Chapter 22: Fantasies Fulfilled?
Posted: December 17, 2003 - 09:46:06 pm

The Year Eight

Donnie's Story

People in this country must think our family life revolves around sex, which is patently ridiculous. These magazine articles have only added fuel to the fire. First there was that hilarious Playboy article with the twin centerfolds. Then Cosmo comes out and suddenly my and Deirdre's naked asses are prominently displayed in every grocery store in the country.

That issue was Cosmo's all-time best seller. Andrew bought three copies himself. And then the wretched man had a copy of the magazine hand-delivered to our parents. I'm not sure how pleased they were to receive it.

And now Dee Dee and I are regularly appearing in the top twenty 'sexiest women in America' polls although the two of us only occupy one spot. When he isn't kidding us about it, Andrew tells us that we deserve to head the list. He's such a sweet liar.

We are getting propositions every day in the mail. And we have a large collection of penis pictures. Why do men think that such things are attractive? Why would they send pictures of them in the mail? I agree they are utilitarian, but beautiful? Hardly. And if they are trying to boast about their size perhaps they are unaware that we have to deal with that monstrous thing swinging between Andrew's legs every day of our lives. Anything larger would be grotesque.

But Dee Dee loves all of this: the polls, the propositions, the pictures, the penises, the publicity. She thinks it all is hilarious. Back in 2003 we were a couple of frumpy, over-the-hill, lonely, aging businesswomen. And now nine years and six children later we are among the twenty sexiest women in America? We can only blame Andrew for this strange metamorphosis.

Helen decided to accept our offer to come on-board, so now we have two half-finished products and a half-built university. But we do have a full-time lawyer and a full-time publicist. It's the American way.

Jake is negotiating with several computer manufacturers to use our operating system. Andrew and Jake had to fly to New York with Helen and me to transact some business.

Helen needs to network with some add agencies. The boys are scheduled to see some major players in the computer industry. But the real reason is that Andrew wants to visit Mad Magazine. Have I mentioned that Andrew is peculiar?

He has convinced himself that the official mascot of New Man University should be Alfred E. Newman. We don't even have any professors yet and he thinks we need a mascot. And he wants to call the operating system "NewMan AE". He had Edie dummy up a commercial which starts with a picture of Bill Gates above the slogan "Worry!" and then morphs into a picture of Alfred E. Newman above the slogan "What, Me Worry?" He wants to use the slogan for the operating system. He wants the slogan of the University to be "What, Me Worry?" in Latin.

Have I mentioned that Andrew is peculiar? Because Mad is now owned by a large corporation they might be amenable to selling us the use of their images. I think the truth is that Andrew is just dying to meet the usual gang of idiots.

Andrew plans to put a life-sized statue of Alfred E. Newman in the quad at the University. This is what he wants for the symbol of what we hope will become the most prestigious institute of higher learning in the world. He is such a child.

We stayed at the RIGHA Royal, the rooms beautifully decorated in art deco style. Let's be frank. We took two suites and I didn't plan to stay with Andrew. Helen and I decided if we were going to 'share', we should do it as far away from the children as possible. Andrew agreed because I asked him so sweetly. He can refuse me nothing, not even this.

Well, it was his idea in the first place; at least the part about me being with Jake. The part about him being with Helen was Helen's idea. The problem had been Jake. Coward that I am, I asked Andrew to ask Jake.

It was two weeks ago. We were together in bed. He had reluctantly agreed to change partners on the planned New York trip. But then I said, "Andrew, why don't you ask Jake if he wants to do this."

He looked shocked. "Me! I'm the only uninterested party here. I don't even want to be involved. Come on, Donnie, have Helen ask him. Or you proposition him. Don't you think I'm going above and beyond the call of duty as it is?"

If I had persisted he would have done it for me. He always does what I ask. But he was right. Either Helen or I would have to be the one to involve Jake. It finally occurred to me that we both should ask him at the same time.

