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The Last Man

By: coaster2



The Last Man:

This story was related to me by the main character, who shall be known as Roger Wilkinson. It was recorded by me in personal conversation with him over a period of six hours in four sessions, and when I set about writing it, I felt it best to put it in dialogue form because that was how he presented it to me. I offered the outline, drafts and now the finished product to him for his endorsation. He is satisfied that, if not literal, it is an accurate reflection of the past few months in his life. Naturally, all names have been changed to protect the innocent [or guilty], as the case may be. 

Introduction:

Lieutenant-Colonel Roger Wilkinson, OBE, Ret. was sitting at his desk in his London office when his secretary informed him that his ten o'clock appointment had arrived. Roger glanced at the clock on the wall and noted that it was ten past ten. He frowned, not being one to easily countenance tardiness.

The middle-aged man who entered his office was tall, with blonde wavy hair, blue eyes, and a slightly puffy look about him. Roger stood and shook the offered hand of his visitor. 

"Good morning, Mr. Wilkinson, or should I call you Colonel Wilkinson?" he asked politely.

"Either will be fine," Roger replied. "And you are Mr. Charlton?"

"Yes, Marcus Charlton," he replied somewhat nervously, Roger thought.

"Please, sit. And what can I do for you today, Mr. Charlton?"

"Ah ... well ... you see ... it's like this. I'm a good friend of your wife, Winnie, a very good friend. I thought it only fair to ... bring you up to date on things ... as it were." He had come to a sudden stop as Roger rose from his chair and towered above him. During his entire Army career, Roger Wilkinson had been taught to control his emotions, think logically, act only when necessary, and make sure of the result. The brief, stumbling statement from the man across the desk would put all of that training to the test this morning. 

Roger stood stock still, saying nothing, examining his guest carefully before once again sitting.

"Do you mind telling me just why you have come here this morning?" Roger said with as calm a voice as he could manage.

"Why, we ... I ... thought you should know. I mean, it's not as if you hadn't already granted permission. After all, your marital ... arrangement makes that rather clear, doesn't it?" Charlton asked, clearly not sure of his footing at this point.

"My marital agreement is very specific, Mr. Charlton. Winifred knows full well the terms of that agreement, and I can assure you that it does not include her taking a man as her lover." His statement grew with a rising voice and a steely, unflinching stare at the almost cowering figure across his desk.

"Uh ... perhaps we should discuss this at another time, then..?" Charlton rose, backed away from the desk, turned and quickly left the office, closing the door quietly behind him.

Roger slumped down in his chair. Elbows on the desktop, his head buried in his hands, he tried to come to terms with the brief, but explosive meeting that had just terminated. His mind drifted back to his beginnings with Winnie, or Winifred Burgess, as he then knew her. 

He had just entered his last year before retirement, and at the rank of Lt. Colonel, he would have a substantial superannuation, and a comfortable lifestyle. His club membership was a lifetime benefit resulting from his OBE, and life, at age forty-three, should be quite pleasant. There was just one problem -- he had no one to share it with.

He met Winifred at a party hosted by a mutual friend, now retired from the service, and Roger, ever the conversationalist, found her a lively and attractive companion. She hinted at a ribald sense of humour, and was almost openly flirting with him. He was entranced, and he decided then that he would pursue Winifred Burgess. She was irresistible. Roger called her the next day and she agreed to accompany him to the theatre the following evening. Roger carefully selected a light comedy with some sexual overtones in the plot, to confirm his suspicions of her. He was not disappointed.

It took a while, but Roger and Winifred, or Winnie, as she was happy to be known, became intimate after their fifth encounter, a dinner at her flat in London. A bottle of very nice Bordeaux had been shared, and after the dessert, a snifter of brandy. Both of them were now very relaxed in each other's company, and Roger was indeed certain of his feelings toward Winnie.

"Winnie, my dear, you must know that I have very strong feelings for you," he began, "and I sense that you feel that way toward me as well."

"Roger, you are delightful company, but ... I was rather hoping for something more."

"Oh ... well ... just what was that 'something more'?" He had a decidedly perplexed look.

"Roger, I am not so old that I don't enjoy ... intimacy. Do you understand?" 

Roger looked at her for a moment before breaking into a smile. "Yes, of course. And I must tell you that I enjoy and celebrate intimacy as well," he grinned.

"Then we have one more thing in common ... do we not?" It was a coy, but unmistakable message.

"Indeed," he said quietly, as he reached for her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately, and she responded immediately. Before he knew it, they were in her bed, and he was making love to her with great passion and vigor. At least, he thought he was making love. Winnie, on the other hand, was very vocal and assertive in her bed. It was quite a unique experience for Roger. He was, for the first time, not in command of the situation.

Their affair progressed steadily, with sex the weapon of choice for Winnie. She had captured him, and she was well aware that he was smitten. It was only a matter of time before he "popped the question." 

"Winifred, I love you with all my heart," Roger professed one afternoon while he was rowing their punt along the Thames. "Will you marry me?"

"My dear Roger, I feel the same for you, as well. However, there is something that you must know about me that I fear may give you second thoughts," she said, timidly.

"I must confess that I am an unusual woman ... someone with unusual needs, and I would be less than honest if I didn't make a clean breast of things."

Roger was very curious, but said nothing as he awaited her revelation.

"You see, I am equally attracted to women as I am to men. I have a female lover, Juliana, and I do love her dearly. Unfortunately, I love you as well. It would be deceitful if I did not tell you about my ... affliction."

Roger was stunned into silence. He had never heard of such a thing. And yet, he wanted to find some way that Winnie would choose him over another, regardless of whether it was man or woman. He was sure he was completely in love with her, and this obstacle was something that had to be overcome at all costs.

The price was high. She would marry him only with the understanding that her female lover would be part of the agreement. Roger nodded his understanding when she made her demand, but chose not to decide immediately. He wanted some time to think it over, which she granted him. 

It was an arduous ten days that he spent on his own, trying to come to a decision. He was of an age that opportunities for love came along far less frequently, he thought. He had been single all of his forty-three years and this was only the second time that he had truly fallen in love. The first had died aborning, and now this. Damnation, he thought, why would she have to have this penchant for women as well? 

In the end, he rationalized that she might come to love him more, and see that he was the only one for her. He would go to whatever lengths to make that occur, he vowed. He would agree to her terms, knowing full well that he would do whatever was necessary to become her only lover. On the eleventh day, he drove to Winnie's flat and knocked on her door.

"Hello, Roger," she smiled. "I have been expecting you."

"Ah ... yes ... well, I thought it best we talk about your ... proposal," he said uncertainly.

"Oh? I thought you were the one who had proposed," she laughed. 

"Winnie, you know perfectly well what I mean," he said sternly.

"Yes ... of course, I do apologize for making light of it. I know it must be a difficult decision for you, Roger. I am anxious to hear what you have decided." Her tone was noticeably more contrite.

"I ... that is ... it is a highly unusual arrangement. I suppose I want some ... assurances ... that I am the exclusive male, and that your ... Juliana ... is the only ... co-habitant," he stumbled.

"Why of course, Roger. I'm not promiscuous. I'm simply attracted to women and men. I wouldn't dream of betraying either you or Juliana," she exclaimed. 

Roger was silent for a few moments, and Winifred allowed him to compose his thoughts. 

"Very well, then. I accept your terms. My offer of marriage stands, providing I am the exclusive male, and Juliana is the exclusive female," he stated in a positive tone. 

"Wonderful! I am so happy, Roger. We will make a smashing couple, mark my words," she enthused.

And so, that was how Roger became a willing cuckold to Winifred's bizarre demands. As time progressed, he was less confident of the arrangement, and when Marcus Charlton had blurted out his confession of their affair, his worst fears were realized.

He drove home that evening to their flat in Chelsea, and knew what must be done. Never one to procrastinate, he would confront Winifred that evening after dinner. He had surmised that the weasel Charlton would not have likely told Winifred of his failure this morning. He didn't seem the type to admit his bungling of the assignment. His use of the word 'we' when he mentioned the affair, made it possible that Winnie had put him up to it. It would be an unpleasant evening, he was sure.

"I think the time has come to have a chat, my dear," Roger began.

Winifred Wilkinson looked up from her evening paper, and studied her husband. "About?"

"When we agreed to our ... unusual marital arrangement, it was clearly understood that I accepted your then lover, Juliana, and that we would each be faithful to the other. However, when Juliana was replaced with Muriel, and finally with Amanda, I foolishly looked the other way. At the time, I believed that my role as the male of the family was not compromised. While you found other female lovers, I assumed you were faithful to me. It appears that I assumed incorrectly."

"Roger, whatever are you saying?" she said in strained voice, now concentrating exclusively on him.

"I am saying that you have betrayed me with another man ... Marcus Charlton, in fact. I'm saying that you have broken our agreement, and I am saying that I intend to divorce you," Roger concluded. He was looking at her with the unblinking stare of certitude. These were unassailable facts.

"Are you mad?" she said in a bewildered voice. "How ever can you say such a thing?"

"My dear, please do not embarrass yourself by lying about this ... sordid business. Mr. Charlton came to see me about your affair. Apparently he thinks I will simply step aside and allow him to be your intimate companion. He is a fool, of course. But, in this case, he is your fool. When the divorce is final, he truly will be yours."

Winifred's face had lost all its colour as she stuttered and stammered, trying to find something to say in her defence.  "I ... I ... you must understand ... it was just ... just a fling. It didn't mean anything." There was a desperate, pleading tone now replacing the more confused earlier attitude.

"On the contrary, Winifred, it means everything ... trust ... loyalty ... honour ... love. You know I hold these things above all others," he stated calmly.

"But I never meant to ... I wasn't going to ... leave," her voice trailed off, weakly.

"Yes, I am sure you had it all worked out how you could have your new paramour, and my income, and Amanda, and everything would be jolly. I'm sorry to spoil all that. However, you knew when you signed the pre-nuptial agreement what the consequences of any unfaithfulness on your part would be." He had skillfully avoided raising his voice or threatening her in any way. The tiny personal recorder in his vest pocket was surely documenting all of this drama clearly enough. There would be no doubt of her guilt.

-0-

The garden party was held in the Kent countryside, on a delightfully warm, sunny, May afternoon. Roger had been invited because he was always a welcome guest at the estate of his friends, Charlotte and Warren Mantel. They were pleased with his renewed interest in social events following his divorce from Winifred. Neither Charlotte nor Warren could ever quite warm to the woman, even though she was invariably polite, pleasant, and interesting. Their bizarre marital arrangement, that Roger had confided to them, was probably the reason. They had never heard of such a thing as a wife with a live-in lesbian lover. It was a relief when it all ended, particularly since Roger did not seem overly distressed at the outcome. 

As Roger strolled the grounds, away from the throng gathered on the large stone courtyard, he began to look carefully for a likely companion. Someone to talk to. Someone with wit and intelligence and an interest beyond his, or her, personal world. In time, he saw someone. A woman. She was apparently alone. A striking woman, he said to himself. Age ... undetermined, but not far off his fifty-two years. Almost as tall as he, her blonde hair beautifully coiffed, elegant posture, slim arms and legs, modest bust, straight nose, lightly made up, attractively dressed in a colourful frock – all in all, a very attractive, mature woman. He decided to hang back to learn more about her, without intruding on her privacy. He sipped again at the lovely Beaujolais in the long-stemmed glass. "Just be a bit patient, old boy," he said to himself. 

She seemed to be on her own, and after a few minutes observation, he drifted in her direction. He was certain she had detected his presence, but she made no move to acknowledge him as she gazed at the vibrant floral arrangements.

"This really is the best time of the year to view blossom, is it not?" he offered quietly.

She looked up slowly, not at all startled by his voice. "Yes. It is. Colour is everywhere in this part of England," she smiled cautiously.

"Are you a friend or a relative?" he asked.

"My parents are great friends of Charlotte's parents, and I met her many years ago at their home. We have been good friends for many years now," she offered without smiling.

"Ah ... well then, I am surprised we have not met before. The Mantels are old friends of ours ... er, mine that is. I am certain I would have remembered you. My name is Roger Wilkinson."

"Yes, I have heard of you from Charlotte. I am Beatrice Eldridge. My friends call me Bea," she offered with a faint smile.

"Very nice to meet you Ms. Eldridge. I must say, Charlotte and Warren must be thrilled with the weather today. It could not be more delightful."

"Yes, it is perfect." She looked at him more carefully. "Are you alone?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes," he answered, surprised in her forthright question. "And you?"

"Yes, quite. Have been for some years," she said simply.

"Widow?"

"Yes. And you?"

"Ahh ... recently divorced," he confessed.

"Sorry to hear that. Messy?"

"No ... not really. I saw it coming, and she pretty much gave me the out on a plate."

"Oh?"

"We had an agreement ... pre-marital. She decided to take a lover beyond what the agreement specified. That was that."

"Now you have me confused. A lover beyond?" she asked, clearly puzzled.

"Yes. Unusual to say the least. You see ... Winifred was bi-sexual. I knew that when I married her. She had a female lover and I agreed that she could keep her as long as the inherent integrity of the marital vows was not abrogated. Silly thing to do, I know, but ... I thought I was in love and ... well ... let's just leave it at that."

"How creative. What happened to end it all?"

"She got a bit greedy. Took a male lover. Silly bugger thought he could join the party without an invitation, as it were. I put paid to that in a hurry," he said with a look of smug satisfaction. "Never too old to learn, Ms. Eldridge."

"Please, you may call me Bea. Since I have been so nosy about your personal life, I owe you at least that," she offered contritely.

"I must confess ... I found it very easy to talk to you, Bea. I'm not at all sure why. Very few people, even among my friends, knew of my ... unusual marriage."

"Yes, I expect that would be awkward, wouldn't it," she said, thoughtfully. "Are you looking for someone to ... replace her?" It was another astonishingly forthright question which again caught him unprepared.

Roger blinked and thought for a moment before answering. "Yes ... yes ... I suppose I am. Not good at being alone. Need someone to talk to, you know. Conversation ... the life blood of existence I think someone once said. If not, they should have." He looked at her again and saw the beginnings of a smile.

"My dear Mr. Wilkinson, are you attempting to seduce me?" It was said with a smile, a raised eyebrow and a twinkle in her eye.

"Come to think of it ... yes! Absolutely! Can't think of anything I would rather do," he laughed.

"Well, you are at least honest."

"To a fault, my dear, to a fault."

"I think we might get along all right, Roger. As long as you realize I know what you are up to, and I will not be easily swayed," she grinned slyly.

"I love an equal contest. Swords or pistols, my dear?"

"Swords, I think. Women are always better with sharp things, don't you think?"

"Yes, indeed. Sharp wit and sharp tongue among them," he smiled.

The Seduction:

"Tell me about your late husband, Bea," Roger asked as they strolled across the grounds toward the rotunda.

"Malcolm was wonderful. We married young, not long after I came here to England. He was dashing and handsome, and a bit reckless. I loved him dearly, and I know he loved me. He worked in London and commuted by train each day, and each evening I would wait for him at the station, and we would walk home together. We had two children, girls, both grown and gone now with their own families. It was a wonderful life for as long as it lasted," she said with a touch of sadness.

"What happened?"

"Well, that reckless streak caught up with him one day when he was zipping around the local roads in his little sports car. He loved to drive fast, but this time he was caught out. Some cattle were on the roadway, and when he swerved to miss them he lost control and hit a tree. He died instantly, they said." She had relayed the story with only a hint of regret in her voice. 

"I'm very sorry for your loss. That must have been very hard to take."

"It was. Even though it was almost ten years ago, I still think of him."

"And so you should. Those would be very fond memories, to be sure," he offered sincerely.

"Yes, they are. So, I have been on my own for quite a while," she said, cheering herself up.

"No other men have come along to tempt you?" he asked, carefully.

"No ... lots of pretenders though. It must be easier for men ... finding someone, I mean."

"Oh, I don't know. Then again, I found you, didn't I," he grinned.

"Finding and keeping are two very different things, Roger," she said sternly.

"Well, I will just have to prove my worth, then." Their banter had been pleasant, always with a hint of humour. He was enjoying himself immensely and said so. "You really are quite a treat, you know. It has been quite some time since I have enjoyed talking to someone as much as I have with you, Bea."

"Oh, put a sock in it, Roger. You don't have to pour treacle on it. I am not hard of hearing ... nor am I a bit thick," she laughed. 


The Last Man



"I meant every word. Are you suggesting that I am insincere?" He waited for a response. The look of cynicism on Bea's face suggested she was not buying his approach, and it was time to change strategy. "Well, fortunately, I do not easily take offense. Thick hide and all that," he said, somewhat pompously.

"Does this act work on other women?" she asked, again with a look of disdain.

"Oh yes ... quite well in fact. I have a long string of conquests to my credit. The tried and true is always the best, my dear. Always the best," he boasted.

