Johnson Institute Ch. 01

I see this as a two-parter which follows Abraham and Martin, and later their mothers Yovanna and Sarah, after they are accidentally exposed to a genetic experiment undertaken at the Johnson Institute.

For reasons I can't explain this was one of the easier stories I've written. It seemed to flow through the word processor.

As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * * *

As Doctor Brennah Johnson and her seven month baby bump effortlessly took their place behind the Johnson Institute podium and adjusted the microphone to her five feet nine (including two inch heels) frame all talk ceased. Despite her youth, still only twenty-four, her recent publication had been groundbreaking and earlier, when she'd mingled with the crowd, all had been struck by a seriousness, a gravitas, her air of natural command. Now all attention was riveted on her.

And while these academics would never admit it, it didn't hurt that she was breathtakingly beautiful. Even in professional blue dress and omnipresent white lab coat she was the epitome of a California beach girl: natural light blonde hair that reached the middle of her back, sparkling intelligent green eyes, round "C" breasts, straight nose, full lips, perfect white teeth, and even pregnant she was toned and fit, her pre-pregnancy 34-24-34 figure still evident.

Dr. Johnson graciously welcomed everyone, then outlined the history of the Institute. Established by the University to further the research of her mother, Dr. Margaret Johnson, one of the foremost bio-geneticists of her generation, its steady progress had culminated in the string of recent successes that resulted in the construction of this new facility.

In her presentation there were certain things Dr. Brennah Johnson left out. In modesty she did not say what everyone in the room knew: her mother had not been among the foremost bio-geneticists of her generation, she'd been the foremost bio-geneticist. In discretion she did not say her mother had to threaten to leave the University, which doubted this socially inept woman had the skills to manage the Institute, before it would agree to fund it. The dutiful daughter in her did not say the University had been right. The Institute's initial progress had been fitful, slow. Her mother was an indifferent administrator and absent fundraiser who, with the exception of her son Joseph - at age 18, already a senior in college, she'd been seduced by a married professor, Joseph was the result - couldn't abide people. The genes under her microscope were more real to her than the lab assistant who set them up. It was only after Joseph, who was pursuing his own PhD in bio-genetics, had joined the Institute and took over its administrative function that the Institute had taken off.

There was one more thing Dr. Johnson left out, the most important thing, but for this she cannot be faulted. She didn't know this thing; no one alive knew this thing. Her mother had used the Institute to finish research she'd been doing on the side for years, working on a virus that modified one set of genes and one set of genes only, her own mitochondrial DNA, genes passed directly from mother to child without input from the father. The modifications were few, but meaningful. First and foremost, they created a powerful romantic and sexual attraction to others with identical mitochondrial DNA. Her son would become her lover. But she'd included other modifications, not because she cared about them - she didn't - but because her research indicated they mattered to men: (1) a natural air of command complemented by pheromones rendering those around you deferential, (2) an affinity for exercise and a body that responded to it, (3) a variety of changes that conformed with conventional ideas of beauty, and (4) a thicker longer more potent penis.

Two days after she'd exposed her son to a mist containing the virus he joined her in her bed. Brennah was born nine months later and for the first time in her life Margaret was truly happy. She loved her son/husband and daughter/granddaughter, her work grew more innovative, she won the Nobel Prize, the Institute became a massive success.

But then one day, fifteen years later, it happened. Her computer sent her an alert. Clones of the virus she'd introduced to her son had mutated. She'd designed the virus to be stable so it would work only on her mitochondrial DNA, but she knew mutation was inevitable; it was why she'd kept the cloned virus under constant analysis. Now that it was changing it might infect others and spread through the population.

For the next five years she worked on limiting the virus to her, her son, and daughter and was making progress when, without warning, the end came; she died peaceably in her sleep. She'd really really meant to tell Joseph about the virus so he'd know the truth, so he could continue her research, but she'd never done it. It had never been the right time, never been the right place, and now it never would.

After mourning the loss of her mother, Brennah, who'd long ago learned her half-brother was her father, became his lover. The desire was inevitable, for her mitochondrial DNA was identical to his, as was that of the child growing inside her.

