Chapter 19: Concerns of the Progenitor

The Year Five

Andrew's Story

Our little head-to-head confrontation with the government, fleeting and ethereal as it was, has finally opened my eyes. Emmy almost brought down the entire US government and she didn't even try hard. I asked her to zap the A.G. and zap him she did.

In the meantime she was still trying to hit the tennis ball closer to the net, training the puppies to be guard dogs, doing essentially graduate work in six different languages, taking her naps, annoying everyone who came in contact with her, and watching her anime cartoons.

The Flash, Green Lantern, the Incredible Hulk and the Silver Surfer combined didn't have such power. If Lex Luther was as smart as he thought he was, Superman wouldn't have lasted a week.

But Emma is smarter than I'm capable of understanding. It's like trying to envision 65 million years. Dinosaurs died off 65 million years ago, but to my brain that number means nothing. To me it takes an eternity waiting for the water to boil.

I understand intelligence and its degrees. I can look at an Einstein or a Jefferson and can pretty much imagine how smart they were in relation to other people. JFK once gave a dinner for Nobel laureates at the White House. In his opening remarks he noted that 'there hasn't been so much brilliance at this table since Jefferson dined alone' - or something like that. Jefferson was smart, very smart. But at least you can compare him to other people.

To date I've been unable to calibrate the difference in intelligence between a really smart h Sapiens and New Man. There is a gulf there that defies my imagination.

Our girls are babies - five-year olds. Elle sits at her workstation and makes decisions affecting millions of dollars while sucking her thumb! Edie has to choose between writing the best code in the history of computing or playing on the swing.

We haven't begun to see the limit of their abilities. And that is just individually. What can they do together, knowing they communicate telepathically? Is it possible that their brains can be cumulative? Can they add their brainpower together? Is it a network of minds, or can it become one super-mind? Even that begs the question. Individually each is a super-mind. What do they get if they can add them together?

I've been having these crazy thoughts ever since Emmy snapped her fingers and the government rolled over. For a while there we had this 'us-versus-them' mentality going on here. It was our family against the world.

But I've had the fleeting thought that maybe the 'us-versus-them' scenario might start to involve one species against another. Right now it's six billion against two hundred. Could the six billion win? More importantly, should they win?

It all boils down to ethics. Are my little munchkins sheep dogs or wolves? That is the question. How did this evolutionary thing work related to their take on the world? I'm not sure that compassion is something that can be legislated or even taught at this level. It better be home-grown.

We may be able to teach the kids our values or not. But how their brains are pre-disposed to work is going to be the determining factor for the future of h. Sapiens. I suppose there is nothing to do but love them and hope they love us back.

The children can't teach themselves everything, even with the internet. There are facts and concepts that they need to be taught. It isn't all instinctive, even with my little Einsteins. So the wives started to home-school the eGirls before they turned four.

One of the nice things about Statesboro is that it is a college town. We engaged some graduate students from Georgia Southern to teach the kids their particular specialties, first languages then things like calculus, physics and economics (I handled the computer programming education myself - at least I'm good for something around here), and suddenly we had our own little school.

None of the IAM kids will ever fit into a normal school environment. Talk about disrupting the curve! Now that Elle has earned some big bucks we've decided to address the educational needs of all the members of the next generation by creating our own college.

This is going to require that Elle earn a lot more than fifteen million dollars. But once we have a proper endowment, we can create a place where all of the children of the next generation will fit in. I mentioned it to her last week. I said that if she could maybe grow her personal fund to more like fifty-million we might have a use for it.

It isn't selfishness on my part. What does Elle care what we do with the money? From her point of view she's just playing Monopoly only with real cash. I'm telling her to get Boardwalk and Park Place and then put a dozen hotels on them and hope someone lands there. If we are going to build New Man University we can't do it on the cheap. Maybe next year.

The Year Six

Deirdre's Story

Sometimes we'll watch the news as a family. We don't allow a lot of television in our house. Andrew watches certain sporting events, we watch old movies (though usually on tape or CD), and then we select shows that are acceptable for the family or just the children to watch. Occasionally the news is one of those shows.