The next day, Helen and I were out back having some lemonade when Jake stopped by. He joined us on the patio and we chatted for a bit. Helen and I had planned the way we were going to go about it. Helen began the ploy.

"Jake", she said, "Donnie and I were arguing about something. She says that she's right, but I'm sure that I'm right."

I could tell he could care less about what we were arguing about. Still he politely took the bait.

"What's the disagreement about?"

I said, "Well it's in all the polls. Andrew is the world's greatest lover. Everyone knows that. And I especially know it. I witness it every day of my life."

Jake's eyes widened. Maybe this discussion would be interesting after all. Helen took up the challenge. "Donnie, I really only have your word for it. These polls are merely the opinion of unknowledgeable women. How would some woman in Poughkeepsie or Podunk know the kind of lover Andrew is? I've had a little more 'personal' experience than you have, and I say that Jake is the world's greatest lover."

Jake almost spit out his lemonade at that.

I said, "Jake? Now Helen, Jake is a very sweet boy. But how could you compare him with Andrew Adkins? No offense, Jake."

Jake was startled but said, "Uh, no offense taken."

Helen laughed. "I feel the same way, Donnie. Andrew is a most attractive man, but please! How could you compare him to Jake in bed?"

I said, "I guess we are at an impasse. You claim that Jake is the world's greatest lover. I think that it's Andrew. But we can't really know, can we?"

That's when Helen said, "I suppose there is a way we could find out."

Helen and I both looked Jake in the eye while giving him our sweetest smiles. He had that 'deer in the headlights' look. He had been sitting here enjoying this innuendo-laced conversation when suddenly he became the center of our attention.

Jake is no dummy. He knew what Helen was implying. Still, he was forced to say, "What way exactly is that Helen?"

He was sitting between us (we had arranged the chairs in advance so that it was his only option.) We both moved our chairs closer to his and each of us took one of his arms.

I leaned close to him, my breasts brushing against his arm, and said, "Jake, honey, can you think of a way we could find out?"

In my limited experience I've learned that a man with an erection is far more agreeable than a man without an erection. It seemed to me that Jake was becoming increasingly agreeable.

Still he tried to put up a fight. He said, "Me? Uh, no, I, uh, don't know how you could find out." He certainly knew exactly how we could find out.

I decided to be less oblique. We already had him. That much was obvious. I made my voice as sultry as I knew how. "Jake, Helen and I think the only way we can really know is if we give each other a trial run, if you know what I mean."

Oh, yes. Jake was definitely interested. I wondered how his pants could stand the strain.

He said, "A trial run? Uh, how does Andrew feel about a trial run?"

I said frankly, "Jake, you know that Andrew is pussy whipped. He admits it himself. He'll do anything I ask of him. Don't worry about Andrew. We just want to know how you feel."

Jake is an experienced trial lawyer. One would think he has learned to react well under pressure. But in this case his cheeks were bright red and he had trouble enunciating his response. "Well, uh, I don't, uh, know Donnie. Are you two sure about this?"

Helen replied, "Jake, both of us have this little itch we'd like to scratch; just once, and only if everyone is okay with it. Donnie is madly in love with her husband. He has nothing to worry about concerning her emotional fidelity. And you and I may be starting something pretty good, too. At least I hope so."

"I don't want to do anything to harm our relationship. But some people around here seem to think that you might be interested in Deirdre and Donnie. We thought that the three of us, you, me, and Donnie, could scratch any little itches we might be having. No one would get their noses out of joint, no one would be hurt. It's a win, win, win, situation. Deirdre doesn't mind either, though she has no interest in being a part of it."

Jake again asked, "But what about Andrew?"

I again spoke frankly. "Because he trusts you and because he trusts me, I think Andrew can handle this. In fact he suggested the 'you and me' part of this. But when Helen came in to the picture, I of course wouldn't consider excluding her. She and I thought that an even exchange would be an elegant solution. "

"Think it over, Jake. Discuss it with Helen in private. I won't be hurt if you decide not to do it." (Here I gave a little pout.) "But I would be disappointed."