* * * * *

After the presentation Dr. Johnson was introduced to two students, Abraham and Martin. Best of friends, as high school seniors they'd won the science fair sponsored by the Institute, now they were outstanding freshmen in the university's bio-genetics curriculum. She reached for their hands, noted the boys needed to work on their grip, and for the first time the mutated virus lept to two new subjects.

* * * * *

After touring the facility Abraham and Martin, with trepidation, headed back to their rooms. They occupied two bedrooms of a four bedroom suite that shared a common living room, bathroom, and kitchen. The problem? In the third and fourth bedrooms were Joshua and Jeremy Jones, twin brothers whose goals were walking onto the football team, which they had, and torturing their roommates.

They found Joshua and two of his buddies from the team sprawled across the living room, cans of Red Bull scattered about, an empty pizza box sitting on the table before them. Joshua, seeing his roommates eye the box, said with transparent disdain, "Oh yeah, sorry guys, I know you were saving that pizza for dinner, but me and the guys got hungry. Now we gottta run. How was nerdlapalooza?"

* * * * *

That night the virus multiplied, spread through Abraham and Martin, modified their DNA.

* * * * *

Martin, up first the next morning and still smarting from the way Joshua had dissed him, was checking some body building web-sites when joined by Abraham.

Abraham, intrigued but concerned his friend might make fun of him if he showed too much interest, said, "Thinking of taking after Joshua?"

"No, I was thinking about Dr. Johnson, in top shape and a mega brain."

And with that as a goal they decided, why not try working out?

* * * * *

Three weeks later, each standing in his bedroom before a mirror, wearing only gym shorts, Abraham and Martin looked at themselves, seeing, not quite believing. The work-outs were not only changing their bodies, the concomitant surges of endorphins was clearing their minds, sharpening intellects already razor sharp. Each got on a scale, checked his weight and BMI, turned back to his computer. Research said they shouldn't have added ten plus pounds of muscle this quickly, but each had. That both of them were outliers seemed unlikely, but data didn't lie and no other explanation offered itself. They'd have to investigate further.

Later, each boy took his shower, ran soaped hands on his body, enjoyed his new muscles, then turned his attention to a bigger mystery, one neither had yet shared with the other. Wrapping his fingers on it, sliding them up and down, it could not be denied. His dick was bigger longer thicker, more sensitive, darker in color, head a bright purple when aroused. Each jerked off, spraying his seed on the shower wall. He'd never before come so hard, never before produced so much semen.

* * * * *

Increasingly confident, the new Abraham and Martin expected to be treated differently and the new Abraham and Martin were treated differently. For most people the change had been subtle, gradual; for most people the boys' natural dignity and sobriety were as important as the pheromones which diffused in the air around them. In the close quarters of the suite, however, the air and furniture thick with pheromones, the change was not so subtle, so gradual.

"Hey guys, we ordered a pizza, saved a couple of slices for you."

"Thanks Jeremy, we appreciate it."

Joshua said, "No problem, I know you have a big test tomorrow so after we pick up we'll hang at Speedy's, get out of your way. We'll be sure to be quiet when we get back."

* * * * *

Dr. Green, the head of the bio-genetics department, checked her make-up, then asked her secretary to send in her visitors. She knew this plum was traditionally awarded to seniors, but she foresaw little trouble. Abraham and Martin were not only brilliant, they'd earned the universal respect of their classmates.

"Abraham, Martin, I'd like you to be the department's student representatives at the upcoming Westinghouse Technology Conference."

As the happy young men - it was quite the opportunity - left her office the dean's eyes focused on their tight asses. If she was a little younger; if they weren't students?

* * * * *

Although still much bigger than their roommates, Jason and Joshua taking up minimal space, arms tucked in, legs curled back, seemed smaller as they smiled softly and nodded their heads as Martin said, "But you said Speedy has a tutor."

"Yeah, but he won't listen to his tutor. We know he'll listen to you guys and you know more biology than anyone. If he flunks the next test he's off the football team and we're without our best wide receiver. Our whole season could turn on it."

Abraham and Martin looked at each other, let their roommates stew for a moment, then said, "Sure, but this is what you need to do for us..."

