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Sex shocks. Taboo touches love, arching white hot: "A Greek God, the alpha mental male wet and glistening from the sea, looked over the lecture hall of nubile forms. She sat in the third row like a burning spark. For a micro minute his mind swayed like wind through trees, but then with titanium logic he opened his lecture with thunder."
 
Danger strikes: "The rat lay dead on his desk. Throat slit, mouth open in a death snarl, and one curved tooth digging into a message: 'those who probe the past are condemned to no future.'"
 
Adopted and astonishingly brilliant, Nick and Jenny's search for their identities leads them into the test tubes of in vitro fertilization. Love pulls, incest repels.
 
Taboo and danger intensify as they peel back ever more dangerous layers threatening to expose their creators and killers. Their personal path winds towards a global plot of immensely, inter-nationally powerful "geno gods," who have forged them for their own dark purposes.
 
Let Sow the Storm grasp your mind and grip your body.
 
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Enjoy the beginning of Sow the Storm He changed from a cowboy into a Greek God, wet and glistening from the sea. Professor Nick Nagel stepped to the podium; with his wide shoulders, narrow waist, dark hair, square jaw, and six-foot-two oak frame, he could have straddled a horse into the sunset; instead godlike, he looked over the 150 lecture seats filled with a surprising number of nubile forms. Philosophy classes usually drew more males. Nick’s were the exception. The coeds purred, and what they couldn’t see, they imagined: under that grey sports coat and blue calico shirt they pictured a body hardened by push-ups and ab crunches. They pictured him at a Florida beach in a six-pack contest getting howls from girls wearing small swatches of neon cloth. Professor Nick Nagel had been hired for his mind, but the students were right: he had a body. Nick knew that a sound body nourished a sound mind, so he kept his body whip-corded so that his mind might cut like a whip’s tip. He stood silent. Only his eyes showed that he was pulling thoughts from the skies, forming them into startling words: "Think through life--or be an ape." Silence. Hurled at the head, his words hit the gut. Nervous rumbling began in the stomachs of the students causing them to shift their weight on their thighs. Then from his white teeth flashed another dagger: "Know yourself—or be a pawn" The jagged words sliced their mental softness into anger, guilt, and awe. Then Professor Nick lashed with the lightning of Zeus: "Be true to your thoughts—or be a piece of scat." Silence. Few students knew what that piece was, but most knew from the rhetorical parallelism of ape and pawn, that they did not want to be that "piece of scat." Only a few knew that they had just been given the choice of being "true to their thoughts," or being a piece of shit. Nick’s voice softened: "Our thinking forefathers, Socrates and Shakespeare, put those thoughts a little more politely, a little less viscerally, but if you’re not ready to deal with those thoughts, you’re not ready to deal with this course. Anyone who wishes can leave now." Again a short pause. "Or don’t return Wednesday if you’re not ready to think." Nick lectured on like a drill sergeant breaking recruits down. Though he was brutally blunt, his impact was massive-- like words from a sage. He radiated. If he had been a singer at a concert, the girls would have swooned. But those moistening hormones were for naught. For all of his appeal, Professor Nick may as well have been a statue of a Greek god. Thirty-year old Nick was sexually unavailable and unassailable. Thirty Years Ago... They picked her. Out of all intellectual Boston, a city shining with bright young ladies, they picked her. "Four dozen eggs" was the untraceable order wrapped in layers of money. The risk was acceptable. Her eyes dazzled, her lips flowed, her mind sparked cosmic thoughts. Her mind! What womb could have knit that cortex? Three and a half billion years her brilliance had been evolving. Her mother was the first woman to teach law at Harvard and her father was a Geophysicist at MIT who had melded plate tectonics onto the convection currents of the mantle. They picked her. Genius from genii, 1600 on the SATs, 36 on the ACTs, valedictorian from Wellesley. They picked the perfect brood hen. The matrix. The mother bee to lay their eggs.