We never watch the local news, since it is driven by violence and fires. Ratings dictate that it not be 'news' but 'entertainment'. A sad number of h. sapiens finds disastrous occurrences to their neighbors to be entertaining, but we are not among that number.

We will watch the world news sometimes, though Andrew prefers to watch BBC World News, claiming that coverage provided by American networks is often 'influenced' by the government. Perhaps he is being paranoid.

We were watching the news when the very, very British announcer noted that "the Ambassador to the United States from Botswana has visited the US Secretary of State, requesting that US aid in the form of wheat shipments be halted for the remainder of the year. It seems that the warehousing capability in that country has reached the limit of its capacity. There is no where else to put the wheat. Sources claim that a 'computer glitch' had increased the grain due to go to Botswana from 50 million to 50 thousand million dollars worth."

The girls were lying on the floor watching the news. I heard Emma comment, "I sure hope they like sandwiches in Botswana. Maybe they could use some peanut butter and jelly."

Everyone laughed when she said that except for Andrew. I was surprised when he said, "Emmy, lay off of the State Department, do you hear me?"

She looked back with her innocent eyes and said, "Yes, Daddy."

The news continued. After a few minutes, Andrew, whose eyes never left the tube, said "How much?"

I didn't know what he was talking about. I asked, "How much what?"

He didn't look at me. He was still watching TV. He said, "Come on, Emmy, how much?"

Like me, Emma asked, "How much what, Daddy?"

He said, "Just tell me how much peanut butter and jelly you sent to Botswana."

I laughed. It was the silliest question I'd ever heard.

But Emma took the question seriously. "Not much, Daddy; only thirty tons. Each."

He sat up at that. "You sent sixty tons of peanut butter and jelly to Botswana?!"

She still looked innocent. "But they have to do something with all that bread they are going to make!"

Donnie asked, "Do they even eat PB & J in Botswana?"

Elle answered, "They do now!"

I don't think I've ever been so shocked in my life. My seven year old was sending peanut butter and jelly to strange countries around the world. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. Why did she do it? Andrew on the other hand seemed neither shocked nor very surprised.

He sat back in his chair with a resigned look on his face. 'Em, just knock it off, will ya'?"

Emma said, "Okay, Daddy." I guess the subject was closed.

Donnie's Story

Ever since Andrew was on television last year, we've been besieged with requests for his services, his sexual favors, as it were. In a way it is funny but a little sad to receive these proposals from all over the world. Most are from average women in the real world who want Andrew to impregnate them or just want a chance to get him into the sack.

Those we toss, except for the really outlandish ones that we save for Andrew to read. He likes the ones that include pictures; sometimes in poses that are suggestive, sometimes in poses that are obscene. Why not give him a little vicarious pleasure?

But many are from IAM twins. These we take seriously. Our waiting list of twins is well over a thousand now. I can tell that this is starting to get to Andrew. This particular 'chore' has never been on his list of favorite things to do. Now it seems to be endless and daunting.

Perhaps some men might look at this as a fantasy come true - a thousand women just waiting for the opportunity to be impregnated at one's beck and call. But the reality might not be as attractive as the fantasy.

We had set him up for a 'twofer'. Both twins in a single set needed impregnation and wanted to have it done in one session. We had acquiesced to this request, as it saves Andrew time - he could save himself a whole afternoon by doing two for the price of one.

These girls, Debbie and Delia, were extremely attractive - model level attractive - in their late twenties or early thirties. We called Andrew out of his office and introduced him to the twins. It was obvious to me that he was everything the twins had hoped for. They were practically salivating.

We talked for a short while as is our custom. Andrew occasionally glanced at these lovely young things, but I must admit to being relieved that he gave his primary attention to Dee Dee and me.

At times like these Andrew seems even more affectionate to us than he normally is. When our chat was completed, each of our guests having downed a glass of wine, Andrew came to us and gave us each a passionate kiss, then a hug and an affectionate little peck on the check.