"I don't believe a word of it. You would like me to think you are a scoundrel, a cad. I don't believe a word of it at all ... but I will give you marks for inventiveness. You really are different. Charlotte said I would find you interesting, and she was right."

"So ... Charlotte has been trying to play matchmaker, has she," he said with mock derision.

"Of course ... that's her role. She was born to it," Bea laughed.

They continued walking in silence for a while, stopping occasionally to admire the flowerbeds on the perimeter of the stately home.

"You mentioned that you came here ... to England ... before you were married. Where are you from?" he asked.

"Canada ... Ottawa in fact. My father was an ex-Brit and was in government service ... some secret project or another. I never knew. He stayed after the war and met my mother and they were married and out popped me," she said quite merrily.

"How did you get here?"

"My father was adamant that I would get the best education, and I was sent to private schools that were almost exclusively run by former Brits. By the time I was finished, I think I was more English that you English," she laughed again. "I came here when I was nearly twenty for a vacation, met Malcolm, and I never left. England is home for me now."

"Lucky England," Roger said, almost under his breath.

"Thank you," she smiled, looking at him. "Have you always had that moustache?" she asked abruptly.

"No ... no ... I have it on good authority that I was not born with it," he chuckled.

"Seriously, Roger, why do you wear it?" 

"Well," he paused, "when I was young, I was a bit insecure about myself. Not so cocksure of my way around the ladies. I thought I needed something to give me ... confidence, I suppose. Make me look a bit more mature." he said, turning toward her. "I looked quite ridiculous in fact. I have some old pictures which prove the point. But ... I persevered with it and after a while, it became part of me. I shaved it off a couple of times, but on both occasions I was told I 'looked funny' and should grow it back. So, in the end, I grew into it," he punned.

"I always wondered why men would grow moustaches or beards. It seemed quite incongruous to me," she suggested, as they wandered through the impeccably kept gardens.

"Decorative, my dear. Purely decorative. As women choose to change their hairstyles, men choose to decorate themselves in different ways. Tattoos, now earrings, odd clothing, long hair ... the usual things. We all like to be unique, you know," he said.

"Well, you've certainly achieved that Roger. We have been talking for almost an hour, and I have not had a second when I was not interested or intrigued. You have just established a new record. Congratulations!" she smiled genuinely. 

"Would you care to join me for dinner, Bea?" he asked mischievously.

"That would be just lovely. Where were you thinking of?" 

"I think that table by the fountain would suit us perfectly, don't you?"

"Yes ... perfectly!" she smiled.

He offered his arm and Bea took it, walking elegantly together toward their chosen destination. A sidelong glance by Roger confirmed that their little theatre had attracted Charlotte's attention. They would undoubtedly hear from her at some point.        

It was growing dark, just after nine, and the evening air had cooled. Roger escorted Bea into the historic old home and joined the other guests in the great hall. 

"I'm glad I don't have the upkeep on this place, Roger. It would break me in a week," she said seriously.

"Well, as you know, Charlotte and Warren do not have to worry about that. They are rolling in it, and have been for ages. Something to do with computers, I think," Roger offered.

"Charlotte had pots to start with," Bea confirmed. "When her parents pop off, she will have even more. The rich get richer," she concluded, her voice trailing off.

"What do you do for entertainment, Bea?" Roger asked, changing the topic.

"Oh ... I read, go to the theatre now and then, do a bit of gardening in my little plot ... the usual," she said wistfully.

"Doesn't sound like it holds a lot of excitement for you. Most of those things can be done alone, can they not?" he suggested.

"Yes ... I admit it ... I am a bit of a loner." 

"Well ... here I am to help you change that." 

"Oh ... we are back to that are we?"

"Back to what?" his brow wrinkled.

"The seduction ... I thought you might have put it on hold for a bit."

"Really, my dear Bea. Why on earth would I ever not be trying to enchant a lovely woman like you? As long as I breathe," he smiled, speaking softly.

"Stop it, Roger. You're getting away ahead of yourself. I told you, I will not be easy to persuade. Perhaps I should have chosen pistols. It would have been all over with by now."  There was a reflective quality to her voice.

"Please do not give up on me, Bea. Do not give up on yourself, either. I find you fascinating and you have already admitted I am not a bore. What more could a woman want?" he grinned.

"Oh, Roger, you really are a caution. What am I to do with you?" she asked, exasperated with the trivialities.

"Invite me to your boudoir?"

"Now that is just plain cheeky," she shot back.

"Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound," he sighed.

Beatrice stood looking at him and suddenly, without hint, began to laugh. It wasn't a belly thumping, deep throated laugh, but it was a genuine laugh all the same.

"You are irrepressible. I think I will permit you to court me," she said slyly.

"My dear Beatrice, I would be honored to prove my worthiness as your companion, and I hope, your lover. I solemnly promise that I shall not disappoint you." It was offered in his most sincere voice. 

"Roger, I think there is something I should tell you straight away. I would not want you to harbour any illusions. The next man in my bed will be the last," she said forthrightly.

"I don't think I understand," he said with a wrinkled brow.

"I have only ever loved one man in my life, and it was so perfect and so ... rewarding ... that I promised myself that I would only chose another man if he could give me what I had with Malcolm. I admit, that is a tall order, but, there it is. I will be extraordinarily careful with my choice, Roger," she concluded with emphasis on careful.

"Hmmm ... quite a challenge," he mused, his hand on his chin. "How will you judge your suitor ... me ... I mean?"

"I have no idea. When I married Malcolm, I was young and impressionable. He swept me off my feet. The marriage might have failed considering how quickly it all happened. But, it did not. It was magic, and I want that magic back again. I will not settle for less," she concluded, looking him straight in the eye.

"Well, you have certainly handed me a challenge," Roger said, nonplussed.

"Do you accept the challenge?" she asked, the challenge now being in her question.

"Yes ... of course. Anything worth having should be earned." He couldn't help feel a bit apprehensive. 

-0-

Roger invited Bea to the theatre the following week, and then to dinner at his club in London, the week after. He didn't see Bea again for almost two weeks. Two reasons precipitated the interruption. First, he had to travel to Brixham, in Devon, to see an old friend with whom he had often discussed his "life issues." The second was the reason for the first; namely, his indecision on what to do about Beatrice.

Brixham was one of those delightful fishing villages so common along the south coast. It formed the bottom of "the jaw" of Tor Bay, Torquay being the top. It was an unprepossessing little town with none of the "British Riviera" complex. It was mainly a port for commercial fishing interests, largely ignored by tourists, and it was here that Michael Sturrock had made his home, buying a small cottage on the hillside for what was almost nothing in today's property market. He had spent carefully in renovating and improving the modest home, and today, "Rose Cottage" was a little jewel in a lovely Devon jewel box.

Michael was there to greet Roger as he stepped off the Virgin Rail coach in Paignton on a gloomy, drizzly day in early June. "Hah!" Roger thought as he searched the waiting room for his friend. "British Riviera indeed!" He was not in the best of moods. The hours spent in the rail carriage had given him too much time to think. The conundrum of Beatrice Eldridge would not be easy to untangle.  

"Roger!" Michael hailed. "Wonderful to see you again. You look fit and ready for battle," he offered heartily.

Michael was a short, stout, tweed-covered caricature of a man. His face was covered in an unkempt grey beard with assorted stains giving it a mottled appearance. His round, red face poked out from behind the foliage, and every time Roger saw his friend, he marvelled at the happy look in his eyes, and on his tobacco-stained teeth. He was perfectly imperfect, thought Roger. Michael was just the tonic he needed now.

The two men shook hands and slapped each other on the back as they headed for the car park. Roger was carrying a single overnight bag, Michael noted. He would not be staying long, he thought, and he wondered what had brought about this welcome visit. It must be something important. 

"How are you, my friend?" Michael asked carefully.

"If you mean my health ... I'm fine ... fit as a fiddle," he boasted. 

"Ah ... we are in for a problem solving session, are we?"

"Yes ... exactly ... a riddle almost," Roger said, looking at his lifelong friend. 

"Well ... that sounds marvellous. I love riddles. What's it all about?"

"A woman, of course," Roger answered with a rueful smile.

"Wonderful. The most difficult of all riddles. I can't wait. Especially since you are such an old hand with the ladies. This one must be a dandy!" Michael exclaimed.

Roger put his bag in the back of Michael's thoroughly thrashed Mini Cooper. While its body had been neglected, its innards were in tip-top shape. In a moment, the little green "brick" had sprung to life and they were off like a shot, blasting their way through the narrow back roads, avoiding the traffic and the local constabulary, Roger noted. Any other person might have been terrified, but his old friend was a master at rocketing through tight spots and around obstacles and traffic circles, and within fifteen minutes, they were sliding to a stop in front of Rose Cottage. Roger laughed at the adventurous ride, long used to Michael's "Stirling Moss" complex.

"They've never caught up to you yet?" Roger asked.

"Oh yes, now and then. Mostly I just get a lecture, but I've had my share of write-ups," he admitted.

"I am not surprised. On the other hand, you are not likely to change, are you?" It was a rhetorical question and begged no answer from Michael.

They entered the cottage and Roger was once again reminded of the lovely, quiet surroundings his friend had achieved. When Michael's wife Constance passed away, he escaped London and moved here to reconcile the tragedy of his loss with the memories of their life together. All three of them had gone to school together, and if Michael had not married Constance, Roger certainly would have. 

The ghost that she had become in her last days nearly destroyed Michael, but his inherent optimism, and the support of his friends, including Roger, had pulled him through. It had been seven years since Connie had passed, and now Michael was back to his old self for the most part. He boldly pronounced that he would never marry again, since there could never be another woman like Connie, and it was that statement that Roger remembered when facing his challenge with Bea. 

"Well, Michael, I suppose you're wondering about this 'woman thing' I came to talk to you about," Roger began.

"Indeed. It has not been that long since you jettisoned Winnie. I would have thought that might have put you off your feed for a bit," his friend replied.

"I have met the most extraordinary woman, Michael. Her name is Beatrice Eldridge and she is originally from Canada. She is living in a cottage in East Sussex, not far from me, and is a friend of friends of mine, the Mantels. She is very attractive and very bright ... just the ticket for an old warhorse like me. We seem to be able to talk to each other and actually have something interesting to say. It is such a change from Winifred and her little troupe."

"Sounds wonderful, Roger. What's the catch?" he asked, listening attentively as he slouched in his old leather chair.

"You once told me that you would never marry again, Michael, because you could never find another Connie," Roger began. "Beatrice is telling me something along the same lines. She loved her Malcolm, and when he died, she vowed not to take another lover unless he was the equal of her late husband. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how I can be another man and win her over."

"You can't! You are quite right. It cannot be done ... should not be done. You are who you are. But tell me about her. What about her first husband?" he asked.

Roger quietly told Michael everything he could remember Bea telling him about Malcolm. When he finished, his friend had a small smile and almost imperceptibly, nodded his head.

"Is she attracted to you at all?" he asked after a pause.

"Yes ... I think I can say that. Yes, I'm confident she is attracted to me, but this condition she set upon me is the frustration. I need some clear-headed thinking, my friend. She is too good to let get away and yet, I just do not quite know how to convince her that I should be her 'last man'."

Michael sat quietly for some time before rising and heading for the little kitchen. Roger watched silently as he removed two glasses and a bottle of very good French brandy. He poured two healthy measures, and then added a bit of ginger ale to one, leaving the other alone. He walked back to the lounge and passed Roger the straight brandy and put the mixed drink down on the small table beside himself.

"This calls for a bit of 'think juice' I reckon," Michael smiled.

"Cheers," Roger offered as he raised his glass. "Here's to wisdom, however we might find it," he said soberly.

"Roger ... I hope you won't mind if I ask you some pointed questions?" 

"Of course not. I expect that from you. It is the reason I am here. I mean, besides your wonderful company and friendship, that is," he grinned.

"Yes ... well ... let us try and get to the heart of the matter, shall we?" Michael said, pausing for a sip of his drink. "Did you love Winnie?" he asked suddenly. "I mean, really love her -- that 'cannot do without you' kind of love?" 

"I have asked myself that question a thousand times, Michael. It has been hard to get at the truth, but now, with the benefit of hindsight, I suppose the answer is no. That has been a very difficult reality to come to terms with, I can assure you," Roger said quietly. "The fact is, I have to admit to being a fool. I broke every rule I ever set for myself. I submitted to her demands because I thought I was in love with her and I was willing to do anything to have her. I was a forty-four-year-old fool who was getting frightened of being alone in my old age. 

"When I lost Connie to you, I couldn't find anyone else to replace the way I felt about her. I hope this doesn't hurt you, Michael, but you see, I was just as in love with Connie as you were. I envied you, and I stopped really trying to find someone for myself because every time I did, she came up short to Connie. Sad old sod, aren't I?" he finished.

"No ... no ... I knew all that. But you were too much of a gentleman to ever interfere or do anything to hurt us. We have known each other too long not to be able to read the signposts. But that does not explain Winnie, does it?"

"No ... as I said, it was the fear of getting old and being alone. She was a smashing looker, as you know, and a real terror in bed. I guess that was what made me go along with that absurd relationship. If I could not have her all to myself, at least I could have a part of her, and that seemed to be enough. I talked myself into it, I suppose."

"Well, I am just glad Connie was not alive to see it. It would have been very upsetting for her, to say the least. You see, she loved you too, but she was faithful to me. She was never sad or regretful about it. It was just the way things worked out. You were off in some Army place or other, and I was here. I am glad that when she chose me, you and I remained very good friends," he smiled.

"Here's to friends," Roger responded, raising his glass once again. 

"So ... back to the problem at hand," Michael began again. "I have to ask you ... have you ever been in love? Besides Connie that is," he smiled.

"I don't think so. But now, I am not so sure. In the past, if a likely lady put up too much of an obstacle to my getting to know her, I would simply move along to the next. Bea has me thinking that I do not want to give up, but I'm damned if I know how to go about proving myself to her. I think she is convinced I am some sort of gadfly ... flitting about from woman to woman with little concern for them. I am nothing of the sort, of course," he said with emphasis.

"For what it's worth, I suspect she is telling you that she is not interested in a casual relationship. What she is looking for is not another Malcolm ... it is another 'love'. Someone totally committed to her the way you described Malcolm to me. This business of meeting each other at the station each night ... that's strong stuff. She told you that because it meant something very important to her.  

"I think you have to examine yourself, Roger. You have to know for certain that this woman is right for you. You have been hurt once already and so has she. She is being careful, and so should you be as well. This love business is very tricky stuff. If it were not, most of the poets, songwriters and novelists of the past millennium would be out of work," he laughed. 

"Yes ... well ... there's the rub. How do I know? What or who will tell me?" he asked, looking away.

"You will. Think about how you felt about Connie. Did someone come up and bop you on the head to tell you that you loved her? You knew. I knew. It was inside us both," Michael said with confidence. "I think you have got to spend more time with this woman to get to know how you really feel. I can see you are smitten, but that may be quite different from the love you both seek," he finished.

"You are no help at all, Michael," Roger laughed. "I knew all that when I came here."

"Yes, well, there are some differences. I think you have told me something very important," he mused. "Something very important, indeed."

"And just what was that?" Roger demanded in a friendly tone.

"Oh ... just wait a bit. All will be revealed, my friend, all will be revealed," Michael said, rising and picking up the two glasses. "You'll catch your death of cold drinking out of that damp glass," he smiled as he trundled to the little kitchen once more.

For the next hour, they played catch-up on their lives, aside from Roger's encounters with Beatrice. Roger and Michael had not seen each other since Roger's divorce had become final, and the two went over the bizarre circumstances that led to the final separation. Roger had been eternally grateful to Michael for almost forcing him to create a pre-nuptial agreement. It resolved the financial problem for Roger, and penalized Winifred for her unfaithfulness. 




The Last Man



Michael had written the agreement and presented it to Winifred with Roger. At first she balked, unwilling to sign the agreement at all. It was Michael, at his subtle, skillful best who convinced her to sign with one simple question.

"My dear Winifred, were you planning to be unfaithful to Roger?" It had stopped her cold, and with reluctance, she signed the agreement. He had cleverly written a counter clause that would penalize Roger if he were to stray, knowing full well that Roger's sense of honour and duty would never permit such a thing. Michael's courtroom skills, now in retirement, had not been forgotten.

Roger, like his father, had chosen a career in the Army. When he was graduated from Sandhurst, he was posted to Windsor Castle, and the most incredibly boring duty any young officer could have been assigned. Whatever glamour that might be attached to guarding royalty dissolved in the overbearing lack of adventure that marked almost every single day, with or without the Queen's presence. The occasional state visit by some foreign dignitary was the only respite for that year spent in luxurious purgatory. He was relieved when his next posting bundled him off to Duchess of Kent Barracks in Aldershot, Hampshire. 