 The monetary drones picked her as they sat around a parquet table as huge as a swimming pool. "We’ll give her a fertility drug, and a second drug to make her sick enough to go to the hospital. Her follicles will spurt eggs like popcorn." " We’ll need someone there to catch them so they don’t fall and break. Hah, hah, hah." "Do we want all our eggs from one basket?" The monetary drones laughed darkly. Also Thirty Years Ago... They picked him. Males were easy. Like fish they snapped at the bait of sex. He arched under her and groaned as she deliberately sliced the skin of his shoulders. He felt a red line of pain, the pain of ecstasy. He rolled off her glistening torso, his back bleeding into the sheet. I fucked a tiger he thought. His back felt fine. His body felt fine. Even his brilliant mind felt fine. At eight he had finished high school math and had placed second in the state of Wisconsin. By fourteen he had graduated from Milwaukee School of Engineering and entered Stanford’s molecular bio dept. By twenty, with a Ph.D. and 4 published papers, no one doubted his genius. Babbit offered this bioengineering genius $135,000--to start. The naked woman, her skin perfect except for a small mole at the corner of her lips, walked towards the bathroom crossing her legs tightly and taking short steps. She locked the door, took a syringe of plasma from her purse, rinsed out the semen which she caught in a zip-lock bag, then dropped the bag into a metal container in her purse that smoked with dry ice. She zipped the purse. As she returned to the side of the bed, the exhausted male turned his head and said: I’ve never had it that hard before You’re a three-figure lay." A huge smile lit the beauty mole sitting beneath her dimple at the corner of her mouth. Four figures to be exact. An enjoyable $1,000, she thought. Same Woman, Second Seduction She sashayed towards him, all her womanhood pushing shining light through her lavender teddy. A smile lit the beauty mole near her lip. The youngest Professor of Musicology ever to teach at the Julliard, floated down from bliss, Mark began memorizing, performing, and composing music while most children were trying to form their letters. His memory astounded. He played a piece once, and he knew it. All the History of Western Music played in his mind. All his brilliance of frozen DNA stayed in her purse. And another...and another She swayed tauntingly toward him: "What kind of sex do you like?" Prodigious prodigy: at twenty-six he had 203 patents applied for... The Present Thirty year old Jenny Archer sat at the top of the steps like a copper goddess. She had come late to Professor Nick Nagel’s class, saw the seats full, and sat on the steps. At thirty, she was older than most of the co-eds. She had entered just as Professor Nick hurled his noble vulgarity at the class: "Be true to your thoughts—or be a piece of scat." Jenny Archer could have a piece of almost anything she wanted. At 5’3’ and perfectly packaged, men would bring it to her. She was too short to be called beautiful and her face too round to be called cute. But her eyes! Her eyes were all energy, all fire, green fire shaded perhaps by the Orient. And her laughter, glinting off her white teeth, was the shocking coolness of a snowfall in the desert. Nick saw her sitting at the top of the carpeted stairs. The mermaid of Copenhagen flashed in his mind, but now was not a time to gaze at sculpture in an art gallery. He snapped his disciplined mind back into a focus on the pre-Socratic philosophers and, like a whirling generator, sent surges of high voltage words. Jenny liked what she saw. The cowboy body had an instant raw appeal, but his mind! His energy! His lightness. His eyes! And his philosophical depth seemed to give him a wisdom, a poise, a secret, a something that touched on the mystery of life. He might just solve the riddle of the world--the Holy Grail of Happiness itself. She could see why the students hung on his eyes and sucked from his lips. They came looking for a purpose, for a larger meaning in their lives, for an answer to the ever elusive "why?" Get a grip girl! thought Jenny. Here I’ve gone from the head of the boardroom to sitting on the steps scoping out a teacher. It feels like I’m back at the beginning, recruiting clients at McWhorter. But this hunk of a Professor is a key committee member who votes on our package that could sell at colleges and Universities across the country. And besides, he’s easy on the eyes and ears. And I’ll get to see this arrogant lover of wisdom this afternoon, and we’ll see how he