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."
