Chapter 26: A Lifetime of Love

The Year 50

Donnie's Story

Old. I used to complain that I was getting old. But now I've been old seemingly forever. I sometimes feel very tired.

Nowadays I often sit remembering. I've seen children and grandchildren, things I never expect to see. I have the love of a wonderful man. My sister still lives, still my other half. Who could have asked for a better life? I only despair that it started so late. I was all of thirty-five before my life really began.

Still, today thirty-five seems very young. I've thought about regeneration. New Man U. has been busy these last forty years. We've seen advances in all the sciences. But the advances we've kept most under wraps have been those regarding longevity. Our progress has been remarkable in understanding the ageing process and how to slow it or even reverse it.

But in a world too crowded by far, how can it help to live longer lives? These advances we've been saving for the Star Project. In space longevity has real value. Our engines are still sub-light. If we are to get out of this solar system, we need long-lived astronauts.

Andrew and Dee Dee and I agreed long ago that we would not abuse our privileged positions. So the regeneration procedures, the anti-ageing formulae go unused. I'm honest enough with myself to admit that I sometimes wish...

Too late. It's far too late to resort to such measures. My health has been slipping for years. My life is good, surrounded by the people I love. But I am tired.

I think Dee Dee and Andrew know. Usually Andrew treats me with just a degree of sarcasm, knowing that I give it back double. We have a laugh-filled relationship. But recently he has become very solicitous. He's worried and he's sad.

So this morning I woke him with a gift that I haven't given him for quite a while. He's still a virile man, even at 75. He sleeps between Deirdre and me, as always, with one arm around each of us. I love to be wrapped in his arms.

I was awake before Andrew. I saw Dee Dee stirring and caught her eye when she glanced in my direction. I gave a little smile and nodded my head slightly towards Andrew's midsection. It's been so long since we woke him with a morning blowjob. That's always been such fun.

One might think that eighty-five year old women must be perfect for giving blowjobs since they have no teeth. Please. Perhaps my teeth are mostly implants, but I assure you that I have a mouthful of them. No dick-gumming was in the offing.

I slipped the sheet down so that Andrew was exposed. He still sleeps naked and is still beautiful. Both Deirdre and I crawled down till our heads were level with Andrew's waist. We reached out simultaneously and began fondling his lovely penis. We were looking in each other's eyes, smiling. Over many years we have become extremely well coordinated in this particular function. We were like synchronized swimmers; synchronized fellatrixes. We both understood our roles.

Andrew became rapidly erect, even though he was still asleep. A problem with getting older is that one sleeps far more lightly the older one gets. Ten years ago we might have had Andrew close to a climax before he woke up. But this time his eyes flew open and he was moaning shortly after he achieved full erection.

I pulled my mouth off the head of his dick and looked up smiling sweetly. "Well, we don't need to worry about osteoporosis in this bone!"

Andrew groaned. "Christ, Donnie. I'm too old for this. You're going to give me a heart attack. That's it, isn't it? You two want to kill me and collect the insurance."

The way he was pushing against Dee Dee's embrace I could tell he was loving it, as always. So I just grinned up at him and said, "Hold on, Andrew. It's going to be a bumpy ride."

I recaptured the head of his dick in my mouth. As I sucked him my tongue massaged that particularly sensitive section under the hood. Andrew relaxed and a beatific smile came on his face. Dee Dee was stroking his shaft while sucking on his balls. Andrew could always last seemingly forever during intercourse. But a two headed blowjob must be his favorite, because he comes so quickly and so hard.

I felt his butt lift off the bed as his dick slid deeper into my throat. It began to pump his semen into my mouth. I swallowed quickly, but was in no danger of overflow. Andrew doesn't have as much in him as he used to. Nor do us all.

He pulled me up and held me in his arms. I just love being in his arms. He held me in that gentle embrace that I've come to know recently, as if he were afraid that I would break. Well, he might be right.

Deirdre came up his other side and then he was holding both of us, giving us soft kisses and whispering sweet nothings.

