyes and her undulating body. All senses experienced it, the eyes especially witnessing the sharing. The connection felt overwhelmingly like love. As powerful as any emotionally, even greater than telepathic reverberations of several minds.

“Wow,” I said, and she beamed and chuckled.

“I told you talking to Zhenzhen was sexy.”

I returned her chuckle and she moaned, an aftershock obviously sweeping through her. Turning to our adorable Chinese angel a moment later, she asked, “You were saying?”

“Uhm,” Zhenzhen murmured, obviously affected by the explosive shared climaxes, “When Master helped Seraphine and Gia compartmentalize Simon’s influence for different reasons of course, he connected through your connection with our future son, and therefore traversed through your brain. And like he did with them, he rewired you, constructed his presence inside you.”

“For when he is no longer present.”

“When he dies, Joe. He accepts death. Even welcomes it as a last experience.”

“As does the angels. Even Naomi.”

“And me when it comes.”

“And me,” said Helena.

“And me,” said Eva.

“But you can wait for as long as possible,” I said.

“Of course,” they all replied.

“Is Xo certain it will be his last experience?” I asked.

“As certain as anyone can be. Nothing exists of the mind after death. Like trying to enter a dense stone.”

“But some say the spirit emerges. The soul. Entering the aether, so to speak. Joining other spirits. Perhaps entering new consciousnesses. Or even becoming visible as ghosts.”

“All myths, Master thinks. To appease mortal concerns. To bring hope or meaning or purpose to finite lives. Reincarnation. Heaven or hell or purgatory. He thinks he should be able to sense such ethereal presences.”

“I imagine him sitting beside a mortal at their moment of death.”

“Yes.”

“But perhaps it’s another plane. One beyond our own consciousness.”

“Of course,” she smiles. “Like I said, his certainty comes from experimental proof, but as physics has shown, there are always things beyond our understanding.”

“We understand the details,” I thought out loud. “Words. Meanings. Descriptions. Always material things. The building and working a machine. A blade of grass. Even atoms and molecules. Things we can sense. See at the subatomic level. Watch work. As if the biological, the natural was just another sort of machine. Witnessing differentiation and causation in DNA. More and more understanding.

“And yet can we ever understand how it all came to be? All us singular consciousnesses moving through the present like pushing through a windstorm. Always passing through the past and into the future at a continuous point containing within it awareness and experience in thought and memory and gaining new experience from all that has been constructed or exists around us at that continuous moment. How can all that happened before, millennia, epochs, vast periods of time, have brought us to this present, this reality separate for each one of us? Physicists may have proved theories at the largest and smallest scales, but even they haven’t been able to find how those two scales can coexist, creating string theory which hardly seems provable, but who knows?

“Even those perplexities and paradoxes I think pale to the why of our constant movement through time. That continuous, relentless, inexorable movement, impossible to be anything but what it is. And the vastness of the point. And its specificity. What surrounds us. All the accidents and arbitrariness of it.”

“Simon would have said life is a miracle,” said Eva. “Just another word for the inexplicable.”

We nodded and shrugged.

“Go eat,” ordered a naked beauty standing beside the bed. “I have a cock to restore.”

Giggling or chuckling, our wives did as commanded. Shira handed me a tiny sandwich. One bite containing everything she had made. Waffle and egg and bacon. A napkin followed, and then a small cup of OJ and a larger mug of coffee made how I liked it. After a swallow of the hot, sweetened bitter liquid, the cup got set aside. She slid beside me, on her side, her head facing her challenge, my flaccid penis. It already began to rise by the time she reached for it and brought it into her mouth.

Her upper leg had lifted, opening her damp and fragrant sex to me. She didn’t need me to ready it, but she enjoyed my attention nevertheless. Like a young man often requires, I brought her an orgasm good enough to sate her extreme horniness for the moment.

She got me hard and straddled it, riding me slowly and enjoying the moment. After a few more strokes, lifting the extra weight of her belly became less and less appealing. Like I had with Angelique, turning us over, I balanced on my knees between her thighs, keeping my torso above hers, and began the steady and slowly quickening thrusts that brought us both the gradual climb to ecstasy. And like with Angelique, at least at the glorious end of the earlier fucking, our eyes connected, watching pleasure writ on our faces the other caused. Several minutes later, probably nearing a half hour, we reached a wondrous crescendo together, made once more more powerful by love.

“Thanks,” she murmured unnecessarily.

“My pleasure,” I nevertheless replied.

We again lay on our sides, but face to face this time. And we kissed softly and joyously. My stomach announced its need for more food. We separated lips and laughed.

Once out of bed, Eva brought me my robe and a kiss, Junior cradled in her other arm. She and he took our place amongst chaotic and dampened sheets.