performs in the board room. Behind Nick’s philosophical principles and certitude, Jenny thought that she saw a loneliness, a hollowness, almost, she imagined, some kind of hole in the center of him. She was not sure how she saw this, or whether it was a projection of something missing inside herself that she might find one day if she ever stopped running for a moment of self reflection. Or maybe she just suspected a hole because he seemed so certain, and that type of assertion was often a cover-up. He’s just a boy. Probably around 25, maybe my age of 29. He’s carrying some childhood hurts, but he’s sure draped his boyhood with manhood. Quite a manhood! I think I would like a shot of that. Hold it Jenny. What the hell are you thinking? I’ve got enough trouble with men coming onto me like they’re starved. And I’m thinking about another on? Powerful men at the top of their careers had buzzed around Jenny like nectar. She liked these men for they filled some kind of emotional need in her, and they walked in a world that was global, exotic, and an easy place to slip into and forget her emptiness. But for all their money, titles, and scalps they could not bed her--though they talked to each other as if they had. Although Jenny could have stacked her admirers like stairs and walked up their backs, she didn’t have to. The fond admirers interlocked fingers and made steps with their hands. They boosted her up, all the way to President of the Chicago division of AD ADvantage. For their reward they saw a flash of that smile that seemed meant for only them, and if lucky when they looked up, a flash of her panties. Whirling up through the advertising world, Jenny rarely sat, even in her red leather power chair with the plush burgundy softness beneath her feet and the oak elegance framing her doors and windows. Her first job had been with a five person advertising firm, McWhorter, where she had to solicit her own clients. Within a year McWhorter had to hire three people to replace her when she left to become a junior exec at one of the Madison Ave elite. Within a year she was head-hunted by the largest advertising conglomerate, AD Advantage which had recently acquired the British firm WPP which had earlier swallowed the American advertising giants, Ogilvy & Mather and Young & Rubicam. Like a rocket breaking free of its launch pad she shattered the gyne glass ceiling and she never looked down. As the youngest ever Executive President of the Chicago office, she personally handled the prestigious, billion dollar plus Hector and Granville account. AOL Time Warner courted her and was now trying to acquire AD AD; one business article had stated the rumor that AOL was buying just to acquire Ms Jenny Archer. Incredible. Nonsense. No substance to the rumor, but if the acquisition took place, it would open even bigger doors for her. Class ended and Jenny left quickly to clear the steps. Nick glanced up and saw her at the doorway doing a zigzag two step with a large man in a dark suit. Nick frowned. She seemed to push the dark hulk out of the way with her forearm, but given the disparity in size, that would have been impossible. Others students poured out behind her and blocked Nick’s view. A few bold students came up to Professor Nick after class. Nick answered their questions briefly and clearly. Later, when the students were more serious about thinking, he would stay longer and discuss their ideas. Nick felt great. He always did after his first class. He walked up the blue-carpeted steps to the exit, where his good feeling popped like a water balloon. A large man stood by the door, wearing a suit so dark brown it was almost black. Faint maroon pin stripes glinted along the fold where the coat angled forward to the buttons, seemingly too small a package for the body within. Obscenely polished black leather shoes seemed too small to hold this top-heavy hulk. Nick glared into the partially hidden eyes, covered by folds of fat on the eyelids, and said: "Did you just mess with a woman student leaving this class?" "No Professor, that was the other chauffeur." "The other chauffeur? How many of you are there? Who was he?" "Can’t say. Orders." " Well here’s an order: Stay out of these buildings, stay off this campus!" With those words Nick brushed by the big man, not waiting to hear the muttered words. Grey clouds crackled above the concrete campus as Nick walked towards the gym. The two dark suits clashed illogically and threateningly in his mind.   http://www.theearthact.org
Sex Shocks Danger Strikes