"Thank you, girls, I really needed that." He had a look of peaceful satisfaction on his face.

Deirdre smiled. "Well Andrew it was our pleasure. We wouldn't want you to be having wet dreams on us now, would we?"

I caught on to her cue. We like to tease him. "Yes, it's uncomfortable sleeping in those wet spots. And when you come right on us in the middle of the night! That's very cold you know."

He can take it and he can dish it out. "Hey! Hey! To me it sounds pretty hot! And as I remember there have been a lot of wet spots I've been forced to sleep in over the years. You didn't hear me complaining then, did you?"

Deirdre said, "Andrew if our hearing were as bad as yours, we wouldn't have heard anything anyway."

Andrew looked smug. "Girls after going down on what was obviously a fully functional dick, you should know that 'old jokes' just don't work on me."

Deirdre laughed. "Yes, Andrew you've always been so proud of your dick. It seems to be able to function even when the rest of you can't."

I joined in. "Yes, Dee Dee, we are in the presence of the world's most famous dick. The honor is almost overwhelming."

Andrew said, "Yeah? Well wait an hour and I'll show you honor!"

I said skeptically, "An hour?"

He began to hem and haw. "Well, maybe two or three hours. No more than four! Uh, come back after lunch and we'll talk about it."

We snuggled into him. He is so much fun, still a little boy at heart. I love these arms. These are the arms I am going to die in.

Emma's Story

Momma Donnie was always such fun to be around. Even without telempathy we could always tease Daddy unmercifully, always in synch, never breaking stride.

I've known all my life that Momma Dee Dee is my birth mother. But I don't believe that I ever heard the subject discussed in our household in fifty years. Both Donnie and Dee Dee were our mothers, regardless of who we popped out of. That's the way it always was. We had two mothers.

And now we have one. Daddy is a stoic guy. He's always shown us his happy side, but never shows us the pain. I know it's a H. sapien guy thing. It's like they aren't allowed to admit that they are unhappy.

So Daddy walks around the house as if things hadn't changed. He smiles occasionally and makes some jokes around Momma Dee Dee. I know he is trying to cheer her up.

Sometimes I think he forgets that all of us can feel his pain. The whole damn family is empaths, even Dee Dee. No matter what is showing on his face, we can always feel what's in his heart.

Dee Dee is more demonstrative. She has always been the calmest person in our family, the most content. But this has been hard on her. The D-Generation twins were all pretty much codependent. They really needed each other.

Because their empathic capabilities were really in the embryonic stage, they needed to be in close proximity to each other for it to work, such as it did. The E-Generation is fully empathic, and no longer requires that the twins remain physically together to be able to feel each other. That's a theory I'm working on. I think it's a good theory. We haven't done a lot of research about the relationship of D-Generation twins. What is the use? Before long they'll all be gone. But I can sit on the porch of the plantation drinking a glass of Daddy's home-made Zinfandel, and speculate about such things.

I'm taking time off from my real job to be with my parents. I've taken over the "Get Andrew Laid" room for a while. I've got all my links in place so can of course continue to negotiate with the agencies and countries that I always deal with. They don't care where I do it from, so why should the government?

It's always fun for me to do my work computer to computer. Even today the operating system of choice throughout the world remains the descendant of that little thing that Edie and Eddie wrote for me almost fifty years ago.

I've made sure through the years that with every new release, that undetectable back door into the system those kids wrote for me when they were five years old remained in place. So I can pretty much hack into any computer in the world if I want to. It certainly helps me in my negotiations to know what the true situation is on the other side.

Daddy is a very untrusting soul, especially when it comes to me. I have no idea why he should feel that way. Back when we were releasing Version 1 of the New Man operating system, Daddy made it clear to me that he knew that there was a backdoor into it.

I played innocent. I was innocent, kind of. I certainly didn't put that backdoor into Version 1. Edie and Eddie did. Of course, they put it there for me. But I didn't do it.

So when Daddy said to me, "So Emmy, the new operating system has a built-in Emma entrance, right?"

I batted my eyes at him (sometimes that works with him) and said, "What do you mean, Daddy?"