I had Jake hooked and was slowly reeling him in. He wouldn't pass up this opportunity in a million years, I was happy to see. Still he didn't want to appear too eager. When a man's hard-on is making a circus tent of his pants, it's difficult for him to not appear eager.

He said, "I don't know Donnie. We'll talk it over and get back to you." He looked at Helen, who licked her lips and gave him another searing smile. She looked capable of rape.

Helen stood and took Jake's hand. "Donnie, Jake and I are going to go talk it over." I know that look. There would be very little talking going on.

Helen's Story

I hope Jake understands. Perhaps I hope he doesn't understand. I've wanted Andrew Adkins from the first moment I saw him. It has nothing to do with romance; it has everything to do with lust.

I feel both passion and romance with Jake. But still I want Andrew; just once. Then I'll be fine. Then I can concentrate on my new relationship with Jake. He's everything I've always wanted, is Jake. But Andrew is a distraction.

We could have stayed at my apartment in the Village when we took our trip to New York, I suppose. I'm subletting it but the new occupant has yet to move in. But I wanted the night to be special, in a special place. So instead we are staying at a mid-town luxury hotel.

We had dinner at an excellent Japanese restaurant; then went to a jazz club after dinner. It just never occurred to me that Andrew and Donnie are celebrities. They seem so normal. But wherever we went people approached them.

They both looked gorgeous. Andrew is tall and slim and handsome; his eyes dark and piercing. He looks like a movie star. Donnie is small, delicate, and beautiful; blonde, soft and round. Her eyes are equally alluring, especially when she smiles and they light up. She could still be mistaken for Joanne Woodward, except it seems that everyone knows her for herself now.

I'll admit that Jake and I looked pretty damn good too. We received our share of glances as well. I could tell that Jake didn't mind basking in the overflow adulation pointed in the Adkins' direction.

While Andrew handled all the attention graciously, I could tell that he didn't want it. Several women made indecent proposals to him at the jazz club, right in front of his wife! Herbie Hancock was performing. He was terrific, but he mentioned that 'in the audience tonight - the Progenitor, Andrew Adkins, and one of his lovely wives'.

Donnie seemed unfazed, but Andrew doesn't like to be the center of attention. I could see that he was relieved when we left the Blue Note and caught a cab back to the hotel.

In the taxi, Jake asked Andrew about it. He said, "You don't seem to like all the notoriety that much, Drew. You're just not celebrity material are you?"

Andrew said, "What did I ever do that warrants being a celebrity? I've knocked up a boatload of women. That's it. Other than that, what? Yes, I've spawned the vast majority of kids who make up New Man, but no one seems interested in that fact. They are more interested in the knocking up process than the result thereof."

"My wives and my kids: now they are the ones that should be the celebrities. Deirdre and Donnie are beyond beautiful. I've known it all along. Now the country knows it too. And the kids?"

"Elle is one of the top financial wizards in the country. We might as well have a branch of the US Mint in our back yard. Eddie and Edie are already writing mind-boggling computer programs. Ethan is going to be a world-class architect. And Emmy's the greatest manipulator on earth. She can arrange for anything. She caused a major government crisis when she was five years old."

Both Jake and I were startled by that. Donnie said, "Now Andrew, we don't talk about the things that Emma does." To Jake and me she said, "Just f orget Andrew ever said that, if you don't mind."

I couldn't let that one go. "You can't just leave it at that. What did Emma do?"

Andrew gave a wan little smile. "Let's just say that a certain Attorney General stepped on our toes, and now he's an ex-Attorney General. I know you are a journalist, Helen, but this is off the record. If people in power found out, our ass would be grass."

My mouth was wide. "Oh my God; she's the one that did that! I won't talk, Andrew. The man was a prick anyway. He deserved what he got. You're serious. Emma did that?"

Andrew just nodded. "Emmy can do whatever she wants to do. She's smart and devious but not dangerous. Don't worry about her. Any manipulation she does is generally for the common good. Well, a lot of times it's to pull off a really funny prank. The girl is incorrigible, but sweet."