When Roger retired from the Army after twenty-one years, he was a Lieutenant-Colonel, decorated with an OBE, and ready for the scrap heap at age forty-three. He was on the sidelines when the Falklands War had broken out, but he would serve his time in hell nonetheless. He was sent to Kosovo shortly after making Captain. He had returned from Kosovo with the decoration, and full complement of nightmares. He came home to find that his friends Michael and Connie were facing a nightmare of their own; Connie had ovarian cancer. 

Michael had resigned from his partnership, and had taken to being with Connie every moment of her remaining time. A skilled barrister, he had given up a life of luxury and contest to tend to her needs and pray for her recovery. When she died, mercifully at peace, the drugs numbing her pain, a large piece of Michael went with her. Roger picked up his old friend, mourned the loss of his unrequited love, and "soldiered on". The two men helped each other find an acceptable future for the other, despite their going in different directions. 

After their discussion on Friday afternoon, they spent three pleasant days together, wandering about the local sights. They visited Slapton Sands, sight of a horrific training disaster the U.S. Army suffered in preparation for D-Day. A single Sherman tank stood nearby to commemorate the nearly 750 lives lost in the early hours of April 27, 1944, when German E-boats attacked a mock landing operation destined for the sandy beaches, supposedly representing Normandy shores. 

A day trip to Polperro, the ancient smugglers' port near the Cornish border, and a stop on the way home at a very fine restaurant in Plymouth brought both their spirits up. It also gave Roger a respite from his near-obsession with Beatrice. He was anxious for Michael to offer some revelation toward his quest. 

"Well, Michael, I'm off tomorrow morning and you still haven't told me what tidbit of insight you gleaned from our conversations," Roger said, somewhat miffed.

"Yes, well, that was not accidental. You would not want to take this as gospel, but I believe that you are truly in love with Beatrice, and I do not think that you have been able to acknowledge it yet," he said in a very straightforward manner. "Never mind my comments on getting to know her better, you have already decided. 

"Over the years, when I was before 'The Beak', I learned to read faces and words spoken. I learned that not everything said was meant in the manner that it was presented, particularly from the more accomplished magistrates. Often they were telling me which questions to ask and helping me find the pathway out of the morass of facts. It was a key to my success, I believe. So ... what am I saying?" he paused.

"Yes, what are you saying, Michael?" Roger said quietly.

"In the matter of Roger v. Beatrice, you have already decided that she is your chosen one. You have rejected any alternative and have come to me for confirmation. That I am willing to grant. Therefore, it remains only a matter of strategy. For one so accomplished as you, I am surprised that you have not got a plan, but perhaps you are so startled by this new truth, that you cannot work your mind around the simplest of ploys ... the confession."

"Whatever are you getting at, Michael?" Roger asked, a bit irritated.

"Tell her exactly what you have told me. Tell her that you are smitten, but uncertain. Tell her that you too are not interested in anything but a genuine love. That is true, you know," his friend said with certainty. 

"It is? How can you be so sure?" Roger asked, now curious.

"I have know you for a long time, my friend. You were never one for frivolous romances, even when you were single and 'on the prowl'. You always looked for the lasting relationship and that's what sucked you into Winifred's world. She was danger. It was written all over her, but you persisted because you wanted something more solid, more enduring. When she offered that, you jumped at it. You rationalized her unconventional lifestyle because you wanted something permanent. 

"You were right to analyze your motives as part desperation and part lust. But, that is not why you married her. You wanted something she could not give – love. And now, Beatrice comes along and you can feel the same sensations ... except ... this, you know, is different. They are not anything alike. Go for it, my friend. Go for it. If she truly is 'the one', then tell her so. Be brave. Confess! Tell her of your doubts and your innermost feelings. I think, if you have been accurate in your description of her, that she will find your openness refreshing and perhaps attractive. After all, what have you got to lose?" he concluded.

Roger was quiet for a while. He was digesting Michael's words and their ultimate meaning. It appeared that it was a question of bravery. He had to take a risk with Beatrice. It could all come to tears if he was wrong, but he had to take that risk. There was no other way. Michael was right and had distilled all the facts down to a simple plot. Confess! He looked over to his friend and nodded. 

The train from Paignton to London was a much more pleasant journey for Roger than the original trip three days earlier. He was resolved. He knew exactly what needed to be done. Win or lose, he would confess his feelings for Beatrice, and let the chips fall where they may. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he thought. He wondered absently what he would do if Beatrice rejected his declaration.

Michael had given him confidence. He had thoughtfully examined Roger's emotions and experience and had offered clinical advice. Continue to pursue Beatrice. Tell her how you feel about her in no uncertain terms. Allow her to learn that you are not a frivolous man with devious intentions. Do not allow her to dismiss you without revealing your inner self to her. Above all else, be yourself ... the real Roger Wilkinson. 

-0-

The Dénouement:

"Roger, how nice to hear from you," Beatrice bubbled.

"My apologies, Bea. I have been off in the country, doing some soul searching as it were," he said calmly.

"Whatever for, Roger?" she asked, surprised.

"Well, I would love to tell you all about it. Perhaps we can get together ... soon?" he asked tentatively.

"Why not come for dinner tomorrow? Come early ... say five ... we will probably have lots to talk about," she said with a bright voice.

"Yes ... that would be lovely. Five it is. I will see you then," he replied, feeling much more confident than a few moments earlier.

When he arrived at her home, Beatrice opened the door and Roger was taken aback at just how lovely she looked. It shouldn't have been a surprise, and yet, not having seen her for over two weeks, he was quickly reminded of what had drawn him to her in the first place. She was elegant and very attractive. She would have looked perfectly at home on the arm of a member of the royal family, he thought. 

"Hello, Roger, please come in," she smiled broadly.

"Thank you, Bea, it's delightful to see you again. Thank you for inviting me," he said somewhat absently.

"You said you had been away for a while ... a retreat ... or something," she said uncertainly.

"Not exactly. I went off to Devon to visit an old friend. Someone whose advice and counsel I value," he said slowly.

"Counsel?" she asked, intrigued.

"Yes. He's a barrister – was, I mean ... retired ... wife passed away a few years ago. The three of us were very close ... from our early schooldays onward," he said, watching Bea's expression.

"Do you have a legal problem?" she asked.

"No ... not at all. I have a ... problem ... a puzzle ... well to be honest ... it's about you," he finally finished.

"Me?"

"Yes. You see, I have been trying to understand what you ... and I ... are all about," he stammered. "Dammit all, Bea ... I have been falling in love with you and I do not know what to do about it," he finally confessed. 

"Oh ... I see. That is awkward, isn't it. What did you decide ... on your retreat, I mean?" she asked seriously.

"Ah ... well ... I learned that I had to try to convince you that I was truly serious about you ... us, that is," he blurted.

"What did you suppose I thought?" she asked with the faintest of smiles.

"I thought you might think of me as just a ... adventurer ... just a man looking for a good time with no serious intentions."

"And why would I think that?" she asked, secretly enjoying Roger's discomfort.

"Well, I am sure the fact of my absurd marriage, my long-term single status, my ... oh I don't know ... perhaps a glib attitude. I'm not sure, to be honest," he finally finished. 

"Dear Roger, you are quite different. But, for the record, tell me what your visit to your friend in Devon decided about me," she insisted.

"I have decided that I am in love with you, Beatrice. I mean, seriously, permanently, irrevocably. There is absolutely nothing I can do about it. That is just the way it is," he pronounced.

"Well, isn't that something. The fearless war hero professes his love for the lonely widow," she smiled demurely.

"Are you making fun of ... this ... confession?" he asked, bordering on anger.

"No ... no I am not Roger. I would never do that for something so important as love," she said softly. "It took a lot for you to get this far, didn't it?"

"Yes ... although ... strangely ... I feel quite relieved," he said with a wrinkled brow. "I thought it would be much more difficult than it was. I am not used to telling someone about my feelings," he admitted.

"You have done a lovely job of it," she said sincerely. "I suppose you will want to know how I feel about you, won't you?"

Roger paused for a moment, perhaps dreading what might be her answer. Finally he nodded.

"I must admit, I had my doubts about you at first," she began. "For all the reasons that you mentioned, I was cautious. But ... somehow, I sensed that you were not who you seemed to be. You were not the slick, smooth-talking nere-do-well out looking for his next conquest. Charlotte assured me that you were not, but I took nothing for granted. It seems your friends know you very well, Roger," she concluded.

"I must remember to thank them. But what does that mean for us?" he asked simply.

"Well, I see no reason we should not continue to see each other and get to know each other more ... thoroughly," she suggested. "At our age, there is no rush, is there?"

"No ... I mean ... well, we haven't got forever, but for you, I will be patient," he smiled. 

"Good! Then we can have dinner and talk about our future ... what we want to do together," she said with a glint in her eye.

"Yes ... splendid," he grinned.

After the supper, they retired to the drawing room, each with a brandy. They sat quietly together until Bea turned to Roger, leaned over to him and kissed his cheek. Roger immediately flushed, unprepared for this show of affection. He turned to her and putting his snifter aside, took Beatrice in his arms and kissed her on the lips with a gentle passion. To his delight, the kiss was returned.

"My friend, Michael, said something important the other day," he almost whispered. "He reasoned that you were not looking for another Malcolm ... that you were looking for another 'love'. A true, consistent and unmistakable 'love'. I am trying to be that 'love'," he admitted.

"Roger, that is so romantic. I want what I had with Malcolm. I can never have him back, but I can have love with the right man," she admitted.

"Yes ... that's what Michael said. We all want love. We all crave love. I have done without for a long time and I think I might have forgotten what it was all about. I know now that you have brought back that unique and special feeling in me. I am all at sixes and sevens over you, and yet I know that I want to be with you and I want you to want me. Do you think that can happen?" he asked hopefully.

"Perhaps it already has," she said wryly.

"What does ... what are you saying, Bea?" he asked tentatively.

"Don't look so surprised," she said sternly. "I'm human too. I have my wants and needs too. You came along at just the right time. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find anyone ... someone ... who could enchant me ... make me feel whole again. You are the first man to hint that he could. I am still not completely sure, but I want to know ... to find out ... if Roger Wilkinson is that man," she concluded.

"By God, I will damn well try!" he exclaimed.

"Yes ... I am sure you will," she smiled. "In the meantime, I want the irrepressible Roger that intrigued me the first time I met him. He was great fun and I want him back," she exclaimed.

"With all his faults and foibles?" Roger asked.

"Yes ... absolutely. And that string of conquests he so openly brags of."

"Ah yes. Well, about that string of conquests ... please do not ask them for references," he pleaded brightly.

Again, she began to laugh. "Oh, Roger, you are good for me. I just hope you are very good for me." 

"We shall see, lovely lady. We shall see."

And so they did. And she did, and Beatrice was suitably impressed. 

"Roger ... I owe you an apology. I should never have doubted you. I haven't been shagged since Malcolm was alive, but you were magnificent. Bravo sir!" she enthused quietly. They were lying in her bed after a healthy, strenuous and extended session of sex.

"Shagged? Really, Beatrice. Shagged?" 

"What would you prefer? Fucked?" she asked seriously.

"Well, if it was good enough for Shakespeare ..."

"But it's such a crude word. Perhaps 'shagged' is dating me. I should try and think of another word. I will work on that tomorrow. Tonight, I would just rather be shagged again," she laughed.

"Well, with your help, I would be failing myself as a gentleman to refuse such a request."

"And just what help would you care for, love?" she cooed.

"I will leave that to your vivid imagination. I am sure you will think of something," he smiled.

And so she did. And they did ... again. After all, a true gentleman has responsibilities. They slept close to each other, each wanting the touch and scent of the other. It had been a very lovely evening.

-0-

"Beatrice, love ... can we talk?"

"Of course Roger. You know how much I love to talk with you." she answered sweetly. 

"We have been together now for several weeks," he began.

"Three, in fact," she interrupted.

"Quite! This skulking around business ... it's beginning to get to me ... gnawing on my bones, as it were," he confessed.

"Oh ... well ... what do you suggest the solution might be?" she asked. There was a knowing smile on her face.

"Ah ... well ... I would like to make an honest woman of you ... you know ... marriage and all that," he stumbled.

"Why Roger Wilkinson, are you proposing to me?" she laughed.

"Er ... yes ... as a matter of fact ... I am," he admitted, uncertainly.

"Well, as a proposal, it was dreadful. As a thought, it was lovely. I accept," she beamed.

"Oh, bloody good! Damn! That's marvelous!" he exclaimed. He paused, looked at Beatrice carefully, and asked: "What caused you to accept me as your 'last man'?"

"When you returned from your visit with Michael Sturrock, I was surprised ... no ... shocked at the change in you. You were so worried about your feelings for me, and how I would respond. You seemed so uncertain, and that was very, very different from the Roger Wilkinson of two weeks earlier. So I let my curiosity get the better of me and I telephoned your Michael," she said simply.

"You called Michael?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes ... might as well get it from the horse's mouth," I thought.

"As opposed to the horse's arse," Roger mumbled, causing Bea to laugh.

When she regained her composure, Bea continued: "Michael told me about Constance and your ... lost love. That meant a lot to me, Roger. It told me that you were not the frivolous man you made yourself out to be ... someone without a care in the world. You had sacrificed your love for someone out of duty and loyalty and that carries a lot of weight with me," she said seriously.

"If I were to be your next Connie, you could certainly be my next Malcolm," she paused. "Perhaps I'm saying that badly. I cannot be Connie and you cannot be Malcolm, but perhaps we can be lucky enough to be the next ones, the last ones," she concluded.

"You don't know how happy that makes me, Bea. I am certain of my feelings for you and now ... well, I feel like I have finally found what I was searching for," he said quietly.

"We are a couple of odd ducks, you and me," Bea said brightly. "But somehow, we fit rather nicely together, don't you think?"

"I could not have put it better myself," he grinned.

I've met some interesting people in my life, but Roger and Beatrice are two special souls. I've become their friend over the past months since they've moved into the cottage near my farm. They are bright, lively, fun, and damn fine neighbours. We should all be so lucky. They love to talk and it was that which attracted me to Roger's story, and made me think it was worth sharing. I hope you agree.



The Last Man in the World



It was never something Jim had thought of in the past and as he worked his way through the two a day football practices in the sweltering Mississippi heat he was in too much misery to think about anything. He had just moved, with his family, from northern Maryland to a sweaty armpit of a town in the middle a state that simply had to be hotter than hell itself. It was the summer of 1971 and the Stephen D. Lee High School football team was simmering to begin the defense of its undefeated championship season the year before.

Moving from "up nath" was, understandably, quite a change for Jim, but the football team, as well as the entire high school was in the midst of a big change too. While Jim had to adjust to the heat, the two a day practices and an entirely new system, he was surprised to learn of the change many of his teammates were experiencing. Quite accustomed to working together with white and black players on the team, Jim was surprised to discover that, up until the previous season, this high school team had included only white players. In 1969 the blacks had their own team and their own high school.

Adding to the turmoil was the fact that the town suddenly had three high school football teams to support. After the 1970 school year, a new public high school was added to ease the overcrowding and a new private, all white, high school opened and suddenly the monolithic community was split on racial and then on geographic lines. Of course things like this were happening in just about every town in the state of Mississippi amid a great deal of political and social turmoil.

On the practice field all that chaos and confusion of new high schools, integration and racial strife became only secondary distractions to the players. Their minds were focused on one thing and one thing only and that was that tall, ice cold bottle of Coca Cola (tm) the coaches provided at the end of every practice. Maybe it was the heat addling their minds, or that they were just too hot and tired, or maybe it was the Coke (tm) commercials and that song, "I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony..." but amid the stress of football practice and the pervading racial tension throughout the state, the teammates became one sipping on their Coca Colas (tm).

The summer passed quickly, although the heat lingered well into fall, and the two a day football practices were reduced to a single practice after school. Jim fell into his role as starting punter and second string everything else. Practice devolved into basically getting beat up by the first string offense and defense for about two hours and then, the bright shining fifteen minutes at the end of practice where the team practiced punting. Jim's job now was to catch the ball from the center and then kick it as far and as high as he could.

Of course, during the time Jim was catching the ball, kicking it and watching it sail downfield there was a lot going on. First of all his ten other teammates were trying their best to block the other team as they tried their best to knock down the football that Jim kicked before it went far and high downfield. After that they then rushed down toward the ball in an attempt to tackle the player who tried to catch the ball Jim kicked. For those familiar with the game it's all pretty basic, however, what was intriguing for Jim was to watch how his teammates went downfield to "cover" the kick. To make sure no part of the football field was left open for the opponent to run through, the players rushed down field in a defined pattern that eventually converged on the player with the ball.