Daddy gave me that look; the look that means that I haven't fooled him for a minute. "Please, Emmy. I know you think I'm an idiot, but I wasn't born yesterday."

I said, "I know you're not an idiot, Daddy, no matter what Momma Donnie says."

He said, "Oh yeah? What exactly did Momma Donnie say?"

Sometimes I can throw Daddy off the trail by changing the subject. Anyway, that was like forty or fifty years ago. I still have my backdoor into the world, and Daddy still doesn't trust me.

That isn't really fair. Daddy trusts me. But he knows me, too. I very rarely abuse my powers. He told us very young to use our powers only for good, and I do, mostly. But I need a shortcut into people's computers. Of course I have my own backdoor. It's saved our ass more than once. It's the kind of thing Daddy calls a home field advantage.

Momma Donnie died in her sleep. She was in Daddy's arms. He held her every night, just waiting for the end, knowing it was coming. I'm sad but there is some consolation. Donnie's life was complete. She lived it fully. She was happy and content. Who could ask for more than that?

The Year 53

Andrew's Story

Retirement isn't all it is cracked up to be. I've been retired now for three years. I figured that once I began collecting Social Security I would just bag it. So after I turned 75 I quit working at the Institute, quit putting in my two cents at New Man U., quit hanging around the offices of New Man Inc. I'm pretty sure everyone was more than happy to see me go.

I still have my computer room in the house. It's loaded with state of the art, no moving part computing power. That's on one small shelf. The rest of the room is filled with flowers and memorabilia. When I was single I had a wall of computing in my living room. Now I have hardware about the size of a softball with which I could run Venezuela.

Heck, now we have computing built into our clothes, with full access to any and all data available throughout the world, all virtually displayed on the pupils of our eyes. Our peripherals are operated via eye movement.

After I set the eKids onto the problem of voice recognition, that whole thing left the Stone Age and entered the twenty-first century. Now everyone has his 'computer voice'. One can talk normally and then with just a change in inflection address his computer without breaking stride, so to speak. It has opened up a whole new code of etiquette.

We oldsters think it is impolite to speak to one's computer while talking to a human being, regardless of species. But these kids today, they can hold a non-verbal communication with another New Man, hold a verbal conversation with a Homo sapien, while at the same time issuing computer commands and receiving input from multiple sources. I just think it's rude.

Oh, well, no one has ever paid any attention to me anyway. I've always just been a convenient dick. I hold a very odd position in the history of mankind. I think I can say without fear of rebuttal, that I am the most famous fucker in history. I ask you, who tops me; fame by fucking, that is? Casanova was a piker. He had quality but no quantity. No one approaches me when it comes to quantity. And any other famous fuckers usually had something else to hang their hats on, if you know what I mean. They were Presidents, or actors, or Empresses or something. I'm just a fucker.

It is a singularly unfulfilling notion that the world will remember me for my ability to fuck. I mean, what is more useless than a retired fucker? At least as far as that goes, I'm only in semi-retirement. Dee Dee and I still occasionally indulge, if only for old time's sake.

I'm still able to get it up if I need it. I just don't need it very often. Dee Dee is just so fragile now that I'm afraid of hurting her. She's still the warm, sweet, wonderful girl I fell in love with. So there is plenty of upside to our relationship.

But both of us are haunted by the girl that isn't here; maybe very haunted. Talk about downside. I've found out the real problem with telempathy. Once you have it, it is almost impossible to do without it. I have no idea how New Man deals with the death of a partner. Maybe evolution has given them a coping mechanism to go with their telempathy.

But Dee Dee and I are H. sapiens not New Man. We don't have any damn coping mechanism. We've been left hanging out there on the front lines, completely codependent with our partners, with no way to deal with the loss.

I've come to terms with things in my own mind. I'm not into suicide or anything like that. But for the last fifty years or so, there has been a single entity called Deirdre-Donnie-Andrew living in this house. Now that entity is limping along on only two-thirds of its parts. I don't know that it's possible for one-third of the parts to survive.