He led the twins into the 'Get Andrew Laid" room and for the next two hours we heard the occasional scream coming from the room, usually accompanied by someone calling Andrew's name. He was performing to specs, as usual. Our sweet boy has never let anyone down yet.

Finally Andrew left the room and went upstairs to shower. Dee Dee and I waited a reasonable time and then entered the bedroom. As often happens, these girls were wasted. They were collapsed in a heap on the bed, asleep.

We woke them up, explained to them what happened (the term "death by fucking" may have come up) and showed them where to clean up. When they came back into the living room they seemed reluctant to leave. They asked if they could say goodbye to Andrew, so we called him back into the room.

They couldn't have been nicer and thanked Andrew for his help. He seemed a bit uncomfortable with their thanks. I could tell he would rather be back in his office working.

As the twins made their way to the door, Andrew looked at me with that sexy little smile of his and said, "So Donnie, what are you doing after?" Well, I guess I'm doing after whatever Andrew wants me to do. That smile of his gets me every time.

Eventually they left, happy and pregnant I suppose. At least they were happy.

The next day we were seated in the living room just shooting the breeze when Andrew wandered in from his office. He looked lost. He looked sad. Deirdre looked at me. I looked at her. We both had the feeling: Andrew had reached his limit.

He sank into an overstuffed chair. He didn't look at us, he looked at the floor. He didn't talk. We had to have this out with him. He needed us to take the lead.

Deirdre said, "Well Andrew, are we to assume that you just don't want to do this anymore?"

Andrew looked up. He saw us staring at him. He looked like he might cry. We've never seen our love so down. It was heartbreaking.

He said, "I don't know. I just don't know. All these women need what I have. Why can't we find any other men? To be honest, ladies, I just don't know how much more I have to give."

We know it's serious when he calls us 'ladies'. It's 'girls' when he's feeling good. It's 'ladies' when he is all business. Andrew is incapable of hiding anything from us. He doesn't even try.

I said, "What's eating at you sweetheart?"

He looked miserable. "I'm just so tired of this. Don't get me wrong. I love making love. It's my favorite thing. But with these women I'm not making love. I'm fucking. Donnie I'm all fucked out.

When we are together, you and me and Dee Dee, every second is precious. Each day we find time to be with each other. The sexual part of it is wonderful, but it's the being with each other that makes it wonderful.

I only want to be with you. Taking away the love aspect of the act makes it clinical and boring and sad. I'm trying my best to make these women happy. I even think I pull it off most of the time. But I'm not happy.

I'm sure most of them are very nice people. But how the hell would I know? They come; we fuck; they go. Ten minutes after they are gone I don't remember their names.

If you brought the same ones back the day after tomorrow I wouldn't notice. They are all nameless and faceless. This is depressing. Please, please let's find someone else to perform the stud service. I just can't do it anymore."

Deirdre said "What about those matches you made from the website? Have any of those been successfully mated?"

Andrew said, "Well yes, we've had dozens of marriages. I don't know about children, I just haven't thought to look at the statistics. They post their own information if they feel like it. You know I'm lousy with these accounting things. I'm a programmer, damn it!"

"And even if there have been children, we don't know if they are children of the next generation, New Man. They might just be another generation of girl twins, smart average homo sapiens."

Dee Dee perked up. "I know how we can find out!" She turned toward the back window.

Elle came scurrying in from the outside. The eGirls were playing tag with the dogs. There is some kind of odd bond between those girls and those pups. The pups seem so much more intelligent when the eGirls are around.

Our little girl came in, out of breath. "What do you want, Mamma?"

Deirdre looked at us smugly. "With our kids you don't have to scream to get their attention." To Elle she said, "Sweetie, do you remember that list we made up for you to contact your other sisters and brothers?"

Elle said, "Sure, Momma. I still have it in my computer. I contacted everyone on the list who could talk."

Dee Dee asked, "Were there any children that you contacted that weren't on the list?"