Once finished kicking the ball, Jim became what the coach referred to as "the last man in the world," which from the look of things made him the guy who loafs behind everyone else as they rush to make a tackle. He never really knew what weight "the last man in the world" bore on his shoulders, how lonely that title could become.

Amid the rumors and then later news reports of racial unrest in a number of high schools through the state, Stephen D. Lee High School calmly attended school, held a pep rally and watched its football team easily win its first game of the season, extending its undefeated streak to 11 games. Jim actually got to play as running back and linebacker as the second stringers came in the last quarter of the game.

Football is relatively easy for a winning team, and the following week's practices went smoothly, with little or no changes, the fifteen minutes of punt practice and then the refreshing Coca Colas (tm) before going home. The pep rally that week was loud and upbeat, cheering on a team that seemed ready to roll into another championship. The next day the team loaded onto its busses and headed out to Greenville, Mississippi, wherever that was.

In the warm up before the game Jim shanked his first practice punt up into the grandstands where the ball crashed into the band. He had done the same thing in warm up the week before so everything seemed normal. What wasn't normal was that almost immediately after the game started, the team failed to make a first down in its first possession. Jim entered the game for his first punt of the season.

Remembering the punt coverage the team worked on at the end of each practice, just confidently aligned himself on the field. He was a bit nervous about the punt, but he knew that if he could get off a reasonably good kick, the team would rush down the field and make the tackle as "the last man in the world" loafed down and observed the action.

Jim checked his team and confirmed everyone was in place, looked over the other team and confirmed that each opponent would be blocked, and then he shouted, "Down, set." He paused, making sure everyone was set and then he flinched his hands signaling to the center to hike the ball. Just like in practice the ball zipped back into his hands and he stepped off a perfect punt that sailed both far and high. Jim watched the play develop and trotted over toward the right sideline, as the play seemed headed that way.

In seconds that seemed a lifetime, Jim began to observe some weakness in what seemed an impenetrable defense on the punt as the initial defenders were easily blocked by the opponents. He watched, what appeared to be a wall of blockers, pick off his teammates one by one and with the ball carrier still twenty yards away Jim realized that he was the only person left who could stop the runner from scoring. He felt an intense loneliness, as if he were indeed the last man in the world, the only player standing between possible victory and Armageddon. In a moment that could make or break the career aspirations of any football player, Jim prepared himself to make the tackle, to save the day, to successfully reinforce his title as...

With a fake step to the left and an immediate cut right, the ball carrier ran past Jim's feeble diving attempt at a tackle and sped downfield. Watching the final steps into the end zone and the ensuing celebration Jim felt the burden of giving up the first touchdown that season heavy on his shoulders. Little did he know that Armageddon had arrived as he stood up and trotted to the sideline. 

Jim couldn't have known that that touchdown was one of five his team gave up in a thirty-five to nothing loss, which turned out to be the first of nine straight losses. Jim also couldn't have known that the player that zoomed past him would go on to college football and then spend seven seasons with the Philadelphia Eagles, going to the pro bowl in three successive seasons. 

Jim did learn something about his team when practice the next week, though tough, featuring a lot of changes and a more intense punt practice, they all enjoyed the ice cold Coca Cola (tm) as they always had. He learned something about the school when at the next pep rally he was awarded a trophy for being the most valuable player in that thirty-five to nothing loss and he learned something about the community when Stephen D. Lee High School was honored at the end of the year as the school with the best record of racial relations in the state. As he kneeled on the field, watching the runner romp for the touchdown, Jim would have been the last man in the world to expect any these things.



The Last Man in the World Ch. 02



Amid reports of racial strife in a number of high school campuses across the state of Mississippi, the students of Stephen D. Lee High School went about their school lives as if segregation was a small footnote in ancient history. The football team on the other hand trudged its way day by day into a losing season. By the third game of the season the team had a lot fewer players as teammates not used to losing and the chaos that ensued quit the team.

After receiving the MVP trophy and now moving up to starting fullback and linebacker, Jim was gaining a bit of popularity around the school actually dating one of the cheerleaders. It did amaze him how a player on such a disaster of a team could draw the interest of anyone, much less a cheerleader, but he wasn't about to argue with the system. It seemed a small compensation for the tough practices and even tougher games, where there were two constants for the team. The first was bad and that was the constant change as the coaches flummoxed around trying to figure out how to win. The second constant was good and that was the ice cold Coca Cola (tm) each player got at the end of practice.

Besides playing fullback and linebacker, Jim spent a lot of time in the game as a punter. If there is one position that is always busy on a team as bad as Stephen D. Lee's it was the punter. No sooner than the offense hit the field it was fourth down and Jim got to do his solo ballet catching the snap, taking two steps and kicking the ball as far and high as he could. Fortunately, the punt coverage team was pretty good at stopping the other team's punt return and Jim didn't have to face being "the last man in the world" as he had earlier in the season.

By the fourth game of the season the offense was failing so badly that the coaches came up with an idea. "Hey if we can't do anything good with the football in three plays, let's just cut down on the misery and kick the ball on third down." Yes, the team was so bad that the coaches worked in the quick kick.

In theory the quick kick is an excellent play because the offense can fool the defense into thinking a normal play is called and then the ball is suddenly kicked. In a normal punt, the ball is kicked very high to give the kicking team time to run toward the guy waiting to catch the ball. While a high kick can go far, a low kick will go farther, especially when no one is there to stop it from rolling and try to run it back. By sneaking a kick on third down the ball will whiz just over the defender's heads and if kicked correctly simply roll forever.

For the punter, who is now disguised as the fullback who stands directly behind the quarterback, the play is fairly simple. The center, instead of handing the ball to the quarterback as on a normal play, will pass the ball back to the fullback. The fullback then turns and takes two steps toward the side of the field and the kicks the ball so it heads fast and low downfield.

The kick is a little tricky since the kicker is very close to the opposing players. In actuality the only way to get the kick away is to do it so quickly that no one has had time to realize the quarterback doesn't have the ball. The key element is surprise. In other words the play is so foolish that no one expects it until suddenly it works.

Unfortunately the element of surprise diminishes the more you use the play, so you may surprise a team the first or maybe even the second time you try it, but after that they have figured out what is coming. In all their wisdom Lee's coaches seeing how far Jim could kick the ball on a quick kick, started using the play six and seven times a game. Jim had to move faster and faster, even going as far as experimenting with a one step kick just to keep from getting killed.

In spite of the quick kick the team lost the fourth game of the season, but with a score that was no where near as humiliating as the thirty five to nothing loss earlier in the year. It was a moral victory and the few times the quick kick worked to perfection made Jim even more popular. Jim often wondered what it would be like if the team was actually winning.

The fifth game of the season meant a long bus trip to Greenwood, Mississippi. That's Greenwood as opposed to Greenville, the team that gave Lee its worst defeat of the season so far. Note the proviso: "so far." The Greenwood game went badly from the start, with the opponents scoring on the opening kickoff.

As the game went along and the score continued to build the coaches showed great restraint and held off calling the quick kick until well into the third quarter. They had a new found, through shortly lived, confidence in the offense when the team finally scored a touchdown. Whatever the score would be at the end of the game, at least Lee's had seven points.

Jim had been having a good game himself, not just punting well, but he had caught the opposing quarterback once causing a fumble and had made a number of tackles. This effort was diminished some as the other team continued to score in spite of Jim's defensive play. Jim remained confident, so when the coaches called for a quick kick with the ball on only the four yard line, he wasn't worried. It was the first time in that game the play was called so the defense would be completely surprised. 

Standing about on the goal line Jim envisioned a ninety-five yard punt, with the ball finally rolling to a stop at the opponents one yard line, all he had to do was simply catch the ball, take two steps to the side and kick. In a normal football season the play may have gone that way, but this season it didn't.

Somehow the center managed to throw the ball so it passed beneath the quarterback's widespread legs and yet soared over the fullback's head, the fullback who was standing less than two yards behind the quarterback. Jim leapt high into the air and watched in disbelief as the ball soared just beyond his fingertips, landing in the end zone.

In the end zone! Damn that was a bad place to be, so Jim moved as quickly as he could and picked up the ball, keeping the other team from scoring a touchdown. He turned to his left, broke a tackle, took a step and then got hit by three other players. As the players climbed off him, Jim looked up to see the referee holding his hands together over his head calling a safety. Jim walked off the field watching the scoreboard as two points were added to Greenwood's total.

In spite of the center's bad snap the coaches called for a quick kick several more times in the game which did work for the team without incident. By the end of the game the final score was forty-four to seven, the team's worst defeat of the season and it was the two point safety that put the score over the top. And although later he would win a trophy for best defensive player in the game, once again Jim felt alone having given up the two points that made the difference between a 37 point loss and only a 35 point loss. Such was the life of the last man in the world. 



The Last Man in the World Ch. 03



The football season in Mississippi was quickly slipping by; most of the schools had completed seven games and had only three games remaining for the playoffs. Of course Stephen D. Lee High School's team had given up all hope of the playoffs by the fourth week of the season, the big question now was will the team win another game. Starkville was another road game for them however it was not too far from home so the bus trip was short.

Once again the team was making changes to everything trying to figure out what combination of players on the field could possibly win a game. Jim was still a linebacker but the coaches moved him up to tight end to see if he could help blocking some. He also continued as the team's punter.

Practice was tough but the team still got the customary Coca Cola ( tm ) at the end of each practice so everything seemed good, or as good as a 1-6 team could be. When the team loaded on the bus that Friday afternoon on the road to Starkville Jim had no idea his career was about to end in complete humiliation. Not that the punt return touchdown that started off the losing season and the safety that capped off the teams worst losses were highlights, but they were nothing compared to what would happen that Friday night.

By moving Jim from fullback to tight end, the team lost its opportunity to run the quick kick so instead the offense had to try to make yardage for all three downs instead of just two before admitting defeat and kicking the ball on third down. For Jim, the first half of the game was unremarkable as he played reasonably well on defense and did pretty well blocking. His punting was fine so it just looked like the team was headed for a defeat, but nothing terrible.

It was just at the start of the third quarter, after a rousing half time speech by the coach about toughness and determination, when the offense went onto the field did absolutely nothing. Jim found himself ready to punt once again. As he counted back the yards from the line of scrimmage to line up to punt, he found himself standing in a puddle of mud, so he took about a half step forward just to get more comfortable.

While Jim was getting ready to punt, his deep blocker, the blocker closest to the punter was a different player from the one who had played there all season. "Damn, is there nothing the coaches will leave alone?" Jim wondered to himself getting ready to begin the snap count.

Yes, it was the first time this player had been the deep blocker and just as Jim knew himself to be the last man in the world, the coaches drilled it into the deep blocker's head that he was not, under any circumstances, to back up. Well apparently everyone on the team knew the deep blocker was not supposed to back up, everyone except for the player lined up as deep blocker that Friday night.

Well the combination of Jim stepping forward and the deep blocker not knowing the most important thing he should know brought about the chain of events that ended the last man in the world's football career in utter humiliation. Jim shouted loudly, "Down, set," and then he paused, inching forward just a bit more and then he flexed his fingers signaling the center he wanted the snap.

The ball sailed perfectly into Jim's hands and he took a step with his right foot, a step with his left and letting to ball fall from his hands he swung his right leg forward with enough power to normally lift his two hundred five pound body over a foot in the air as he kicked the ball. Except that night he never kicked the ball, instead as his leg shot forward it suddenly hit an immovable seeming object and as the ball tumbled on the ground Jim fell in pain.

As he kneeled on the ground, his leg searing with pain he heard the whistle blow and realized that the deep blocker had backed up. Rather than kicking the relatively light football and driving it down the field, Jim kicked his one hundred seventy-five pound deep blocker in the ass sending him tumbling to the ground. Unable to play linebacker with the pain in his leg, Jim limped off the field where the injury was immediately iced down.

After several minutes, when the offense went back on the field the coach sent Jim back into the game where he finished out about five minutes that was left in the third quarter. He leg hurt and he limped some but Jim tried to play his position. I wasn't until the team needed to punt again that anyone realized the injury was worse than anticipated. As Jim went to kick the ball, he found her couldn't straighten his foot, a necessary thing when you punt the ball, so when he kicked it, the ball went straight up in the air and fell straight to the ground.

Jim was pulled from the game and spent the rest of the game on the bench with ice packs on his leg. As the game was about to end the coach finally wandered over to check out how Jim was feeling and he asked, "Just exactly how did this happen? I know the punt got blocked but how did you hurt your leg?"

"Well you know Willie, the new deep blocker."

"Yeah."

"Did anyone tell him he was not supposed to back up?"

"You mean he..."

"Backed up," Jim said nodding.

"And you did what?"

"I stepped forward and as I went to kick the ball I kicked Willie instead."

"So you kicked Willie in the ass and hurt your leg."

"Yes sir."

"You know I've been kicking that kid in the ass all season trying to get him to do something, I guess I just didn't kick hard enough."

"I think I did kick hard enough," Jim said.

"Well keep your leg iced down and we'll go easy on you in practice on Monday," he said, rubbing the hair on Jim's head.

By Monday Jim was in a cast with a hairline fracture in his leg. Though he tried to keep the events leading up to his injury a secret, word got out on how he broke his leg so as he hobbled on crutches the next six weeks he had to put up with the giggles in the hallways and even worse from the team as he hobbled out to the practice field.

Amid the humiliation of how he broke his leg and the realization he wasn't going to play football again, two positive things came out of the event. Willie went on to play linebacker and earned most valuable player in both of the last two games. The team lost both games but Willie was on his way to being a star player. The second positive was that Jim still got to share in the Coca Cola ( tm ) at the end of every practice. 



The Last Man on Earth



From the Author: This is my first experience working with an editor. I am now a firm believer. Short version: if you think you are pretty literate and know what you're doing, you are a prime candidate for editorial help. BluMoonChild, a fan of my first stories, generously offered her editorial talent after reading my first efforts. I owe her a debt of gratitude, along with returning the favor, and look forward to working with her on future stories.





Charice Rosser exited the small staffing office like a cannon shot. She could feel the tears welling up but was just too damned angry to cry. She stepped off the curb to the sound of car horns, not giving a shit if someone was inconvenienced by yielding to a pedestrian. The office she came out of was nestled in a bustling retail center that had two times the traffic for half of a parking lot. She saw the "fire lane - no parking" signs as she passed, thinking, god, if there was a fire, the place would burn to the ground before the fire department could get through the gridlock.

She finally reached her car, a tired 10 year old Corolla, and slammed the door shut. Looking in the visor mirror she sighed, mumbling to herself. "Reesey, you need to get a hold on your emotions and not let these things rule you." Looking past her dark eyes that had just narrowly avoided tears and runny makeup, she could see a line of cars forming, as the one in the lead spotted her leaving and was stalking her parking place. Shaking her head at that, she started the car and backed out. Then her heart dropped - the car engine had stalled. "AW SHIT! Just what I don't need right now!" A quick scan of the dashboard confirmed everything was dead. No gauges, no lights, no nothing. Turning the key only made a mechanical sound without the usual display of warning lights. And then the horns started up.

"Goddamn people! It ain't like I WANTED to jam up this parking lot!" Reese got back out and made a show of raising the hood, without a clue what to do next. For that matter, what could she do? She'd been out of work for two months already and her savings were starting to get thin. She'd had to quit her gym membership, not that it had done much for her. Besides, cutting back on the grocery budget had the side effect of less food. Between that and the stress of not working she'd started to loose a few pounds, more than she had with frequent workouts. Getting a tow was going to put a big dent in what was left of her cash, never mind what the shop would charge to fix it. Suddenly she felt that cry coming back and just sat back down in her broken car and shut the door.

After a minute she started looking through her glove box for the last receipt from the repair shop so she could call for help. Somehow or another she'd have to work out payments or something but she needed to get this car picked up. In the distance she could hear a motorcycle approaching and looked around to see a hulking figure behind the approaching headlight. As he threaded around the gridlock she could see it was some kind of a chopper, but not the gaudy looking things she'd seen on the custom motorcycle shows on TV. It looked old school and was clearly no show queen. A little closer and her heart sank even lower. The rider was a heavyset, older white guy and he didn't look happy. She could see his brow scrunched into a scowl between the dark glasses and the helmet that looked like WWII German army.

Perfect. Marooned in a parking lot, jamming up traffic, a dozen angry motherfuckers trying to move me with their horns, and here comes some white power harassment to top it off. Reese just leaned forward with her face in her hands, fed up and starting to panic.

------

Paul James loved the rare chance to get out in the wind on a late spring day. He had been working for weeks on a project for a demanding telecom client and finally had a few hours free to run some errands. Seizing the opportunity, he unhooked his chopper from it's battery tender and rolled it out. A couple of kicks to prime it and one more with the key on and it coughed to life. This machine was probably the least practical thing he had for running errands. But it was badass in an understated way. Not a whole lot of chrome, regular sized rear tire, and an antique powertrain that likes to mark it's territory with a few drops of oil anywhere it stops. Nothing like the billet barges that seemed to fill up half of the programming on cable TV these days, but quite the opposite. His bike was made for riding and not show, and that's what he was rolling it out for.

