My life was completely planned out before I was born. My parents knew exactly what they wanted in a son, down to the genes they wanted him to inherit. I was a baby from a tube. This was new in the science world, choosing the looks and traits for your baby, and was popular among the extremely wealthy. First you would sit with a consultant, choose exactly how you would want your baby to look throughout the years until he or she was in their mid twenties. Yes. You would sit at a computer with a genetic consultant and describe how you would want your baby to look throughout the first twenty-five years of their life. My parents modeled me after the dear Brad Pitt, and trust me I am not complaining. Not about that part at least. It sure did help me in the lady department. I had my pick and choose of women since the age of fourteen.

After the easy task of choosing your baby’s looks, you were then brought to a room where you answered a 500 question “quiz” on personality, sexual preference, genes, and some miscellaneous questions at the end. This was to help the geneticist choose your baby’s “lifestyle” down to how many kids they would be able to have. My parents thought one son would be good enough for me to have. I never really thought about it. When I was born, my mother died of complications from birth. I was removed from her bodily quickly via c-section. Due to the depth of my mothers illnesses during her pregnancy I came out infertile. My father was very displeased with this, considered he paid millions of dollars for the perfect baby. My mother’s death just an inconvenience for him. He quickly found a new, much younger wife, and began to fund his next baby.

Growing up, I never stopped myself from entering a woman of my pleasing, and never thought for a second to use protection. I couldn’t get her pregnant anyway, I thought, and since I was immune to all diseases (thanks to mommy and daddy’s expensive geneticists) I did who I pleased how I pleased and always left my “present” behind.

On my thirtieth birthday I got the shock of a lifetime. A reporter knocked on my door and said she had a story to tell me. She was fine as hell so of course I let her in without a second thought.

“Did you know, Mr. Parker, that you are the unclaimed father of twenty-four children? Twenty-three of which are boys. Are you also aware that your birth records, which were sealed until early this morning, have been falsified and that your parents are actually not your parents? And lastly, could you please answer the question, has anyone told you that you are not in fact a gene baby but a regular baby born naturally at the community hospital?”

My jaw dropped and I took a staggering step back. What was this woman telling me, and how did she get her information? My mouth was dry so I couldn’t speak.

Well, this was something I never would have predicted.


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