Jake muttered, "Yeah, I know about Emma's pranks."

I wondered what that was about.

We made it back to the hotel and went to the elevator. Our suites were on the same floor. It hadn't occurred to me that the Adkins' would be so well known. I was worried that Andrew would be recognized after we got off of the elevator. After all, his wife wasn't the one who would be accompanying him to his bedroom, was she?

Andrew's Story

Did you ever feel like you were walking to the gallows? When I was a teenager I totaled my mother's car driving home from a basketball game. It wasn't even my fault. Some guy ran a stop sign. But I had to walk into the house an hour later and tell my folks that they had fifty percent fewer cars. That was a most unpleasant evening.

Tonight I feel like a dead man walking. I wasn't having pre-coital anxiety syndrome, if there is such a thing. If there isn't such a thing, there should be. What else are you supposed to call it when some guy can't get it up due to too much thinking? Maybe I should patent the term.

But shit, I can always get it up. Maybe if my dick would just fail me now and then I wouldn't have this fucking burden on my shoulders. People don't know me. They think they do, but they don't.

I've got this absurd reputation. I get introduced in night clubs seven hundred miles from my home, merely because I fuck so many women. People who've never talked to me applaud as if I were some kind of celebrity. Women proposition me right in front of my wife as if it were perfectly proper. I'm the world's most famous fucker.

But who I really am is a nice guy. What I really am is pussy whipped. That's who and what I am. I fuck hundreds of women every year. I'm unfaithful to my wives over and over again.

But I've been able to compartmentalize that portion of my existence. I've convinced myself that it is a purely mechanical function that I'm performing. I'm doing the work of the institute because I'm almost the only one who can. But I don't have to like it.

Tonight is different. This has nothing to due with the Institute for the Advancement of Mankind. This has everything to do with two couples fucking around. It isn't who I am. It isn't who I want to be. My wife is going to fuck my best friend and I'm going to keep my mouth shut and let it happen. I feel like I'm walking to the gallows.

We rode up the elevator to our floor. There were four of us, but I felt totally alone with my thoughts. I can keep a stoic demeanor. I can turn a Vulcan face to the world. I've been watching Mr. Spock my entire life.

We got off of the elevator and just stood there, looking at each other. Then Donnie stepped up to Jake, slid into his arms and gave him a deep kiss. Well jeez; you'd think she could wait till she got to the room. I'm having enough trouble with this without watching, too.

Donnie stepped back and said, "Thank you, Jake. It's been good for an old lady's ego to know that you'd be willing to do this. You're everything I've ever wanted in a man. Except I already have everything I've ever wanted."

She turned to Helen. "I'm so sorry Helen. I can't. I just can't."

Helen and Donnie were suddenly holding each other, sniffling, both on the verge of crying, it seems.

Helen said, "Thank God! Thank you, Donnie. You're right. You are so right. I only want to be with Jake. Sorry Andrew."

She stepped up to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I put my arms around and gave her a real kiss. I don't know when I've ever felt so relieved. I just received a last-minute reprieve from the governor. Jake and I looked at each other. He had a bemused expression on his face. He kind of shrugged his shoulders and half-smiled. He didn't look a bit disappointed to me.

The two couples parted company and went to their respective suites, but the combination was different than originally planned. Donnie held my hand possessively as we walked to our room.

I slid the card into the key slot and opened the black lacquered door. We walked in to the beautiful deco-style living room of our suite. I closed the door and Donnie turned to me. I could see she was pissed.

She pushed me against the wall and laid into me. "How could you let me go through with this? You bastard, when are you ever going to stand up for yourself? Don't you have any backbone at all?"

I said, not unreasonably, "But, but, I only wanted you to be happy. I thought you fantasized about being with Jake. I thought that's what you wanted."

She said, "You fucking idiot! Jake is built just like you. He looks like you. He plays tennis like you. You are who I fantasize about, not him! Jake is sexy. Of course he's sexy. Haven't you ever looked at another woman and thought she was sexy?"