Elle looked puzzled. "No Momma. You told me to contact the kids on the list. There were lots of kids not on the list, but I didn't contact them. I figured that if you wanted me to reach them you would have told me."

Andrew jumped out of his seat, grabbed Elle and spun her around over his head. He was laughing and hugging her. She was laughing too, mostly from the intensity of her father's reaction. I've never seen him so relieved. This must have been awful for our sweet boy. He was enduring this for so long and never said anything to us!

Who would have guessed? Given the opportunity to have sex with many different women and with our consent, he only wants us! He only wants me! He only wants Deirdre!

We have the sexiest man on earth as verified by every CNN/ABC poll. His picture is on the cover of People Magazine regularly, usually with a picture of Brittany Spears or some other sex kitten somehow inserted next to him as if he actually knew them. We have proposals of marriage and proposals that are far less decent arriving in our mail every day.

And yet he only wants us, his two dowdy, middle-aged wives. Both Deirdre and I were actually crying. This was something inside us we didn't even let ourselves know about.

We are all business during these trysts that we ourselves set up for our husband. We encourage him to perform well. We chat with these women, help them recover from the shock of the greatest sex they could ever imagine and send them on their way.

And yet somewhere inside of us so deep we didn't even recognize it was this seed of doubt. We had this doubt about what this was doing to our marriage. Were these women what he wanted? Many were far more beautiful than we are. Would Andrew prefer them?

How could we ever doubt him? In his heart he's been true to only us from the moment we met. We were crying and then we were hugging each other, crying on each other's shoulder. Andrew let Elle down and she ran out towards the back.

As she reached the door she turned to us. "Daddy, I think Momma Dee Dee and Momma Donnie need you. Make love to them. That will make them feel better." And then she was gone. Our six year old is wise beyond her years.

Both of us opened our arms and welcomed Andrew in. We were crying. He was crying too. This thing had been happening that could have caused a rift between us and we never even recognized it!

Poor Andrew was performing because we asked him to, not because he wanted to. He will do anything for us, even something so against his nature. Our love is pure and permanent. It feels so good to know it again.

Suddenly Andrew took each of us under an arm, me on his right, Dee Dee on his left, and carried us up the stairs like two sacks of laundry. He wanted us. But he wanted us in our bedroom. We were going to make love to our husband! I don't remember when I was this happy.

Deirdre's Story

It wasn't what I expected. Often when our lust comes upon us our love-making sessions are wild and demanding. He takes us or we take him. There are intense orgasms and there is rampant passion, sometimes to the point of lost consciousness. This wasn't one of those times.

Andrew placed us on our bed. And then he ever so gently began removing our clothing. He kissed us lovingly, softly. He was so romantic. We are an old married couple - oh, triad, who cares about the terminology - and yet our love is deep and pure. It has endured through everything that has been thrown our way.

He was attentive, gentle and loving. We gave back to him in kind. Ours is the love that every woman dreams about when she is young, but very few can ever fully achieve.

Andrew and Donnie and I are forever. Subconsciously we had this fear of loss. And yet it was an irrational fear, the kind of fear that is in every Homo sapien because he is truly isolated. We can only know we are loved by the actions of others.

It was then that I had my revelation, my theory! It is the theory that is mine, and belongs to me and what is. I suddenly knew that Andrew's other fear, the real long-term fear that he held, not about us and our marriage but about New Man, was totally unfounded. Our children know love! To them love isn't an abstraction, it's a physical presence. Every h. sapien knows what it like to love, but none really knows what it is like to be loved.

New Man, our daughters, can feel the love of others. Donnie and I love them unconditionally! But Andrew! Andrew is capable of love like no other person I ever knew. They must feel constantly enveloped in his love. They are safe and secure because of him, because of all of us.

Love will save h. sapiens. New Man will care for us because they love us and because we love them. Theirs is a world where compassion is not a concept but a constant. It's as we hoped so long ago. I know it is. The urge to hurt, to dominate, to abuse, can only come from isolation. For New Man, no man will ever be isolated again.