Jason and Joshua paid rapt attention to the list of demands, saying only when they thought them complete, "Sure I got...," then again falling silent when Martin interrupted them. "I'm not done yet."

* * * * *

Joshua and Jason, accompanied by Biff, the team's all-conference quarterback, waited while Abraham and Martin finished their telephone calls, then said, "We just got invited to the Cotton Bowl, we wanted you guys to know. There's a party tonight at my place to celebrate. We'd love it if you'd come, be the guests of honor. We couldn't have done it without Speedy, and Speedy couldn't have done it without you."

His eyes fixed on their guests Abraham said, "Just gonna be the guys on the team?"

Biff, unable to meet Abraham's stare, dropped his eyes and said, "Hell no, there'll be plenty of girls, including the cheerleading squad, they're celebrating too."

* * * * *

Abraham and Martin were standing in the center of the room, the party swirling around them, talking to Speedy when the two cheerleaders approached. Speedy quickly exited.

They both had boyfriends, but their boyfriends weren't there and standing before Abraham and Martin, fully focused on them, the two young beauties smiled, twirled their hair, and mirrored the boys' actions, tilting their heads, swaying their bodies as Abraham and Martin did. Their hands grew more active, touching their mouths, finding excuses to touch the young men, flecking something from a shoulder, laying a palm on a chest, moving closer.

The boys finished their beers. The girls offered to get them another, but suggested the beer at their place. It was a specialty brand.

The next day, over brunch, with Abraham and Martin gone, the girls shared stories. They'd never been fucked so hard or so well, known a cock so big, and so much fricking semen. The boys had said they were virgins, and at times they seemed like novices, but with another couple days before their boyfriends returned they'd teach Abraham and Martin a thing or two.

* * * * *

The stewardess, a trim comely short-haired brunette in her late thirties, was standing in the back of the plane when the young man emerged from the bathroom.

"We're close to take off sir, you need to return to your seat."

Looking right at her - he had clear blue eyes — Abraham said, "Yes ma'am thank you."

She remembered him. He was flying with a friend, both nice-looking and clearly intelligent.

When the seatbelt light came on she walked the aisle, checking to make sure everyone's seat belt was buckled, caught the eye of the two boys, smiled.

During take off, strapped in, she checked her phone. The text was from her ex. Their son had skipped school, missed a test, was in danger of not graduating. She had a four day stay at home; she'd pick him up from his father on the way in. They'd have the talk, not that it ever made a difference, not that it didn't always end badly.

She thought again of those two young man, a year or two older than her son, but a lifetime more possessed and mature. Why couldn't her son be more like them?

When she handed out peanuts, served drinks, she lingered, talked to the fascinating young men. They were college students heading home for Thanksgiving. When the young men handed her their trash fingers brushed and the virus made its leap.

Her mitochondrial DNA was not, of course, identical to either boy, but there were similarities and the ever-evolving virus was growing more flexible, adaptive.

She picked up her son on the way home and in the close confines of her Fiat the virus made another leap. The talk that night, while not great, was not an unmitigated disaster. The next day, the virus spreading through them, they talked again, it went well. They decided to go to dinner together.

The next morning she knocked on his bedroom door. They became lovers. He graduated on time and attended a local college so he could live at home.

* * * * *

The two women scanning the airport concourse were drawing their fair share of attention. Both were dark skinned, Yovanna of Spanish ancestry, Sarah Italian, five feet nine inches tall, with brown eyes and hair, but there the similarities ended. Most of the ten pounds the 32-25-37 Yovanna had added since college sat in her backside and her curves, round ass, and "C" breasts received many a second look. Sarah, on the other hand, still at her college 114 pounds, was slender with slim shoulders and hips, flat belly, and "B" breasts, and while her lean muscular frame may not have been quite as lean and muscular as it had once been it still garnered many an admiring glance.

The women's eyes were drawn to the way two handsome young men moved through the crowd before realizing those young men were their sons. They'd put on fifteen muscular pounds and moved with a grace neither mother had ever seen. What happened to them?