Angelique prepared a new waffle for me. Helena poured fresh coffee into the mug I brought with me and placed on the high surface that served as a separation between kitchen and the rest of the loft. I sipped and savored my delicious breakfast with my delicious wives.

Over the afternoon, angels and others, including Lindy and the three pregnant Helen clones, near their own time of birth, came to coo over Junior.

Late afternoon, soon after the parade ended, I got a message via telepathy from Nick to expect a couple visitors. I heard the motor of the elevator and it opened to two older, conservatively dressed people, both well into their forties. A large, portly Caucasian man of indistinguishable heritage, but his last name, Jones, presumed at least his father had a British lineage, and a petite Chinese woman. Not only did their physical presence differ. The man’s ruddy, slightly rosy face, and eyes that glinted with amusement, and a wry smile presumed frequent pub crawls with friends, though his accent, a generic American, made it more likely to be bars. The woman couldn’t have looked more serious.

After introductions, just the two lawyers because apparently they already knew who we were, my wives and I sat with them at our worktable. They both opened expensive leather attaché cases and pulled out a large pile of papers. I knew what this signified.

“Doesn’t this happen after a will is read?” I asked.

“Not if you want a smooth transition,” said the man handing a sheaf of papers held by a large black clip. An obscenely large number stood out, 8 digits long.

“What’s this?” I asked

“Your trust. Nick created it for you. Xo just added to it. Just sign it to gain access. This first sheet has the account number and contact numbers. You keep it.”

Removing the clip, I pulled aside the top page and looked through the rest of the document. It listed several businesses in which Nick had been partner. And several buildings: either homes or business offices all over the world. I found the building we were presently in. And the campus outside Boston. And the theater/camp in Bass Lake, Minnesota. Turning back to the list of partnerships, I noticed one missing and smiled.

“Serpentine?” I asked.

“Nick gave it to the mother and daughter who have been running it,” the man explained. “I recently visited suburban Boston for that purpose. Of course, it’s hardly a profitable business. The opposite actually. Nick always funded it and their salaries.”

“And my trust will take that over?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“It has nonprofit status and is good for taxes,” the man shrugged.

“So I’ll be paying the salaries of Lindy and her company?”

“Including yourself,” he smiled. “Not directly of course. Mother and daughter administer the funds.”

I initialed a bunch of things and signed the last page.

“And all these other documents?”

“Change of ownership.”

“Quite the gifts,” I pointed out.

“We’ll take care of the consequences,” said the Chinese woman.

“I should hope so,” I chuckled.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” said the man. “You’re already part owner.”

“Really?”

“And Zhenzhen partly owns Xo’s possessions,” said the woman, handing papers to my Chinese wife.

“I do?” Zhenzhen replied.

“Yes,” the woman nodded. “Profits will be shifted to your account, already rather flush.”

“But any substantial funds needed will be provided by Joe’s trust,” the man added.

Amongst the several initialing and signing Zhenzhen and I did was one handed to Helena. “This if for your mother’s land,” said the man to her.

“But my brothers and sisters?” she asked.

“From what I understand,” said the stout lawyer, “only your youngest half-sister and her husband has shown interest in staying there and managing the farm and the villa. If the oldest of them had lived...”

“I understand. Her husband had to move on after her death.”

“Yes. Your sister will have it free and clear. No taxes. Any profits will be hers except for a small percentage going to you.”

“Good.”

“She thought so, too. She actually thought it should be a higher percentage.”

Helana laughed. “It doesn’t look like I would need it. And the other half-siblings?”

“Your mother’s and stepfather’s wills will take care of them.”

“Good not to step on any toes.”

“Exactly as intended for all of this,” the man agreed. “The less toes the better.”

After the lawyers left, the excitement and repetitive tedium of signing relentlessly left with them. The vacuum became filled with emotion. The reality of the purpose of what happened.

“Shit,” I said.

My wives agreed.

That evening in the theater, a frail Nick stood on stage. Xo didn’t look any better. All the angels except my wives looked much stronger thanks to whatever my telepathy had done during moments of climax, and Gia had proved the efforts to affect their survival to be fruitless, but weakness had never been an adjective to describe them, and I could see them weak.

Rosa stood beside Nick, looking a little tired, but a little meant a lot compared to normalcy. Her gorgeous face and body, her great pride and her deep compassion remained. “I continued my work as secret gadfly against European conquest, at least when it became too cruel. But the writing was on the wall probably from the beginning. Only tribes in difficult places, mostly in the depths of the jungles remained untouched by European control. So I assimilated in a way. Generations of nurses. A great disguise if I say so myself, for my continued work as an assassin. Both a killer and a savior. I would pretend my death and a niece would arrive, somehow already trained and looking remarkably like a young me, and take my place. I also pretended to be nurses. Always doctors actually, but gender made that unacceptable for most of my time. Always clinics on the periphery of cities serving the natives, but with a reputation that brought Europeans as well. A last resort for ailing Spanish or Portuguese. An occasional doctor would come to learn about the remarkable success, studying under male doctors of native heritage, not knowing these doctors learned from me. Willing to learn from a native, a woman would be too much to be acceptable.