Andrew was looking at me with concern. "Sweetheart, you look to be a million miles away. What's wrong?"

I smiled. I was so happy! All of my fears, real or imagined, conscious and subconscious had been laid to rest today.

"Nothing's wrong, Andrew. Everything is so right! Make love to us now. Later we'll talk. The world is going to be wonderful, not just for us, but for everyone!"

The Year Seven

Andrew's Story

My buddy Jake called. I figured he wanted to change our tennis date or something. But no! He had some news and he wanted to torture me with it.

"Drew, you are my hero! What a man! Here I thought you were this pussy-whipped little dweeb who could occasionally hit a tennis ball. Now I find out you are God's gift to women."

Now what? Don't I have enough trouble as it is? I asked him. "Okay, Jake. Tell me the bad news. What's going on?"

He sounded smug. "So Drew, have you perused the latest copy of Playboy yet?"

Playboy? Now what the hell! "You know perfectly well that my wives would have a shit-fit if I brought that magazine into the house. I am pussy-whipped for crying out loud. Tell me, damn you. What's in Playboy that's going to make my life even more miserable than it already is?"

Jake said, "I think your wives may want to take a look at this one. The playmates of the month are on the cover."

Uh oh, I could see a disaster about to happen. "Playmates, as in plural?"

Jake knew he had me now. "Playmates as in twins. Oh, yeah, and such lovely young things, you lucky son of a bitch. The story inside is titled "Death by Fucking: Getting knocked up by the Progenitor".

I started in with "ahubada, ahubada, ahubada." What do you say to news like that? I asked him "Are we still on for tennis this afternoon?"

He said, "Sure, if you have time between girls. You slut!"

"Don't start with me, Jake! Bring the fucking magazine with you, will you? My wives had better hear it from me. I don't want them to hear this from some fucking biddy at a club meeting. So who are these twins, anyhow? Do they look good?"

He laughed. "What are you, sick? If I fucked these chicks, their faces would be permanently embedded on my brain. And you don't even know which ones they are? What the hell am I doing wrong? Tell me, oh great one. How do I get a gig like yours?"

I was serious. "Jake, you knock up just one of these damn IAM twins and I swear to you I'll give you all the bootie you can handle. Take them all! Just don't take my wives. Please."

Donnie's Story

Jake Randolph, the county prosecutor, was coming over this afternoon for his weekly tennis match. Jake had played for UNC and is quite good. Andrew was a state champion in high school and starred at Youngstown State in Ohio. They are evenly matched and are quite entertaining to watch, especially in light of the insulting banter that flies across the net almost as quickly as the tennis balls.

Dee Dee and I make a habit of sitting in the back yard with glasses of iced tea, watching the match and chatting. Jake is a very attractive man. We quite enjoy watching two tennis studs plying their talents under the hot Georgia sun, sweating and looking sexy.

By the time the match is over, we are both ready for anything Andrew has to offer, if you know what I mean. My life is good.

But today was going to be different. We received a phone call the other day from a writer for Cosmopolitan magazine. She was eager to interview Deirdre and me of all people. We were reluctant to agree, but she pressured us, saying that she had some news that would be of great interest to us, and wanted to get our reaction to it.

We finally agreed to see her. She arranged to fly down to visit us this afternoon. She came by a little after 4 o'clock. I knew that Andrew was scheduled to play his match with Jake at 4:30. We were sitting in our living room getting acquainted when Andrew passed through on his way up to get ready for his match.

This woman, Helen Gammon was her name, was lovely in a thin, fashion-model kind of way. She looked to us to be competing with the covers of her own magazine.

When Andrew saw her sitting there his face fell. He said "Uh, Donnie, did we have an appointment scheduled this afternoon? I thought not. I'm playing Jake in twenty minutes, you know." He turned to this Gammon woman. "How are you? I'm Drew Adkins. And you are..."

I jumped in. "This is Helen Gammon. She's come to talk with Deirdre and me, Andrew. Go play your game and don't bother us."