They kept their surprise to themselves as Yovanna, with a hug and a kiss, welcomed Abraham home. Sarah did the same with Martin.

The virus, finding the mothers' mitochondrial DNA identical to the sons', made the leap.

* * * * *

Flipping among cable channels Abraham Venture realized he'd lost track. Who was playing whom? Was North Carolina playing Louisville or was it North Carolina State? How did Georgia Tech fit in? He thought about his wife. She called from the airport, seemed so excited about having their son home. Not that he wasn't a great kid, smart as a whip, but Martin thought his wife spoiled him, preventing him, as Martin's briefly visited embellished memories of his years as a high school athlete, from becoming a real man like his father. He wished his wife was back from the airport. He wanted another beer but standing up and walking to the kitchen seemed like a lot of work. Still, he wanted that beer. He pushed the handle of his recliner forward, forced his paunchy body to vertical, started down the hall.

Half-an-hour later the garage door opened, waking him, and eyes on the television - North Carolina was up by twenty - he grabbed the beer can from the chair's built-in holder. Shit, it was empty.

From down the hall, "Hey honey, Abe's home."

"Mom, it's Abraham now, I don't use Abe any more."

In a coy teasing tone she said, "How will I tell you from your father?"

His wife and son entered the room. Shit, the kid had been working out; he looked good.

Abe, excuse me, Abraham said, "Don't worry Mom, I'm sure you'll figure it out," then turned to his father, extended his hand, said, "No need to get up."

Happy to remain seated Abraham Sr. said, "Good to have you home," reached for his son's hand, was surprised by the power of his grip. His son leaned forward and looming over his father picked up the beer, jiggled it, said, "Could you use another Dad, this one's empty."

"Sure could," and, the name feeling awkward in his mouth, said, "Abraham."

Yovanna said, "Should I get it son?"

Abraham said, "I'll walk with you Mom."

They brought the old man a beer.

* * * * *

That night much the same scenes played out at both houses. Fathers sipped beer to the sound of college basketball. Sons helped mothers prepare Thanksgiving feasts while the two of them related events of the past months, mothers of jobs and local gossip, sons of roommates who'd started as pains-in-the-ass but came around, of unexpected involvement with the football team, straight A's, the campus health club. The two of them made plans to hit the gym after tomorrow's Thanksgiving meal and later mothers retired, bathed, opened computers, upgraded gym memberships from individual to family.

As mothers did sons watched basketball with fathers and their limbic, systems reacting to this previously unknown attraction to their mothers, saturated the air of the room with pheromones.

* * * * *

Abe Sr. slipped his toothbrush back into place and said, "I can't get over our son. He looks great there's a maturity to him. College has done wonders for him."

Thinking her husband had always underrated their child Yovanna said, "Yes he's quite the young man," and pulled the blanket over herself.

That night, both mothers sleeping, the virus spread through their bodies, altering their DNA.

* * * * *

Thanks to Abraham's help with forty-five minutes until the Thanksgiving meal was ready Yovanna found she had nothing to do. She was going to the gym later, but a small glass of wine wouldn't hurt and she poured it, headed for the den where her husband and Abraham were watching the early NFL game. Stopping in the doorway, she swirled her glass, took a sip , looked at her son. She knew she shouldn't be having these thoughts, but she'd been having them all day: he looked good.

"Hey guys, mind if I join you?"

Her husband grunted; her son turned, patted a spot on the couch next to himself, and with eyes eager said, "Right here beautiful."

Feeling playful Yovanna draped her leg over her son's and, watching the game, mother and son pumped out pheromones.

During the next commercial break Yovanna mentioned that she and Abraham, along with Sarah and Martin, would hit the gym after dinner.

During the next commercial break Abraham Sr. called Martin Sr. and invited him over to watch football.

* * * * *

Abraham, thanks to a "How-To" YouTube video, expertly carved the turkey. It had always been his father's job, but when his mother suggested it was time for a change his father, suddenly complacent, agreed. After dinner, at his son's suggestion and possibly for the first time Abe Sr. helped clean-up.

When they finished Yovanna went to change and Abe Sr. said, "Wanna watch the football game son? They're at the end of the first quarter."