Nothing better than having the wind and the sun in his face. Paul sailed down the boulevard in light traffic, thinking about his next stop to check in with his staffing recruiter on some open requisitions he had with them. His account rep was fun to work with, but wasn't the best at following up with him. She always seemed flustered and overworked, and nothing short of a face to face visit would get progress out of her.

As he pulled into the parking lot, his good attitude evaporated. It was gridlocked. Ordinarily that didn't bother him. He was used to the thick urban traffic and you just had to deal with it. However, on this machine with it's antiquated hand shifter and foot clutch, thick traffic was misery and awkward to move through. If the bike was in gear, you can't put your left foot down. If you need both feet down, you had to be in neutral. In tight traffic, it was a major hassle to creep forward and stop over and over. Paul finally rounded a corner and saw the source of the problem. Way up at the front of the line was a small Toyota that was clearly not going anywhere with it's hood open.

He started getting pissed looking at all the people sitting in their cars, laying on their horns, and waiting for some miracle to happen and make the roadblock disappear. Muttering under his breath, he slipped the bike in gear and swerved to the side, passing all the useless horn jockeys. "Jesus H. Christ. twenty fucking people with thirty fucking cell phones between them and not one person lifting a finger to do anything. Forget about someone actually getting out to offer a hand."

When he rolled up to the immobile car, he could see the lone occupant inside with her face buried in her hands, her shoulder length curls sweeping down and concealing her face. Just great. None of these assholes moving an inch and here this one sits, waiting for a miracle. Paul rolled to a stop behind it and killed the bike, setting it over on it's sidestand. As he walked up, a guy a few cars back yelled out, "Tell that bitch to move that shit outta the way!" Paul turned a second, flashing him a mean mug and continued toward the car. The woman inside slowly looked up at him, her expression a mix of anger, frustration, and fear. His bad attitude was immediately disarmed by her appearance. She looked to be in her late 30's, seemed dressed for business, and clearly having a really bad day judging by the smeared eye liner and less than happy face. "Miss? Are you ok? Can you open your window?"

------

Reese saw a shadow come over her and looked up. The biker was leaned in close waving his hand and asking if she was ok through the closed door and sealed window. A glance up at the mirror confirmed she looked like hell, and she reached for the door handle. "Are you ok? You don't look well - are you out of gas?" She turned as if to step out of the car, but when her feet reached the ground, she just sat there. She looked up and met his concerned expression with relief. "I don't know what's wrong. I just started to leave and everything just went dead. Nothing. Nada." So he wasn't Aryan Brotherhood. He was just the one guy out of the whole crowd who bothered to see what was wrong and offer help. Then her emotions cut loose. She just couldn't control the blubbering. The more she tried the more it came out. All her business. The bad interview. The unemployment. The car repair and towing bill. Everything.

When she finally wound down into a puddle of sobs, she saw his extended hand. "My name's Paul. Tell you what. If you're ok with it, stand over here and I'll push your car out of the way so these assholes can go about their business. Are the keys still in the ignition?" On her barely perceptible nod, he took her hand, guiding her aside. Then proceeded to ease the disabled car back into the space she was backing out of. When the car stopped, he pulled up the parking brake and handed her the keys. "You know, I have a AAA card in my wallet and they'll tow your car for nothing. All I have to do is tell them I was riding with you and they'll hook it right up. I also know a guy that does honest work and can get you back on the road quick. If it's ok, I can make some calls for you and we'll get this squared away quickly."

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out a cell phone and started making calls. After a minute, he turned to her and said, "Wait right here a minute. I've got to park my bike before the tow truck gets here." He'd spotted a space open up on the next row and hurried, pushing the narrow cycle between cars into the vacant space just as someone was about to pull in. There was an angry look for a moment, then the driver looked him over and decided to back up and try something else. She watched this out of the corner of her eye. He was a big man but not huge. He had taken his helmet off and uncovered a close crew cut head of hair, mostly gray with a bit of brownish color in places. It extended down his sideburns and around his face, a neatly trimmed mustache and beard. The dude was actually clean-cut and was not the biker trash she thought he was. When he came back she was finally getting her head back on straight.

Before she could say another word, the tow truck came rolling up. The biker met the driver, shaking his hand when he got out with a greeting. "Yeah, me and my girl here were on our way out and the car just died. Can you haul it over to Smitty's shop? I already called ahead and he's expecting it."

"No problem Mr. James. I just need to see your AAA card and we'll get it outta here." The tow truck driver noted his membership number and came over. "Ma'am, you need to get your purse and anything else you want to take with you. I'll be pushing your car out to hook it up."

Reese quickly gathered her things and took the car key off her ring, handing it to the tow guy. In about two minutes flat he had her car up in the air and was headed away. She turned back to the man that had taken care of everything and almost choked up and started boohooing again.

------

Paul supervised the tow driver until he left to make sure the lady's car got hooked up with no damage. When he returned to her she looked like a lost puppy. She was standing there in a pantsuit and pumps, holding her purse, with nowhere to go. Her normally smooth cocoa face was starting to twist up into tears again. He came to her side putting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her in as if to comfort her. He could feel the sobs shaking her frame when he spoke. "Hey, there's a coffee shop across the street, why don't we grab a cup while we wait to hear about your car? I've got a few meetings this afternoon, but it's nothing my team can't handle."

He released her shoulder and put her arm in his while leading the way to the coffee shop. He hoped she would relax a little with some good company. She was a good looking woman that struck him as the type to be more put-together. Although, right now it seemed she'd reached her wit's end. He found a table and asked her what she'd like. "Ice water, please." He asked again to be sure and went to get their drinks. As he waited in line and placed an order, he snuck a few glances back at her. When he did, he caught her doing the same. It turned into almost a game. By the time he returned with the order, he could see a hint of a grin forming.

As he sat down, she followed him with her eyes. "Sooo.. now that the crisis is past and you know who I am and I already told AAA we were together, what's your name darling? I'm dying to know"

"Reese. Actually Charice Rosser, but Charice is too easy to screw up and people really can't spell it either. I can't thank you enough for all you've put up with from me. I just don't know what I'm going to do next. You already heard all my business, so I'm not going to keep whining. I just can't afford for these things to happen until I get back on the job somewhere. Now my car is gone and I'm stuck here. There isn't even a bus route within 5 miles of here! And that goddamn bitch at the staffing agency keeps bullshitting me every time she calls. When I come out, and she knows I can't afford the gas, the job falls through somehow."

The lightbulb came on in Paul's head. "I see. So I have a feeling that goddamn bitch has the initials Sue Wesley?" Reese's eyes flashed and she did a double take "How'd you know?!?"

Paul went on to explain what had brought him to her rescue in the first place. Realizing they had come to the same place to visit the same unprofessional professional, they started laughing about it and shared some stories. When the chuckles finally faded, there was an uncomfortable pause as they looked at each other having warmed pass the uncomfortable situation from earlier. When he was about to speak up, his cell phone rang. "Excuse me." Paul took the call and listened to Bud Smith, the mechanic that had Reese's car. "Yep. I figured as much. Uh-huh. No. Well, not really. Okay. Fine. I'll bring her by before you close."

He looked across the table as he holstered the phone. She looked at him with brow raised, "OK.. so I take it that was the mechanic? What's the damage?" Paul just smiled and said nothing. Reese reached across and play slapped his arm, grinning big. "Damn you! out with it!"

"Ok, ok, ok. You've beat it out of me. Your car is fixed. It was a loose battery cable and there's no charge. Smitty just said bring it back for some paying work and he'll let you go this time."

"Awesome!" Reese's face lit up with relief. Finally something was going her way today. "So let's go get it!"

------

Reese's heart was doing leaps. Not only was her little hoopty back running again, but it didn't cost anything and she wouldn't be eating dog food for the rest of the month! When she looked back at Paul he was frowning. "What's the matter? Something I said?"

He looked back at her excited face. "Well only one detail. You do remember how I got here, right?"

Now it was her turn for a lightbulb moment. "If it's not too far I can ride. I've ridden with my cousins before. It's not a big deal."

"Yeah, but mine has seating for one. Let's go out to the bike and see what we need to do."

They exited the coffee shop and she took his arm again. Immediately she asked herself why she did that. It wasn't like she was a sobbing mess like earlier. But it felt good. Even right somehow. He just glanced down at her with a crooked grin and led the way.

When they got to Paul's bike she could see the problem right away. There was only one seat. Over the rear what nothing but a bare fender. Nothing. No hand holds. No foot pegs. Just a wheel and a fender with an oily chain attached.

"The shop is only a couple miles away. I can fold up my jacket for you to sit on, but you're going to have to wrap yourself around me - arms and legs - to keep from falling off. You can wear the helmet if you want. I doubt we'll see any cops on this short a ride."

Reese thought about it a minute. This is crazy. I could take a taxi or just walk, it's not far. As she mulled it over, Paul took off his leather jacket and folded it up into a little square pillow shape and placed it on the rear fender.

"Here you are. If you're not ok with this, I can run home and be back in 20 minutes with my car."

She'd already decided. This looked like it would be fun, and face it - opportunities like this don't come along all the time. "I'm game. Tell me what to do."

------

Paul looked her over while he was folding up his jacket. She was no 98lb supermodel, but she wasn't going to bend his fender either. She was at least a head shorter than him, and had a thick, hourglass figure that filled out her business attire nicely. Hanging on to him would be a little awkward for her, but doable given the short ride.

"OK Reese. Put the helmet on while I get the bike started. Next, I'm going to get out of the parking space and stop. I'll give you the ok and you'll need to straddle the rear wheel to sit on my jacket. Once you're seated, grab my shoulders and swing your legs around my waist. You'll want to put the left one up first to keep your clothes from getting dirty from the chain. Your feet will be on opposite sides of the gas tank to keep them from sliding back. Then adjust your grip on me and give me a tap or a shout when you're ready."

"Oh yeah.. don't forget to avoid the hot parts, especially the exhaust. Those will put a scar on you real quick if you bump into them."

She nodded and adjusted her purse across her back and got ready. Paul kicked the bike to life and rolled it out of the space, giving her a nod when he was ready. She grabbed his shoulders as she mounted the bike, then after a moment, her legs came up around him one at a time. She moved her hands and arms down around his chest and seemed settled. After a moment he lowered his left hand, resting it on her leg and asked, "You all set?"

She shouted a "yes," so he lifted his left foot to the clutch, reached lower to the shifter to get first gear, and off they went.

------

She followed his directions and sat on the jacket. Suddenly she realized how high she was going to have to get her legs and she hadn't done any real stretching in years. But she managed. The left one went up easy, and the toe of her shoe found the gas tank. That made it easier to swing the right one up. Once settled, she improved her grip with her arms, encircling Paul's chest. She gave him the ok and he got moving.

Right away she noticed Paul was quite muscular and that his loose fitting clothes covered that up well. It seemed like she could feel the individual muscles and tendons move with each motion. His solid feel made her relax a little. The start was a little jerky, so she pulled her arms tighter and leaned in, placing her cheek on his back. Being that close she could smell an earthy scent on his clothes that comes from being worn in the open air. Under that was a very subtle, manly smell, possibly some soap or cologne. Her mind started wandering at that point. This guy was actually pretty hot in a "not hot" sorta way. Had she just passed him on the street she'd have never looked twice. But up close and personal was a different matter. Earlier, when she was coming unglued, he had stepped in and handled business like a natural. He didn't ask permission. He just did it. And she just let him do it, like it was the right thing to do. And now she felt more and more compelled to follow his lead. That thought made her hang on just a little tighter as she let out a little sigh.

After a few more minutes, she relaxed a bit and began to notice some things. The machine's vibration under her, despite the jacket she was perched on. Not to mention how wide open and unladylike she was sitting. She squirmed a little bit, grinding her thighs and belly against Paul's hard back. He responded by placing his left hand on her thigh and down to her calf where he held firmly. The sudden, unexpected touch and hold startled her and set butterflies in motion. Damn that was sexy and he don't even know it! She started heating up on that thought and it got worse as the breeze blowing through her pants started hitting the moistness forming in her panties with a cooling sensation. That caused her to stiffen momentarily until the sensation passed. This was way more than she bargained for.




The Last Man on Earth



Reese had never been that close to many men, especially not some white biker dude she just met during a vulnerable moment. Just the same, she felt secure hanging on his back like she belonged there. Once she got settled, the rest of the ride was a thrill. It had been a long time since she'd been in the wind on a motorcycle, and never quite splayed out as she was on a machine like this one. The sights, sounds, and smells from being out in the open were actually helping lift her spirits after the positively foul situation with the car breaking down.

------

Paul rolled out of the parking lot and got on the highway. He was taking it extra easy to avoid upsetting his passenger. Once he got up to speed, he could feel her on his back squirming around a little. Noticing that, he put his hand on her leg hoping to make her feel more at ease. When he stopped on her calf, he noted it was defined and not all that soft like he expected. He thought to himself that she must be exercising to keep in shape, and it sure seemed to be working. A moment after he touched her, he felt her fingers flex on his chest, digging her nails in a little. He felt his cock twitch a little at the sensation, wondering if she had any clue the effect she was having on him. After a few more minutes, she seemed to relax a bit. The muscles under his hand seemed a little less iron-like the farther they got along.

He thought back to checking her out at the coffee shop. She was cute. Not one that would have caught his eye in a crowd, but definitely a looker. He remembered those thick thighs topped with a nice round ass. She was a little thick around the waist and just enough tits to balance everything else. Her natural curls framed her dark face perfectly and completed the package. He started thinking about that touch again and felt things stiffening up down below. Damn I better quit thinking about sex or I'm going to show up at Smitty's with a tent in my pants! He finally got his mind off the sexy thoughts about his passenger and momentarily arrived at the shop.

When he rolled to a stop, he quickly guided Reese's right leg down first, then her left. When she had her feet planted back on terra firma, she leaned in close to his ear and muttered, "That was quite a ride, mister." She placed a little kiss on his neck before she sat back up and stepped off the bike. The little kiss startled him and made his cock jump again. What was up with that? He knew he'd been daydreaming a little but that kiss was real!

Before he could give it much more thought, a wiry little man came out from the recesses of the shop and waved them over. "What's up Paul? Is this the damsel in distress? You sure know how to pick 'em!"

Paul felt his face heat up a little and shouted back, "Hey Bud! Yeah, this is her. Be careful your shit-talking doesn't run her off! And that's Ms. Rosser to you thankyouverymuch." The two old friends came together shaking hands and turned to Reese. "Bud Smith, this is Charice Rosser, Reese to her friends and maybe you some day. Reese, this is Bud."

Bud shook Reece's hand gave her a wink, "Don't believe a word he says. Paul is the shit talker around here. Nice to meet you." The three chit chatted a few minutes then got down to business. "Reese, you got lucky this time. The only thing wrong was a loose battery terminal. Since it was obvious and only took a minute to correct, I'm not charging you anything. Just don't forget me next time you need to spend some money on your ride."

Reese looked back at him with a smile, "Thanks Bud. That's a huge relief. My job hunting hasn't been all that productive, so I'll take any break I can get. I'll call you when I get back on a job and get you to look it over for me."

Bud grinned, "You bet. Let me go get your keys and you're good to go."

------

Reece's attention drifted the whole time the three were talking about her car repair. She was thinking about that peck on Paul's neck when they arrived. It was totally impulsive and was done before she even realized she'd done it. The surprised look on Paul's face when he turned around had melted her insides. He was just adorable and it set her mind into fantasy land. The whole time they were talking, she'd been discretely studying him. The way his eyes were bluish grey and crinkled at the sides. The slight growth of whiskers on his face that had grown back since his morning shave. His easy way about things, the quick smile and kind words. As they were wrapping things up she had to get herself back to Earth. She wasn't some crushing teenager and needed to get back in control!

After Bud went to retrieve her car keys, she turned to Paul. "So Mister Knight in Shining Armor, thanks for the rescue. You've certainly turned my day around, even if I'm still unemployed."

Paul grinned and bowed with a stage-worthy flourish. "My pleasure, Madame. It was no trouble at all." Reese started giggling and Paul cracked up too. Bud rejoined them and handed over the car key.

"I didn't do a full inspection or anything, but nothing else was jumping out at me when I was checking your car. Just be careful and avoid long trips until you can get it back for a more thorough check up."

Reese surprised him with a quick hug. "Bud you're a life saver. I'll definitely be back when I get back on my feet."

Paul chimed in, "Thanks again Bud. I know you'll probably tack that on to my next bill. I know how you are!"

Bud cracked a smile and flipped him a bird, "Yeah thanks for everything Paul. See you next time, partner!" 