I shook my head. "No I haven't. I've never looked at another woman since the day you and Dee Dee walked in to my life. How could I?"

I mean, can women turn things around on you or what? I never wanted this thing in the first place. I only went along with it because I'm such a pussy. And now she's laying the blame on me? With that kind of logic, no wonder I never win an argument with my wives.

She was still pissed. "But you pushed me into the arms of another man! How could you think that I could be unfaithful to you?"

Here was an argument I couldn't win. A woman can maneuver herself to the right side of any discussion about a relationship and the man has no idea how she does it. One minute you're a totally innocent bystander, the next minute you're an axe murderer. How does she pull that off? You end up apologizing for her wanting to be unfaithful.

I said, "I'm sorry, Donnie. Please forgive me. I love you" - the last desperate statement of a man who knows that he has lost and the only thing left to do is drop back and punt. Sometimes it works.

She attacked me. She threw her arms around my neck, pressed her body against mine and went directly for my lips. Finally she stepped away and pulled me into the bedroom. She hurriedly removed my clothes and pushed me back on the bed.

I heard her mumble "you're going to get it now."

Her clothes went flying. I'll admit I was already hard. I'm rarely in close proximity to either Deirdre or Donnie without being hard. It's some kind of syndrome I have, I guess. There is only one cure. Donnie looked like she intended to apply the cure immediately.

She was naked. It's hard to describe how beautiful she is without clothes. Her body mesmerizes me. I can't take my eyes off of her. She is so small. After three kids she still weighs her standard 110 pounds. But where one might expect to see bones or sharp angles, there is only softness and curves. Her skin is like silk, soft and sultry.

But tonight she wouldn't let me drink in her beauty. She climbed on top of me so that she was perched directly above my dick. She grabbed it so hard I winced, moved it till she found her entrance and then in one stroke fully impaled herself on my hardness.

She screamed on the way down, then pulled back and began slamming herself up and down my cock. She was still angry. As she gasped for breath and moaned her arousal, she began to curse me out.

"You son of a bitch, don't you ever look at another woman again! Do you hear me? Oh God! Never! You are mine you bastard. Oh, fuck!"

As she humped me she began to beat my chest with her little fists. She had become a crazy woman. She was fucking and hitting, hitting and fucking. I couldn't help it. I laughed. She was just so damn cute.

I reached up and pulled her toward me, letting her ride my dick but holding her at the same time. I kissed her gently then began stroking her hair, pulling her face to my chest.

Donnie's movements became more erratic as she neared her completion. I was somewhere between hot and confused. Suddenly she sat up straight and ground her pussy down on my pubic bone. Her mouth was open but her eyes were closed. Her face was a mixture of pain, pleasure, anguish and passion as she moaned through her fulfillment.

And then it was over. Donnie collapsed on my chest. She lay there, still impaled on my dick. Her arms were around me and her cheek was pressed to my chest.

Then she began to cry. Her emotions were a mess. The poor thing's body was wracked by sobbing. I don't mean to be insensitive, but have you ever been buried deeply in the pussy of a beautiful blonde and tried to maintain your composure while her body vibrated on your dick? It's well neigh impossible.

Still, I tried to console her as she came down from whatever high she was on. I know enough about women to understand that we were going to have to talk this whole thing out before I could hope to get any relief.

Donnie said, "I'm so horrible! Oh, Andrew how can you stand me? I do awful things. And then I blame you."

I patted her head and said, "It's alright, baby. Everything's alright. I am to blame for this."

That wasn't a good idea. Still crying she popped her head up and said, "Will you stop being such a wimp!? I created this mess, not you."

It was obvious she wasn't going to let me accept responsibility as a means to end the discussion, even though I was perfectly willing to do so. Somehow I was going to be blamed for it in the end anyway. Why couldn't we circumvent all the angst in the middle and go right to the conclusion of the conversation? But she wanted to talk it through. How like a woman.