“There were a couple exceptions. I spoke of the last one, the one who accompanied me when I came to San Francisco to greet Nick. He was actually a mix, but had a strong aristocratic upbringing that might as well have made him European. The first, nearly a hundred years before, had, ironically, the same name, Carlos, but did not share a mixed heritage. No, the man was pure Spanish.

Rosa, well aware of her attractiveness, a voluptuous body capped by a gorgeous face, knows how distracting she can be when a doctor visits to learn from her, though they don’t know it’s her knowledge that the native male doctor shows them. Usually it annoys her if it’s too persistent. How can they learn if they allow such distraction? Sometimes, if rarely, she enjoys her own view of the stranger. Doctors tend to be arrogant assholes, and only pure horniness, and the need for a strange cock owned by a man who at least has some intelligence, gets her by her reluctance to be in such a man’s presence for any length of time. This one’s different. And she’s not even sure why.

The man’s handsome to say the least. And confident to a fault like most are in his profession. It annoys her, as it often does, and yet it also adds to his charm. He has a wry smile suggesting amusement at lesser minds. Though condescending in nature, it actually looks cute on him. And when he flashes it at her, she senses it’s not her to whom he condescends. It’s as if he’s sharing his amusement with her. And she can’t help agreeing with the sentiment. Though her doctor, her beard if you will, has skills and intelligence, he tends to be quite dense.

The wry smile changes. He starts looking curious at her. And confused.

After the successful surgery, he steps up to her. “Could we talk?” he asks her.

“Let me wash and change,” she tells him. “Meet me outside.”

Cool air greets her when she exits the clinic building. She can taste late fall. Corn has been harvested below, in the valley beneath the foothill mountain on top of which her clinic has been built. Alpaca, whose product she wears as a thick coat, nibble grass in another area of the valley. Everything looks especially beautiful lit red by a setting sun, including the man waiting for her at a small table at the edge of the mountain. The long dark leather coat he wears improves the look. He smiles and waves.

On the table rests a bottle of red wine, some bread and sausage and another bottle of olive oil. “I thought you might be hungry,” he says, pouring the wine into two silver chalices. “This is a gift from my family’s vineyard. My favorite vintage. Don’t worry. I brought more bottles for your clinic.”

She sips it. “Very nice.”

“Thank you.”

While tearing off bread and drizzling the oil on it, she says, “But this isn’t my clinic. I’m just head nurse.”

“Are you?” he asks, watching her place sliced sausage on her bread and biting into it.

She studies him while she chews. His wry smile returns. “Why do you say that?” she finally returns.

“Observation? I watched the doctor.”

“I thought you just watched me,” she smirks.

“Who can blame me? You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

“For an Indian?”

“For anyone.”

She grins. “You’re no slouch in the looks department either. I imagine you have to fight off the senoritas.” For some reason he suddenly looks glum. “What’s wrong? Don’t take compliments well?”

“It’s ... complicated.”

“Being handsome is complicated?”

“It’s true I attract the ladies. I also know how to charm them. Why pretend to be modest when you know I’m not?”

“No you’re not. You’re quite sure of yourself.”

“You mean arrogant.”

“I’m reserving judgement. You attract ladies like shit attracts flies. What’s wrong with that?”

He laughs at her rude language but immediately becomes serious. “I could have the choice of almost any woman, but I chose only one. The wrong one as it turns out.”

“She cheated on you?”

“She married my brother.”

“Why? Is he more handsome than you? Smarter?”

“No. Definitely more arrogant. He was born first.”

“Ah. Then this girl...”

“Second born female of another wealthy family, but situations made her essentially first.”

“It was arranged? Then...”

“It’s more complicated than that. I suppose if I knew she couldn’t be mine, maybe we would have just been best friends. I wouldn’t have loved her. She has an older sister who ended up running off with some cad. I think my brother scared her. He can be intimidating, and a brute when he’s drunk. But there still was another choice my mother could have made. Another family of similar wealth. The daughter’s beautiful but vapid. And she wanted me. Had a crush on me. Has a crush I should say.

“Father, who’s a strong man, a macho man, except when it comes to my mother, saw my deep affection for Cecilia, and tried steering mother towards the empty-headed Daria. It might have even worked if my drunken brother hadn’t tried to rape the girl. At least that’s what she cried and her parents saw her ripped bodice when they came to her. I’m still not sure if what she claimed happened. It could have been her using more sense than I give her, or him wanting Cecilia, or maybe both of them.”

“He would take Cecilia from you.”

“Yes. He did. He’s an asshole.”

“And Daria?”