Reese turned and walked toward her car, aware that Paul was a step behind her. They reached her car and she turned toward him after opening the door, looking up into his eyes. "Paul, I mean it. Thanks for everything today. You really took good care of me."

He grinned and replied. "Really, it was my pleasure. When I finally got up to your car and saw you, I couldn't help myself."

There was a long pause while the two considered the exchange. Reese was getting a little nervous about what would be next. She had never been good with situations like this. Once things were in motion she was ok, but the getting started part had always been awkward. She was always too self conscious to be an aggressive woman, always thinking she didn't have the looks to hook in a man on demand. Besides, that stuff only happened in the mush books she liked to kill time with in between job searches.

Without another word, Paul leaned in cautiously and gave her a light kiss on the lips. It was like a fire had been lit inside her. She studied his face again as he started to lean back, then grabbed his shirt and pulled him back. She pressed her parted lips against his and exhaled, while her tongue lightly danced across his mouth. She sighed again as he pressed in closer, his hands roaming down her back pulling her in. She could feel his hardness pressing against her belly as the kiss intensified. A few more swirls of the tongues and they pulled back apart.

"Reese, why don't we continue this conversation over dinner before Bud catches us making out in his parking lot."

She giggled. "I'd like that Paul. What do you have in mind?"

"Tell you what. I'll go by the grocery store and get us something to throw on the grill. Your place or mine?"

"That sounds perfect. You don't want to see my place, it's small and it's trashed from me being sidetracked with the job search. But I'll be glad to pitch in on the cooking. What time, now that I have wheels again?"

Paul chuckled. "It's 2:30 now. How about 7-ish? Give me something to write on and I'll tell you where dinner will be."

Reese dug around in her purse and pulled out her phone. "Write? You are such a dinosaur. Give me your address and I'll map it out on my phone."

She tapped it in while they continued to talk. "Any food allergies? Special dietary needs?"

Reese laughed. "No, not that I know of. I never had an allergy to free food someone else was providing in case you couldn't tell already."

Paul took a more serious tone. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're a fine looking woman, Reese."

She batted her eyelashes. "Why Paul, I bet you tell all the girls that to get in their drawers."

He returned her grin. "Only when they're drawers I wouldn't mind getting into, darling. I'll see you at seven." He leaned back in and she met him for another blood boiling kiss. The tongue action was intense and she had to pull away to keep from stripping him down on the spot.

As she got in her car she looked up at him. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

She pulled out into the afternoon traffic, her head spinning with thoughts of this strange man she had just nearly jumped. She could feel her panties had gotten moist and a light bead of sweat had broken out in her cleavage. She was positively aching for that man. She thought about him all the way home, trying to figure out what to wear and guess how things would go later. This mysterious man had gotten under her skin in a big way.

------

Paul stepped back and watched Reese leave the parking lot. He could still taste the faint flavor of her lip gloss and his dick was rock hard, throbbing against his jeans. Reese's kisses had been as unexpected as they were completely erotic. It had just happened with no expectations and it was just so incredibly hot. He got back to his bike and kicked it to life, then donned his jacket and helmet. He could even smell her perfume in the helmet.

As he rolled out into traffic he thought about what he needed to get done in the next couple of hours. Get the bike home and put away. Run out to the grocery store, pick up the place, take a shower and put on some clean clothes. And only about four hours to get it done before she shows up. As he focused on planning the prep work at hand and his unexpected guest, the miles melted away and it seemed he was instantly home.

Paul quickly put the bike away and headed off to the grocery store. Living alone, he really had nothing but ready-to-eat crap and he really wanted to fix something nice. He moved through the store with purpose, gathering up all the items he needed along with some charcoal for the grill and a couple bottles of wine. When he got to the checkout, the checkout clerk looked over the order, knowing Paul's usual habits from earlier visits. "Nice. What's her name?"

Paul chuckled and grinned at the high school boy behind the register. "Wouldn't you like to know, genius. You're always giving me crap about my usual TV dinners and now I get more when I buy real food. What's up with that?"

The cashier laughed. "Usually when guys your age switch from Alpo to real food, it's either a hot date or your Mom is coming over."

Paul just laughed out loud. "You just need to mind your own business young man, and that'll be enough smack-talk outta you."

The two exchanged cut downs while the order was rang up and Paul headed out. When he arrived home, he put the groceries away and stopped a minute. Oh shit. Looking around, he realized he hadn't had any company in a while. Nothing was ready. He rushed around making sure there was hand soap, extra towels, and toilet paper in the bathroom, dusted off a few things, and sprayed some air freshener. When everything passed muster he looked at the clock. 6:15 and he still had on the same clothes and smelled like the Great Outdoors from earlier.

He rushed into his bedroom, shucking the dirty clothes in the hamper and went to clean up. The faint scent of Reese on his shirt sent him to daydreaming while he went to shave. As he thought about the events earlier in the day, his cock twitched and started to rise. As he stepped into the shower, he started to stroke himself then stopped. No way will I have time for this. Cutting in a little more cold water served to reduce his distracting member and he finished quickly. He had just gotten into some clean jeans and was pulling on a fresh shirt when he heard the old Corolla pulling up in his driveway.

------

Reese got home after a short drive and sighed when she entered her apartment. It was trashed. She hadn't realized how depressing it was in there. She'd spent so much time between the job websites and daytime television, that she'd just let it go. A little bit of panic crept in when it dawned on her that she might not have clean clothes to wear. She had slipped into a bad habit of either staying in her nightgown all day or just wearing the same jeans and shirt if she needed to run out for something. Not having any spare money on hand curtailed much beyond just essentials and the occasional job interview. She had a couple of outfits for those meetings and was extra careful to keep them clean so they wouldn't need to be dry cleaned any more than necessary.

Rifling through her dresser turned up a decent denim skirt that extended to just above the knees and a loose blouse that showed just enough cleavage to entice, and covered a few extra curves that she didn't think were too flattering. A little more digging turned up a cute black bra and panty set that she had picked up for someone special, even though she never had anyone special enough to wear them for since the purchase. Relieved that she had at least one decent outfit to wear that evening, she decided to give herself a quick pedicure. Her apartment wasn't the only thing she'd let go. Having to be thrifty, she had kept her nails looking nice, but had taken to wearing closed toe shoes to save money on a pedi. Reese wanted to go casual with some cute sandals she had in the closet, but wasn't about to unleash her gnarly toes on Paul tonight.

While the bath filled, Reese stripped and studied herself in the mirror. Unconsciously she had been massaging her full breasts after releasing them from their bondage. As she did so, thoughts of Paul's hot kisses invaded her mind. She glanced at herself, seeing her lips turning into a pout as her nipples responded, becoming erect and sensitive. She took a turn, pushing her breasts up as if to make obscene looking cleavage. The turn brought her ample, but shapely ass into profile. That brought images of Paul standing behind her, pulling her hips back against.... whatever he might be packing. She giggled a little, wondering. He felt like he had a nice package, but that was through his jeans in the heat of the moment. Gosh what a slut Reese. Shameful!

Turning the faucets off, she eased into the hot water. The remaining tension of the day finally began to dissolve. The job issue was still there, but she had met a hot guy in the most unexpected way. Not to mention him not being one she would have looked at twice to begin with. The events of the day were glancing through her mind like a surreal slideshow. When she got to the encounter with Paul, her arousal restarted. He was just such an easy guy to like, even when the first impression was awkward. The impulsive ride on the motorcycle, the kisses.... hmmm... Reese sank into the tub, her soapy hands exploring all her sensitive spots. By the time she was finished washing, her pussy was throbbing but she didn't dare finish herself off. She still needed to tend to those horrible looking feet and get her hair back under control. The steam in the room had her head positively unruly.

The whole time she was getting ready to go, Reese felt warmth inside. Wondering what Paul would think when he saw her under better circumstances. She didn't want to scare the man off! After handling her feet and applying a shade of polish to match her fingers, she grabbed the lotion. A long day and not taking care of herself had left her skin ashy. As she rubbed the cream in, her chocolate skin regained it's radiance. Another glance in the mirror and she felt better than she had in weeks. Then she noticed a detail that she had missed. Months without a steady man and she hadn't bothered trimming the hedges! She wasn't sure how the evening would turn out, but she'd be damned if she was going to show up with pubes springing out the side of those cute panties.

As she stood over the toilet trimming things up, she couldn't get her mind off of Paul. She imagined her fingers were his tongue, sliding through her feminine folds. Just brushing her clit enough to make her squirm. She slid a finger into her opening and felt her wetness practically gushing. Pulling it back out she could feel fingertip brush against her more sensitive parts. The sensation made her nipples throb and tighten. She tried to rub them down with her other hand, but that only served to heat her up more.

As the sensations started overwhelming her she shifted her gaze toward the mirror and felt a moment of panic. A clock was reflected in the mirror and reminded her she needed to quit playing and get ready. With the trim complete and a deep sigh, she quickly washed up again to make sure she didn't have any stray whiskers coming out, or heaven forbid, Paul figure out she had been masturbating. That struck another wave of panic as she mulled over how Paul might react if she got too wet down there!

Get a grip, girl! It's just a dinner date! Reese relaxed and got dressed. For some reason, her coarse hair cooperated and styled easily. She applied the final touches to her makeup and took one more look at herself. Stunning. Paul James you better look out! She grabbed her purse and keys and headed out.

The old Toyota sprung to life when the key turned and things were ok for once. She stopped at the gas station and pumped $5 worth. Reese laughed when the pump stopped. Barely a quarter tank showing on the gauge. Oh well, it's enough for a round trip. She laughed out loud and hoped tonight would be worth the five bucks.

------

Paul slipped out the door to meet Reese before she could exit her car. Always a gentleman, he opened her door and reached for her hand with a flourish. His breath caught in his throat. She was not the same Reese he'd helped out earlier. Those shapely legs he'd handled earlier swung out, looking good enough to eat. "I'm so glad you didn't stand me up, Reese. Please come inside and make yourself comfortable."

She looked at him with amazement. "Are you kidding? A hot guy rescues me on one of the worst days of my life and you think I'd stand you up?"

Immediately her face got hot. Ordinarily she would have either stood there like a dork, or worse, said something stupid. For once a miracle had occurred and she actually came off with confidence. She giggled on the inside pleased with herself. Did I just say that?

He chuckled and took her by the arm toward the door. "Well, I'm not exactly GQ material and have probably scared more women off than I've ever attracted."

Reese just smiled at him. "Well in case you need glasses, I'm not exactly Princess Charming, so don't get too panicked about your own looks."

Stopping in mid-stride, Paul turned to her. "Please.. when you pulled in just now, I was floored. I thought you were pretty hot this afternoon, but now I realize that was an understatement."

Before she knew what was happening, he lightly raised her chin and kissed her softly on the lips. Paul felt her sigh into his mouth and had to fight the urge to take her right there in the driveway. He pulled back and continued walking her into the house.

"Welcome to Casa del Paul. Please have a seat and change the music if you like. It took longer than I expected to get things together and I haven't even started dinner yet. Would you like something to drink? I've got water, soda, iced tea, and some wine."

Reese eased into a manly looking sofa and looked around, soaking in the surroundings. "Thanks, I think I deserve a glass of wine after today."

"Coming right up!"

As Paul busied himself with the drinks, Reese looked around. Yep, not too many feminine touches in this place. Definitely a man cave. Strong looking furniture and not much frill. A great big flat screen TV on the opposite wall flanked by a pretty impressive looking sound system. She got back up and browsed the adjacent shelf where he had some CDs. A lot of rock and roll, 80s hair bands, and a smattering of other stuff. 




The Last Man on Earth



About that time, he came up next to her and offered a toast: "Here's to the rest of the day going well." Reese giggled as they touched glasses and took a sip and replied, "It's all uphill from here, baby!"

They both had a laugh and she continued, "So Paul, tell me about this music. I'm not seeing anything I really want to hear."

Paul chuckled. "Those CDs are old and haven't been touched in years. Most of what I listen to is on a computer or satellite radio." He reached for a remote and the equipment lit up, with some classic rock coming on. "Here's the control - feel free to browse the channels and find something you like if what's on isn't your cup of tea. I need to get the grill started or we'll be eating tomorrow."

------

Reese settled back into the couch with her wine and the remote, watching Paul retreat to the kitchen. He certainly cleaned up well. Definitely not the biker trash look from earlier. He was wearing some nice jeans and a snug sport shirt that made the muscles in his shoulders just about pop her eyes out. He was definitely hiding all that when he picked her up after her disaster. Definitely had not been her imagination when clinging to him for dear life on the back of that bike. Wow. He seemed a little older than she, but not by a stretch. Definitely a sexy man and something to look forward to later. She turned her attention to the sound system and started scrolling through the channels. Finally she landed on a soft R&B station that had the right sound. Not mushy soft, but more relaxing than the pop stations she usually listened to. Satisfied with her music choice, she realized she'd consumed her entire glass of wine while browsing music. When she stood up, she could feel the heat from it wash through her body, making her a little flush.

It dawned on her that she hadn't had anything to eat all day except for the snack Paul treated her to earlier. Uh-oh. Better take it easy on the liquor. She set her glass on the table and came into the kitchen to see what Paul was up to, and see if he had any snacks out to graze and take the edge off the wine. Paul had his back to her, with some pasta boiling and some greens simmering off to the side.

"Hey Reese, dinner'll be out in a minute. I already put some chicken out on the grill, and it ought to be coming off about the time the rest of this stuff is done."

She eyed a bowl of chips on the counter and grabbed a handful. "You know, you're pretty useful there. Knight in shining armor, master chef... what other tricks have you got up your sleeve?"

Paul let out a low chuckle. "I don't know about master chef, but I can whip together something edible. Hopefully you won't get turned off by my cooking. The rescue bit is a side job, but only in cases where the right damsel comes along with some distress I can help out with. My day job is actually pretty boring: get people to do work, on time, and under budget. What about you? I already know we have a common acquaintance with the staffing agency.. what sort of work are you in the market for?"

Reese studied her chips a minute, the no-job thing being a bit of a downer. She hated being unemployed. It's like being needy all the time, and she hated that feeling. Oh well, suck it up sister. Paul's been a good guy so far..

"I've done a bit of everything. Retail sales, admin assistant, reception, anything that pays the rent. My last job was pretty sweet. I was the executive assistant for the sales director of a sporting goods supplier. He did a lot of travel and always had a full calendar. It was actually kind of fun screening his calls, and handling a lot of the legwork he needed done. Then the recession hit, people weren't buying a lot of sporting goods, and my boss got laid off. And you know poop rolls downhill. So I got laid off too.

"That was about two years ago. Since then, I've been doing mostly agency temp jobs. None of the companies in the area want to commit to full time staff. At least not if you aren't related to an executive. I keep sending out apps though, but not too many interviews and no good offers yet. I figure sooner or later I'll hit the lotto and land somewhere. The temp work's ok, but it seems when I finally start to get settled somewhere, the assignment ends and I'm back to searching."

The whole time Reese was talking, Paul was paying rapt attention and almost burned the pasta. "Shit! Caught it just in time. Sorry. I'm not a good multi-tasker. I have a habit of focusing on one thing at a time so I better pay attention to this food before you have to call the fire department!" He turned off the stove burners and went out to the patio to retrieve the chicken.

"Just in the nick of time. Still tender. Another 5 minutes and I'd be ordering pizza. Can you grab a couple plates out of that cabinet? I'll get the food served up right away."

Reese moved in close and started helping out. It felt good to be productive, even if it was just handling some things in the kitchen. Paul was a really warm person and easy to like. After a few minutes it was like they knew each other for months. By the time he asked her for something, she was already getting it done before he could speak. Within the next few minutes they had the food out on the table, fresh drinks, and sat down to enjoy it.

After all the food prep, her mind was totally off the stress from the day. As they worked through an excellent meal, the conversation led all over the place. They talked about their backgrounds, school, families, past relationships. No stone unturned. Two hours flew by in an instant.

------

Inevitably, the conversation ran out of steam. After a brief awkward silence, Paul stood up and started clearing the table. Reese collected her dishes and followed him into the kitchen as he ran some dishwater. "You're my guest tonight, just sit and relax while I finish cleaning up."

"Not me," she said as she turned to face him, "In my family everyone pitches in so the work gets done faster and we can move on to something else." She flashed a lascivious grin. "Just out of curiosity, what else did you have in mind? Oh, and by the way, you wash and I'll dry."

He gave her a playful slap on the ass. "You're out of control Ms. Rosser. No wonder you find yourself in these predicaments."

She turned to face him and threw her hip out. "And just what do you mean by that Mr. James?"

With that, he pulled his hands out of the soapy water. One covered the hand she had poised on the pushed out hip pulling her closer. The other gently surrounded her chin, lifting her face to his. When he contacted her full lips, they parted and her sigh escaped into his mouth as it had earlier in the day. As he explored her soft lips with the tip of his tongue he whispered to her, "I love it when you do that. It is such a turn on."