The relief on his face was palpable. "Oh, Okay. Sorry to interrupt." And he was off.

Ms. Gammon said, "He seemed sorry to see me."

I wasn't sure how to put it. "Well Deirdre and I schedule several women a week to visit with Andrew. It's part of his work with the Institute for the Advancement of Mankind. He thought you were one of those women."

The lady said, "I suppose I should feel insulted. I know what 'his work' is. Am I that ugly that the Progenitor would rather play tennis than make love to me?"

Dee Dee demurred. "It has nothing to do with you, Ms. Gammon, and it has nothing to do with making love. Andrew performs 'his work' out of duty, not out of desire. His would prefer to stop altogether. He doesn't 'make love' to these women. He only makes love to us. The women he impregnates. Because of the needs of IAM, we haven't been able to allow him to stop."

She said, "Wow, that's news if I ever heard it. Andrew Adkins prefers his wives."

I was a bit miffed with this New York bitch. I said, "Perhaps we should get to the point of this interview. You said you had news for us and wanted our comments."

She looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. She said, "There is an article in Playboy magazine. The current issue hits the stands today. The title of the story is "Death by Fucking: Getting knocked up by the Progenitor."

Helen's Story

I expected any of a number of reactions from these two women who were the wives of this 'Progenitor': hurt feelings, anger, panic, tears, at the least embarrassment. I was looking forward to it. My story would be the female angle: what it is like to be cuckolded in front of the nation by two gorgeous playmates.

Instead these two clones that looked surprisingly like Joanne Woodward began to laugh. It reached the point that they were leaning on each other's shoulders with tears streaming down their cheeks.

When they regained control, one of them (I have no idea which one, they are as alike as two peas in a pod) asked, "Did you bring a copy for us to see?"

I could have kicked myself. "No, I'm sorry. It totally slipped my mind. I do know that the story is told by the Playmates of the Month: twins."

The two women smiled and I suddenly realized that they are incredibly beautiful. Their eyes lit up as if a switch had been turned on. I must admit that I suddenly wondered if they had ever considered going both ways. I'm bi myself. I prefer men, but if the right woman comes along, I'm game. I've never had two women at once before, though. I was getting wet just being around these lovely things.

The doorbell rang and one of the twins got up to answer. I heard her say "Jake! So good to see you. What's that you've got under your arm?"

I couldn't see the man in question, but I heard him say, "Uh, it's nothing, really. Just something I promised Drew I'd let him look at. I'm sure you wouldn't be interested."

The twin was dragging this very attractive man into the living room. He was tall and slender, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was very similar, in fact, to the Progenitor, though not nearly as handsome. It was obvious to me that the man was very uncomfortable about something.

The other twin stood up as the man entered the living room. "Helen Gammon, meet Jake Randolph. Jake is our local county prosecutor. He visits us once a week to try to determine the tennis champion of Bullock County. No definitive winner has emerged yet."

The man, Jake, eyed me with interest. "Uh, Dee Dee, would you like me to come back later? Does Drew have time to play tennis?"

I was wondering if everyone in this town knows about Andrew Adkins' 'work' for IAM. It was obvious that this lawyer thought I was here for Andrew. I said, "I'm a writer for Cosmopolitan, here to interview Deirdre and Donna. Feel free to play your tennis match."

One of the twins looked to be ready to laugh again. "Yes, Jake, she's here for us, would you believe. Now what is that you've got tucked under your arm?"

Before he could respond, the twin reached in and grabbed it. It was obviously a magazine discretely wrapped in brown paper. The twin slipped the magazine out of the wrapping. Of course it was the current issue of Playboy, with two very beautiful, very naked twins on the cover. The headline on the cover was "Making Andrew Adkins".

One of the twins said, "Check it out, Dee Dee. Do you remember them?"

The other, Deirdre I suppose, said "Oh my God! What were their names? Debby and Delilah, something like that."

The other, I guess she was Donna, said, "Delia. Her name was Delia. They were good looking, but not this good looking. The air brushers must have worked overtime to make them look this good."