She said, "How can you stand to be with me? You're so young and I'm so old."

Okay, now we're getting to the root of the problem. Age insecurity strikes again.

I said, "Donnie, we've been through this over and over again. You're an ageless, timeless goddess. Our age difference means nothing."

She wasn't buying what I was selling. "Maybe it wasn't so bad when we first started out. But now I'm into middle age and you are still a young man. Andrew, I'm forty-four years old. That's middle aged. How can you still love me?"

I said, "You are looking at this all wrong, Donnie. From a certain point of view we are closer in age than we were nine years ago."

She stopped crying and blinked. I could see she was interested in listening to the convoluted logic that I would use to prove that statement.

She sniffed, "What do you mean?"

I said, "When I was twenty-five, you were 40% older than me. But now that I'm thirty-four you're less than 30% older than me. The older we get, the proportionally closer we get in age. It's simple mathematics."

Her mouth opened but nothing came out. I think I had successfully diverted her from her original line of thought.

She said, "Andrew, you think things that no one else has ever thought. You think things that no one else has ever thought of thinking. I love you, sweetie, but you are thoroughly strange."

I tried to defend myself. "I'm just an average, normal guy."

She shook her head. 'You're not average and you are far from normal. Yes you come wrapped in that beautiful package. But it's easy to see how the children have turned out the way they have. You have a touch of strangeness and they inherited it."

She did it again! She started out with this mea culpa but now the focus of the discussion was no longer her but me. How do women do that?

I said, "I don't know what the heck you are talking about."

She said, "You do statistical analyses of card distribution in computer solitaire games because you think the computer is cheating you. Average people would assume you are just being paranoid, but then you prove you are right! Average people wouldn't notice the problem in the first place."

"You buy paintings of old farm women and then attach the body of playboy centerfolds to their heads. You have theories about subjects that normal people don't even recognize as subjects, let alone have theories about."

"You love women who are ten years older than you are. You refuse to acknowledge that the age difference means anything. You are absolutely the most peculiar man I've ever met."

I figured I could ignore all the other stuff. Anybody would see the things I think about and do and theorize about are perfectly ordinary things. Nothing strange going on there. Her real problem comes back to the age difference.

"Donnie, let's get past this, could we? You are one of the most alluring women in the world. You've heard me say it a million times, but now the whole country acknowledges it. You are half of one of the twenty sexiest women in America. When will you admit it to yourself?"

"Oh, Andrew, you know that Dee Dee and I are only basking in your reflected glory."

"My reflected glory? Are you nuts? I'm a guy who is famous for fucking women I don't know and don't want to fuck. What kind of glory is that? Only in America, baby."

"How you can worry about me loving you or finding you attractive just boggles my mind. You are a walking incitement to riot."

I latched onto Donnie's nipple with my mouth and rammed my dick deep within her. I heard her gasp. If I can't talk her out of this funk, I'll fuck her out of it. One good thing has come of having all these women. I'm not world famous because I'm bad in bed.

We went from a standing start to fucking like mad minks in the space of a few seconds. I was horny, upset, angry, relieved, embarrassed, and a bunch of other emotions I couldn't sort out. Donnie surely felt similar if not matching emotions. We needed to cleanse our souls the old fashioned way.

She said, "Oh, Andrew. This is what I need from you right now. Love me, sweetie. Make love to me."

Her arms went around my back, her legs circled my hips. We needed to establish who belonged to whom. I've felt it but I've never told her. I'm not a sexist. I'm not a male chauvinist pig. But I just can't share her. I'm not that sophisticated.

As I rammed into her harder with every stroke I began to talk. My arms enveloped her and we pulled each other tightly together.

"You belong to me, Donnie, only me. We belong together. I'll love you. I'll take care of you. But you belong to only me."

She smiled that warm mellow smile of hers even as I was fucking her senseless. We brought our lips together and she gave me one of those soul kisses that drive every thought from your head.

She said, "Andrew, these are the arms I want to die in."
Chapter 23
Andrew Wiggin