It was if his words had turned her thermostat up a few degrees. She returned the embrace and the kiss heated up as their bodies pressed together. He could literally feel her heating up as her chest and hips ground into his as their tongues danced against one another.

Paul pulled back a second time, gazing into her hooded eyes. "You know, these dishes can wait. I have something better in mind."

Reese looked up at him and whispered back, "If it's better than this, count me in!" 

Paul took her by the hand and pulled her under his arm as the left the dishes and moved to the adjacent living room. He turned and sat on the edge of a wide armchair, reversing the earlier height difference. He reached up sliding his fingertips around the back of her neck, pulling her face down to his to resume where they'd left off. While she pulled him into a deeper kiss, his free hand went to her ribcage. Caressing his way up her side and around her back, pulling her even closer.

They separated for a moment to catch a breath and Reese straightened back up a little. The movement put her breasts just below Paul's eye level and he pulled her in, nuzzling her cleavage.

------

Reese had been outdone at the sink. She didn't see it coming that quick. When their lips came together, her insides were instantly on fire. The little sigh was all Paul. It had been involuntary and she'd never had that happen before. When his fingertips caressed the nape of her neck, pulling her in, it was as if those nerves were connected straight to her already aroused pussy, causing her to gasp a little. She was certain she'd flooded her panties, and that was just the appetizer.

She stood in front of him, marveling at the feel of his beard nuzzling her chest. Caressing his muscular back, holding him close. She felt his hands with a firm grip around the sides of her chest, causing her bra to pull back and tease her already tense nipples. In another moment, they felt suddenly free. Paul had slid his hands up under her blouse and in a quick snap had released the catch on the back of her bra. His hands slid back up her sides, still under her blouse. They gently surrounded her heavy breasts and his thumbs ever so slightly brushed the sensitive buds that had to be sticking out a full inch after that. As he continued pushing upward, the bra came out the neck of her blouse, followed closely by her very erect nipples. He took one into his mouth, gently licking and sucking, then releasing it with a pop before doing the same to the other. It was very intense. Reese felt her legs grow weak, and she swayed on the balls of her feet.

"Stand very still, Reese. You're delicious." She nearly had an orgasm standing right there as he resumed tending to her breasts.

"Paul, that feels so good. I'm about to fall over." He chuckled. "I'm serious!"

"Baby, I've got you. Now raise your arms." Reese complied and the blouse and bra went right over her head to the floor. This time, his arms went around the back of her thighs to pull her in, making it easier to stand on her unsteady legs. As she leaned into his greedy mouth, his strong hands massaged her thighs, moving upward to where they joined her ample ass. All the while one of his arms was continuing to hold her wrapped around her thighs as the free one explored the inside of her thighs.

------

As Paul moved his free hand against her, he could feel her hamstrings shaking as her weight in his embrace seemed to increase a bit. He still had a few more inches to go and was already feeling her moisture. She was close. He was going to make her cum standing up. He continued working her breasts with his mouth, feeling her lean harder against him. About that time, he extracted his hand, sliding it up the front of her thigh, slipping his index finger under the leg elastic on her panties. In a smooth motion, he traced that back downward with his fingertip under the thin cloth. His knuckle grazed against her pubes, sliding through her engorged lips, and just lightly brushed over her clit. God she is wet. That move started her shaking more but didn't quite push her over the edge.

That is, until his thumb followed the same path his index finger had. The finger continued to slide between her wet lips. The thumb stopped on the side of her clit, gently pressing down. The leading finger continued another split second, coming to rest against her anus.

The move was so sudden that Reese exploded in orgasm and lost control. She leaned heavily on Paul's shoulders as the sensations in her nipple, pussy, and ass just took over. Paul held her against him as she turned into jello, quaking at the slightest touch. After a few moments, her breathing evened out and he extracted his soaked hand from her groin, licking her juices off his hand. He deftly slid the zipper down in the back of her skirt, the loosened skirt and soaked panties joining the rest on the floor as she shimmied out of them. Paul eased her relaxed form around to rest under the crook of his arm.

She rested there naked, almost snoozing. When she regained her composure, she reached up caressing Paul's chest. "That was amazing. I've never experienced anything like that."

He looked down at her upturned face, "We're not done yet, if you have a little more energy..."

Reese swooned and moved her hand lower, sliding across the bulge that had formed. "You have no idea Mister." She deftly unsnapped his jeans enough to reach down and wrap her hand around his hard cock. She could feel the pre-cum that had oozed out and knew he was just as primed as she had been. She pushed the top of his underwear down and pulled it out.

------

As Paul's shaft emerged from his pants, Reese's mouth was watering. She loved his cock. It stood up straight with a perfectly peach shaped head that begged to be sucked on. As she gently squeezed and stroked it, a clear drop appeared at the tip. She swirled her fingertip in it, then traced up and down the sensitive foreskin on the lower part of the shaft, making it twitch before bringing the finger to her lips. She brushed it around her mouth as if it were lip gloss then sucked off the remaining cream with a soft pop.

"It's your turn, lover. Stand up." Reese kept a grip on the waist of his pants, pulling them down as he rose. He stepped out of the pants and, due to his height, his throbbing member was at eye level.

As Paul pulled his shirt off over his head, Reese reached out. One hand wrapped around his cock pulling him closer, her other hand below to grasp his balls. Before he could react, she took a little breath and let his sweet cock slide into her throat. She practically came again. She thrust forward a little more, swallowing the head and sinking her lips all the way to the base of his shaft. She held him there for a few seconds until she needed to back off for air. She could taste the salty sweet drizzle from him as she blew lightly across the tip, making him shudder.

As she continued to slowly suck him off, she felt his hands wrap around her cheeks and his fingers around the back of her neck. He had no idea what that did to her, she was in heaven. She relaxed a bit more, letting him fuck her throat with long, slow strokes. She felt so dominated with him pulling her head down like that, stuffing her mouth to the limit that she started to orgasm again. At that moment, she tightened her grip on his balls and that pushed him over the edge.

She felt his cock swell just a little bit more against her tongue when it jumped against her throat, shooting his first burst right past her tongue. Following that first blast, he relaxed just a bit pulling back a little. His cock head rested on the tip of her tongue and she could feel it jump as his hot semen blended with her own saliva, trickling out onto her chin.

Reese continued swirling her tongue around the underside of Paul's still throbbing cock. The salty liquid spilling into her mouth was making the act even more arousing for her. She got lost in the moment, swallowing him down. Imagining how his hard, delicious tasting cock would feel pushing deep into her wanting pussy. She wanted this man so badly that her thighs were soaked with anticipation.

Momentarily she closed her lips over his glans, stroking his shaft a few more times, drawing out the last drops of his delicious cream. She was so in tune with him, she could feel each pulse of his organ against her tongue. When his tension finally subsided, she eased him out of her mouth, rubbing his shiny cockhead around her lips and nose, breathing in his sex.

Before she was finished, he lifted her up by the arms. She mewled a little just as he pulled her into a deep kiss that sent her reeling. The taste of the mixture of their sex was overwhelming and incredibly hot. Their tongues melted together as waves of sensation washed over them. The feel of his hard body against her softness made her melt inside. As they pulled back apart, they stared deeply into each other's eyes without speaking for a few moments. The mood got a little heavy, so Paul grinned lasciviously. "I'll give you a couple of hours to stop that."

She started giggling as he turned her around and plopped back into the chair, pulling her down into his lap. As she laid back into him she smirked. "I just have to get my furniture upholstered like this. It's heaven!"

------

Paul sank back into the chair, spent. When Reese fell back on him, his softening cock landed right between her ample butt cheeks and he held her in place by her hips. Who was she to say heavenly? That's where he was, in heaven. He felt wrapped up in her and never wanted to leave this place. This woman was something else. 

He buried his nose in her dark hair as she leaned back. The dusky scent of her shampoo and moisturizer was combining with her light perspiration and overwhelming his senses. He could feel her shiver a bit as he nuzzled in closer, placing light kisses at the nape of her neck. His hands migrated up her sides, gently easing up under her breasts. The fingertips just grazing her sensitive nipples as he pushed them together, massaging the surrounding flesh.

Reese let out a little moan and turned slightly as her arms lowered, resting her hands on his hard thighs. "Be careful with those rolls back there, mister. I don't want you to get turned off and kick me outta here!"

He breathed into her ear. "Not a chance, baby. Everything about you is turning me on like you wouldn't believe. I can't get enough."

With that, he shifted her to the side a little and reached for her chin. His hands weren't particularly large, yet he cupped her jaw and pulled her face toward his. Her hooded eyes locked into his as her full lips parted a little. He leaned in, taking her lower lip into his, guiding her chin against him. His other hand had slid off her breast as she turned into the kiss, his strong arm supporting her back as the fingers on that hand went up into the hair on the back of her neck, cradling her neck effortlessly into him.

Paul wanted to melt into her. The close contact was sizzling and he was feeling himself begin to harden against her. He pulled back a bit, releasing her lip just a moment later. They stared into each others eyes, savoring the moment.

He finally broke the silence with a little grin. "When I saw you broke down in that parking lot, I never could have imagined how things would turn out."

Reese flashed him an even, thoughtful look and let the pause drag out a little before answering. "Not even close, Mr. Man. When you came rolling up, with your bad biker self, through that traffic jam, rocking your Nazi looking helmet and mean face, you were the last man on earth I'd have expected to be laying up on right now."

------

Reese relaxed into him as she flipped through the satellite radio listening to different channels. As they sat there spooning, she was getting more and more turned on by his breath against the nape of her neck. Her hands found his arms and moved his hands onto her breasts. The rough skin on his hands caused her already sensitive nipples to stiffen under his touch. As he massaged her bosom, she felt as if there was a live wire straight to her sex. She could feel her arousal warming up again, as was his. She could feel his recovering cock firming up beneath her as well.

She turned a little to nuzzle his chin and fell into a steamy kiss, immediately heating her up. Shifting a bit further, she reached down and pulled his hardening member forward. When she eased back down, his cock slid up between her thighs against her mons, gliding through her lips. The sudden sensation caused her to catch her breath and hold still a second.

"Paul, I need to feel you inside me," Reese whispered. Without waiting for an answer, she moved her hand around his hardness. She guided the now swollen head back through her folds, the tingling going up into her belly. She lifted up again as his cock nudged against her opening, which was already gushing in anticipation.

This time when she eased back, he filled her completely. As she came down on him, she could feel every inch of his beautiful cock sinking into her. Bit by bit. When her weight was again shifted to him, she paused a minute feeling him swell inside her. Each pulse making her twitch with excitement. As she adjusted to his girth, she felt his hands on her hips. Seeming to guide himself even deeper within her. Just as she was about over the top, he went still, forcing her to come down from the building orgasm.




The Last Man Standing







The Last Man Standing



And Sandra is refilling the glass in front of Bernadette from a pitcher of the sweet ice tea? I just painfully shook my head in bafflement and went back to enjoying our meal.

Gotta admit I love mutton, especially as skillfully prepared as this. It is some local pride, that our mutton has a different flavor as they graze across these Highfalutin' Mountains. Not force-fed that bland, factory manufactured crap used in the feedlots.

Meaty and fatty with an assortment of tender vegetables. It amazes me how the cook avoided overcooking the vegetables. 

Each piece of carrot tasted like a carrot. Each piece of celery, turnip, snappeas, lima beans, tomato, a variety of garden greens, onions, even the potatoes. Each retaining their distinctive flavor and texture but still blending into perfect harmony.

The girls were chatting 'n stereo. That just gets me every time! Drove their teachers up the wall but separating them? You'da thought they were Siamese twins from their hysterical carryin'on when they'd be forced to part. Finally everyone just threw their hands up in the air and let'em be.

The pair were telling me how Mrs. Callahan was related to the Mayo clan. Having eaten many a time at the Mayo family table. I would happily admit that the Twin's Mother and Grandmothers were also terrific cooks. Mayhap it's genetic?

When they'd givena moment to interject, I expressed curiosity at how the cook got the vegetables tender but not overcooked. The two women looked at each other and grinned, then simultaneously leaned forward and whispered the secret.

Brown up some bones and shreds of the meat and fat with some aromatic vegetables and herbs and then boil'em down for a couple of days to make your stock. Strain off the juices with some wine or sherry or even a stout if you want. Bring that to a simmer, then add in the cubed mutton that had been seared brown. Cooking in the stock just until the meat is still pink inside.

Scoop out the meat from the juices and set aside. Then add in half of all your chosen veggies and bring up to a boil. When those get very soft, take a blender into the mixture and puree. Stir in some heavy cream. 

Once it's a thick creamy soup, then add back in the meat cubes and the rest of the veggies and let it all simmer for half an hour or two, on low heat. Stirring frequently. That's how you create delicious. 

I gave them a puzzled look, in a suspicious tone asked "Yahall left out the Pickled-Iasc Sauce...." 

They looked shocked at my shrewd accusation. 

"....Didn't yah?" I pressed.

Their eyes got so big and they sort of looked at one another with a mortified expression. Before shamefacedly nodding their heads in admission of their deliberate commission of an important omission. Then we all laughed at the attempted trickery.

It was the Twin's turn to look puzzled, intrigued they asked "How did you know Larry? About the secret ingredient." 

I smugly retorted "How often have Ah been a guest to yah home? Ah didn't just sit around the kitchen gossiping. Ah was paying attention to yah Mama and Granny's cooking techniques."

"A man? Learning from women? Who'd have thought it possible!" They quipped at me. Again we were laughing, then with a mischievous tone, they continued.

"But it's a secret"

" known only to the Cistine Eireans!" 

" So now you're going" 

"to have to get yourself" 

"a Saint Paddy's tattoo, boyo."

I snorted at that! Reverend Kendricks would have a conniption fit if I showed up sporting a Papist decoration. He'da be a chasing after me with a skinning knife in no time flat! That man has absolutely no sense of humor that'd I'd ever known of him.

"These here results are spectacular!" I muttered around a piece of carrot.

Each of us had seconds and then I went for a third bowl. Man, I was starved. I had deliberately avoided eating more then a small breakfast and for lunch a couple of power bars and a can of energy shake that Saturday afternoon before the confrontation. 

I hadn't wanta risk taking a punch or kick to my stomach that could possibly cause me to aspirate. 

Since the fight, with all the blows I'd taken to my face and body, all I wanted to have for the last couple of days have been blended frozen fruit smoothies.

.

This mutton's cooked as tender as a baby's bottom. Slowly masticating, it only caused a small bit of jaw pain. 

'Gahwd, this is sooo good! Ah'll just suffer on through in manly silence! These here ain't tears of pain. Nope. No way, Hosahy. These be tears of enjoyment at this delicious meal. That's mah claim and Ah'ma stickin' to it!'

Suddenly I noticed both of my dinner companions had stopped talking and were looking at me with expectant expressions. I tried to figure out what'd I miss? Taking a moment to take a swipe at the tears running down my cheeks with a wad of paper napkins, then dab at my chin.

Seeing the blank look on my face, they repeated themselves. I felt Sandra hovering over my shoulder, listening.

"Larry, is there anything you can tell One about what happened Saturday?"

********************

*

*

*

I sorta fibbed and replied (implied?) that I was told by Sheriff Edison not to talk about it until he'd had a chance to question everyone involved. Considering the damage done, that could take a coupla days or two or four more if I had to guess. Till Joe and company are all conscious again. 

Instead I told the sisters about the threats to Janey and Aztec and how I had called Little Joe out on his bigoted smear campaign.

The ladies gushed how brave I was for publicly standing up to Worster's bullying.

I was thinking how bravery is good but strategic planning was smart. Remembering how I'd put together my trap for the goon squad.

It's useful having old war buddies in distant places. Richmond and I'd had each other's backs through more'n two years in Iraq and then nearly two more in Afghanistan. We both earned our Arrows and our Purple Hearts.

When I called him and explained my crisis, he came through to my rescue with a bunch of his friends. 

And no damn way to trace them from two states over.

Ain't no blackfolk living around here. They're not at all welcomed. The Mexican croppers are barely tolerated just long enough to get the fruit harvested. Aztec has gotta be the only colored condoned in this pasty white enclave of dedicated rednecks. 

First, most everybody was afraid of my Aunts who had adopted Aztec. Then Big Joe Worster, who I'd be guessing courted my Aunt Olive many years before, gave the redskin his protection through High School. At least as long as my adopted blood brother only chased the Mexican girls and women. And earned a notoriety for his quarterback sacks among the teams we played against.

A sports reporter, who'd overheard a couple of opposing players complaining to their coach, nicknamed him "The Snake". Turns out the Mexican women he was a'lovin' called him "Gran Serpiente".