“We’re supposed to marry when I return. To tell you the truth, this was as much a delaying tactic as it was genuine curiosity about your clinic’s remarkable success. I know my culture. Love doesn’t matter. A wife is secondary to a man. Meant to bear him children and raise them. I can even find a mistress more to my taste.

“But it does matter. I suppose I could just gaze at her, enjoy her body, but every time she talks, she sets my teeth on edge. She’s ... idiotic. And maybe worse, I’m partly to blame for her infatuation of me. Cecilia and I had a game. A game of seduction. A sort of contest to see who could tease best. Except it wasn’t exactly a contest. We’d teach each other what a man or a woman would find enticing. Easier for a woman to entice, of course.”

“Not necessarily. Physical attraction goes both ways,” she winks.

He laughs. “Maybe. But she taught me to charm.”

“And you charmed Daria.”

“Yes. And usually we’d end the seduction by kissing each other. Usually it ended the game on a playful note. Sometimes it angered the girl, or more often the boy. But they got over it. With Daria ... I guess she was never convinced I preferred Cecilia over her.”

“I don’t think she’s as stupid as she pretends. I think she’s calculated. And what annoys you is her narcissism. She’s petty and seems interested in the shallowest of things. Her appearance. Gossip.”

“You may be right, but that certainly doesn’t make me want her.”

“You should stay.”

“What?”

“Stay here. I can make you into the best doctor in South America, or Europe even.”

“I knew it. I saw him glancing at you as if for permission.”

“He can be a bit dense and unsure. Maybe we could even rescue Cecilia.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “No. She’s loyal to a fault.”

“But what about your brother?”

He smiles. “She knows how to fight back. I learned how to fight even though I chose a different path. She demanded I teach her everything. She’s a tough girl. I imagine my brother will find out how tough.”

“Men tend to overpower women. Thus rape.”

“She’s quick and spry and clever. He won’t know what hit her. I mean he will, but not how.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah,” he replies sadly. But his wry smile reemerges. “You’ll have to convince me to stay.”

“How?”

“How do you think?”

“I think I like the way you think.” She stands and pulls him to his feet. As they walked to her hut she asks him, “You ever fuck her?”

“Cecilia? No. Too loyal as I said. A promise is a promise to her, and she promised to be a virgin bride. But we did most everything else.”

“Then you do have some experience.”

“I’ve fucked whores. Recently, since I had Cecilia as my focus before the disaster.”

“I’m better than any whore.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I’m sincere.”

“Not mercenary.”

“Exactly my clever boy.”

“Boy?”

“I’m a lot older than I look.”

Once behind the door, she kneels in front of him and pulls out his cock, already hardening and revealing a respectable length and girth. “Nice,” she comments before pulling it into her mouth.

“I want to see you,” he moans.

She fists him while answering. “Sometimes a man cums just seeing me.”

“Modest, aren’t you,” he chuckles within his moan.

Once more she removes his cock and replies, “Truth is truth,” and returns to her sucking. Her eyes smile at his when he removes his clothing, revealing a taut, strong body. Moments later he cums, his groan louder than he expects. She swallows it eagerly.

“Sit,” she tells him, gently urging him to her palette. He lowers onto it. She spreads his legs, and brings his hand to his flaccid penis. “You can touch yourself,” she suggests.

She removes her clothing slowly in a dance. Her sensuality thrills him. What she reveals thrills him much more.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs. “The perfect woman. Like a fantasy of a woman.”

“I’m real. Touch me.”

“So smooth,” he murmurs, caressing her calves and moving up to her thighs. “I can feel your strength, and yet there’s softness.”

“Like Cecilia?”

“You’re thicker,” he sniffles. “Her legs were much thinner. Coltish.”

“Did you ever taste her?”

“Yes. It surprised us both. We both liked it though. I liked her scent when we played, and wanted to taste it.”

Rosa moves closer, bringing her sex to his mouth. Taking her full buttocks in hand and squeezing them gently, he pulls her against him as his tongue explores. “Like ambrosia,” he moans before continuing to lap at her.

Quietly panting, it becomes a louder moan when his tongue slides against her clit, and louder still when he grips it between his lips and sucks. When lips release, his tongue continues exploring the edges and depths of her pussy while, after wetting it, his thumb presses and rubs at her most sensitive spot.

“Well practiced,” she moans.

“Yes, and she could suck me well, too,” he replies, fingers slipping in where his tongue has been, carefully. “But she only tasted my cum once, by accident.”

“You liked it when I swallowed?”

“Yes!” He returns vigorously to his task.

“You can fuck me with your fingers. I have no virgin barrier to worry about.” His efforts bring her close. “Feel behind my pubic bone. Some rougher flesh. Yes! Stroke it! Suck my clit. Bat it with your tongue. Fuck. Yes. More. God!” she climaxes.

“Mmm,” he comments while swallowing her plentiful liquid.