He claims it was the best way for him to learn Spanish. As when he was brought north, Aztec had only spoken Nahuatl until he was adopted at age four. 

Our High School Spanish teacher Mrs. Jones finally got it through her thick head that being born in Mexico, don't make him a Mexican. 

Wouldn't want to em-bare-ass any Republican Presidents or Presidential nominees with the specifics of their actual birthplaces, now would we? But I've to been wonderin' why the RNC can't get their collective heads out of their oliphant anuses, long enough to find a viable sane AND business competent candidate. Who'd actually been born in this country?

And what the hell is wrong with Generals for POTUS? I mean the original Constitution was written with the Executive Branch of the Federal Government as a military dictatorship. With Franklin's Postal Service as the Secret Police. Too bad Gen. George Washington didn't live forever. 

Generals for President again would encourage them to at least try winning all these fucking wars! I guess we just don't wanna risk spoiling the profit margins for the onepercenters by permitting actual victories. 

Hell, I'd be ecstatic if we could resurrect Ulysses 'Unconditional Surrender" Grant and Tecumseh "Swath of Devastation" Sherman! That'd have all those separatist dixiecrat bigots shitting their panties! Why not General Curtis " Bomb'em into the Stone Age!" LeMay? 

********************

*

*

*

Mrs. Jones got a hold of a couple of books in Nahuatl, probably from one of the Universities or the Bible Translation Institute. Tutoring Aztec in his native language, so now he's trilingual. Come to think of it, I guess she'd of had to learn it also?

I'd thought Deutsch or Cymric had some jawcracker words but when Aztec gets going in his native tongue? Listening to him leaves me feeling like I was trying to paddle a cardboard kayak up the Falling River!

Through High School, Aztec was straw boss on his adopted mothers' ranch. After graduation, while taking night business courses from the County College, he branched out to gain experience working in and then managing their other properties and investments.

By the time he'd inherited my Aunts' holdings, Aztec was a well-trained, shrewd and respected business man. The prosperity you see along Main and Forrest is to his credit and initiative. 

He has worked tirelessly to prevent the deterioration and loss of small businesses and jobs common to too damn many small towns. Lacking in leadership courageous enough to stand up against the Big Boxes and the Wall Street carpetbaggers. 

When our Savings & Loan was seized and forced to merge with a MultiBank. That (Not Who! Despite the malignant reactionaries subverting the Supreme Court.) immediately turned around and sold off all the value at firesale prices, heavily discounted to insiders. 

It was Aztec who got the Non-Profit Credit Union started to replace it. Now we don't gotta go all the way to County Seat or the Capitol for our financial needs.

He be such a feature in our township, most everybody ignores that he has whitebread Janey for a girlfriend and that they'd been talking about marriage.

I know both party organizations have seriously been wooing him to run for some office or another. Those fucking wardheelers think they could use Aztec as their token colored puppet. I think they'd be in for a world of disappointment cause he don't take orders real well. 

That's why Aztec didn't join up with me when I enlisted in the army. He don't suffer fools and God knows I ran into a plethora of them during my six years. Those bungling assholes kept trying to get me killed is why I didn't reenlist. 

Yeah? Say what? I spent 2004 into 5 trapped in the asshole end of the Bohica as the result of institutionalized stupidity. When you'd'ave been there, then you can come back and criticize my choices in life.

********************

*

*

*

Aztec's admitted to me, more then once, he's had a hell of a lot more influence as a non-partisan independent. He enjoys keeping 'em guessing. Playing all the factions against one another to get the best deals for our community out of the crooks at County Seat and the State Capitol.

Six months ago, our County Chamber of Commerce launched a voter's initiative demanding that the obsolete and deteriorating Governor Hallister Memorial Bridge be replaced. Aztec enthusiastically threw his support behind the resolution.

All this public fervor was crucial in getting the State Legislators off their collective sorry lazy butts to pass a bill for a State Bond. Funding the surveying and planning needed to gain Federal Emergency Infrastructure Reconstruction funding. 

Before that rusting eyesore right outside our town, comes crashing down into the Falling River. Ruining the whitewater rafting tourist season. Hey! The money those tourists spend here is a big chunk of change for our local economy.

Oh yeah, the minor detail of forcing a twenty-eight mile detour off'a State Highway 15 between the Turnpike and Railroad Junction. Which ever direction you were traveling. That's if acceptable substitutes are the one 'n half lane wide gravel/dirt rutted washboards the County laughingly refers to as roads.

Losing the bridge would pretty well kill our town and probably every other community along this section of the Fifteen.

That Bill for preliminary funding is actually what triggered the latest fracas between us and Worster.

Sooner or later, someone is going to publicly ask why this Bridge wasn't replaced ten or fifteen years ago? Then they will start looking for the special funding from the Capital Reserves that had been set aside specifically for that purpose eighteen years ago. 

An honest investigation would uncover that the original seed money had been siphoned off by a non-partisan coalition of legislators and bureaucrats. All up and down the State and County food chain. With a good chunk of those moneys being diverted to the pockets of Big Joe and his cronies.

Little Joe must have some knowledge of how that went down. Probably remembers his father and buddies bragging about their own damn cleverness into their bourbon. So Little Joe tried to sabot the machinery of funding before his Daddy's 'Good' name is besmirched in memoriam.

********************

*

*

*

Junior's 'big' problem is that Big Joe and his network of 'Good Ol'Boys' are all dead or dying. And their influence peddling getting buried with them. Their State-wide machine sunk into senility as time remorselessly marches on. 

Turns out the junior Worster never had the smarts to build a political power base of his own. His entourage of goons are the same useless gang of juveniles he had gathered around him in school. None of these fucktard's ever amounted to a hill of beans or accomplished anything more profound then helping Little Joe waste his inheritance.

Frustrated by his inability to influence events in the Capitol or County Seat, was when the asshole started a vicious whispering campaign against Aztec and Janey.

When all else fails, stir up the racist creepers to threaten violence. Hey, it works for Fox News and the Koch Brothers! Why not Little Joe?

I publicly confronted the little turd outside his office and got right into his face.

"If'n yahall too fuckin' chickenshit to tell Aztec to his face he's not wanted. How about tellin' meh! Instead yah're threatenin'a woman? How 'Big' of yahall!" I sneered.

His face went white with fear that he'd been caught out. As scared as he was of me, he was terrified of Aztec. Damned if I know why? As far as I know Aztec ain't even been in a fight since sixth grade when he and I had a knock-down with the Carson brothers.

We went on to become good friends with them through High School. Solidarity through sports! 

Fucking shame the older brother, Chase died in Iraq. Morgan now is a State Police Captain working out of the County Seat Station.

Whatever. Must be why Worster went after what he saw as the easiest target. The safest and most divisive. 

Maybe I should have allowed Aztec to thump the creep but I was mad as hell. That the little turd would be threatenin' any of my family's women. Even exes. Cause every time we all allow the creeps to slide, they just get bolder and more vicious.

Afterwards that original confrontation, a couple of different sympathizers anonymously phoned me. Kindly warning me that they'd been hearing trash talk at the bars the goons hang out at.

The next time Worster could catch me in private, he was bringing his posse to teach me 'respect'. All too typical ignorance, confusing 'fear' with 'respect'.

Once an idiot always an immature jerk. 'Respect' has to be earned to be deserved. None of us are born with it. You just gotta make the effort so that 'Respect' is your legacy when you die. 

It ain't inherited. Five years after his death, people still respect Big Joe. For his accomplishments and yeah, I'll admit he had his. Anyone with a lick o'sense feared the muscle he brought to bear on those who crossed him. And yeah, I'm not too proud to admit that I was careful to never get on the big guy's shitlist. 

Though that fear seems to be evaporating with time. The fourth generation of Worsters is just a pale shadow of the paternal line.

From what I hear, about the way he treats his sisters and his wife and girlfriends? I suspect Little Joe seems to have the attitude that him being born with a Worster penis is an automatic mastery of all he surveys. 

Waking up in a hospital bed. In traction. Worster Junior will be discovering the rude reality that his Daddy's coattails are getting a tad bit frayed!

********************

*

*

*

I had noticed I was being clumsily tailed. By a guy I vaguely recognized as one of the drivers for Worster Propane Deliveries. 

That's when I called my army buddy Richmond Porter. Between us, arranging the time and place for my version of teaching Worster and company a lesson from me and mine. A snap quiz on respecting their betters.

'Fraid this class of dullards has done flunked out! 

Last Saturday morning, carelessly giving my shadow a chance to sidle up on me. I'd let him overhear my side of a fake phone conversation. With me loudly detailing that I'd be staying late at the truck posting shack for my family's lumberyard. Covering for the usual Closing Supervisor who would be out celebrating his parent's Pearl wedding anniversary.

I made sure everybody else had left early that Saturday. A coupla hours before the scheduled overnight security guards come on duty. 

Giving Little Joe and his posse more then an hour when I'd definitely be all alone. Well, as alone as one can be with half a baseball team skulking in the dark. Eagerly awaiting their turn to come up to bat.

Man! That expression on Joe's face, when he'd realized he'd stuck his own neck into my trap...Funny as all hell! Just 'fore the lights be put out for Little Joe and his boy bunglers. 

I think I was laughing maniacally as I got up and joined back into the festivities. Richmond dragged me off until I could catch my breath 'n calm down enough to stop kicking the comatose with my steel toed boots.

Finally, I limped over to my pickup and slumped onto the driver's side footstep while Richmond and his team ran back to where they'd hidden their cars and hightailed it out of the county and state. 

If'n for any reason they get stopped along the way. Hey, they'red be colored men in big cars. Suspicious behavior right there. More'n enough due cause for a bit of police harassment. 

Richmond and his boys had put back on their amateur league shirts and caps. As they were heading home from playing an extramural game at Capitol City University. 

If questioned why they were taking the long way home. The drivers would say they'd made a wrong turn back at the cloverleaf where the 2 and the 106 crisscross and had gotten lost. To get back in the right direction they'd swung down to the 15 as that would run into the 111, which would take them straight home.

I waited a half 'n hour to give Richmond and buddies a decent chance to get away. Taking advantage of the dark to open my pants and pull out the protective cup out of the sleeve of my jockstrap and the web belt under my shirt with padding over the kidneys. As I buttoned back up, the timer switch I'd set for the lot lights, lite'em back on.

Made it easier for me to see that none of the goon squad was getting up without a lot of assistance. And that, sure as fuck, wasn't going to be me! 

I stuck the armoured cup and web belt under the driver's side seat, retrieving the phone I had left there to keep it safe.

After the phone alarm app chimed, I went back to the fallen and gave 'em all some fresh bleeding. While running around the pile of injured to to get my breathing all riled up. Slapping my nose and a few cuts on my face 'n hands into bleeding some more.




The Last Man Standing



While I was calling the Sheriff's station and breathlessly wheezing out for help. I knew there would be the late night patrol car passing in the next few minutes, same as they do every night about this time. 

They came sirening their way, with all lights flashing, onto the scene of the fight, just as the two night watchmen showed up. 

Couldn'a timed it better myself...... 

.......Oh yeah, I did, didn't I?

********************

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*

After dinner at the diner, instead of using my truck. Bernadette took my vehicle keys to The Blarney, to give to Aztec and have one of his employees leave it at my home after they get off. 

Maureen helped me gimp over to where they had parked their Lincoln. A hell of a lot easier getting into that land yacht than trying to clamber up into the cab of my Dodge Ram. 

She then drove us by the Saloon and her sister came out and slid into the backseat. "Aztec says when he closes up, he'll drop your monster off and Jan'll follow to take him home."

I just gave a drowsy nod and mumbled thanks. When we got to my house, I musta been pretty well out of it. What vague flashes I retain is that it took both of them to work me out of the passenger seat. Then pat me down for my house keys. Though it turns out I hadn't locked my front door this morning when I left.

They half-dragged, half-shoved, half-carried me into my bedroom. They must have stripped me down. Though all I can recollect is the sound of their voices expressing their horror and sympathy as all the ugly bruises and scrapes and oozing scabs became visible.

They hauled my sorry ass into the bathroom, I think I took a piss, not sure. If I hadn't, I'da probably woulda peed my bed 'fore I coulda waken! 

Next thing I think I can remember is, I'ma lying on my back on my bed and the two plump ginger women were naked. And wiping me down with chilled wet washcloths. 

That felt damn good! 

And yep, since you're curious, they are heavily freckled all over their bodies. I'd be guessing they must sunbathe naked since neither of them have obvious tan lines?

Somehow through the beer and the medicines I managed an erection cause I remember how goodly swell it felt as their hands firmly caressed my pride and gently handling my joys. There were flashes of pain as I tried to hump my groin up. 

"Stop that Larry!" 

"You don't have to do anything."

"One'll take care of" 

"your little predicament here."

Little?!? I think I managed to mumble my indignation cause they both giggled and said. 

"You just take it easy Larry."

"You damn fool peckerwood!"

"Don't strain yourself." 

"One'll do the hard work"

"caring for your naughty bits."

These are my Ginger Angels, indeed! I vaguely recall getting at least one blow job, maybe both women? I kept fading in and out. I'd guess they were concerned that I might hurt myself if they put anymore effort into it.

Cause the last clear memory was one of the women was definitely deep throating me. While the other had carefully climbed over me, straddling my head so I could watch with glazed eyes and enraptured senses of scent and taste as she masturbated herself until I came.

Shuddering flashes of pleasure and pain. Fireworks colorfully exploding with a roaring in my ears and that's when I musta passed out for the night.

********************

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*

I woke up gasping. I vaguely remember something about a group of kids skateboarding past my house, bouncing basketballs and chattering loudly that interrupted whatever the nightmare was. Unless that was part of my dream? 

Don't hear nothing much from outside now. A few crows squabbling, a car passing by, someone running a mower a few houses down.

Stiffly, I forced myself to sit up and swung my legs off the bed. Man, everything hurt! Don't gotta wonder about what kinda idiot I be to try bedding two women the same night. So soon after suffering some serious bodily injuries. 

The sheets and my pillowcase had drying splotches of blood and what ever other fluids I'd been leaking.

I shuffled my feeble way to the toilet. Fuck! It even hurt to pee. At least my urine was clear yellow, not clouded with blood.

Back in the bedroom, both Maureen and Bernadette were sitting up. Two pair of damn fine lookin' freckled tits staring at me. This vision shoulda been painted by Ruebun, The ladies looked at each other with bemused uncertainty. Then over at me, as I slowly made my way to the closet to get out my thin cotton robe.

I mumbled something about going to fix some coffee. I could hear them whispering and giggling behind me as I turtled down the hall to the kitchen.

I was eating a second banana as I poured out three mugs of fresh brewed, when they both joined me in the kitchen. Girl One was wearing an old "Chicago at Carnegie Hall" t-shirt that'd belonged to my daddy. Girl Two was wearing a long wife-beater of mine. 

I'd taken a couple of extra-strength Tylenol with an antihistamine after I got the coffee pot going. So I was slowly starting to feel a little more Sapient as the girls were telling me all sorts of outrageous lies about what a super stud I was last night. 

I begged them to stop. It hurts too damn much when I had to laugh at such ridiculous exaggerations.

That'd be when that damn phone on the kitchen wall rang. I grabbed it with a curse at the noise setting off my headache again.

"Yeah! Hello?"

"Huhh, Mr. Miller?"

Some girl whispering. I frowned barely controlling the urge to just hangup when I didn't recognize the voice. But those anonymous calls last midweek had saved my ass. I guess I got more friends in this town than I'd ever be realizing! Or the Worster's have more enemies?

"Yeah? This'd be Larry Miller speakin'."

"I uh, I'm ahh, working here at the hospital. Joe and a couple of his creeps are awake and the Sheriff is talking to them now. Wha...what can I do?"

I made a thinking humming sound to keep her on the line then slowly "Okay, no sweat lady. Don'tcha do anything. Be cool. Keep yahall ears open? Don't hover or hang around those guys unless yahall be assigned to take care of 'em. Raht? Understood?"

"Uhh, yeah, I think so. Whatever you want. The Head Nurse won't let me go near them. She knows that a few years ago, a couple of the bastards got me drunk and raped me. She 's already warned a couple of them, if they give her any more lip. She was gonna put them in full body casts! But I'll listen carefully to the other nurses and orderlies and get the scoop from them."

I cringed hearing her bitter voice. Now that is fucked up! "Listen closely lady. Ah don't wantcha goin' anywhere near those assholes! Yah read meh missy?" 

I pleaded with her "Please! No way Ah wantcha to take that risk. If yah do hear somethin', yahall call meh now, yah hear? If Ah don't answer, just leave a message, Ah can pick those up remotely. But damn it, first and foremost, be careful and don'tcha take any risks. Please?"

"Oh yeah. Okay, I get it. You're right. I better get off the phone before I get into trouble. Anything I hear, I'll leave a message. And, thanks Mr. Miller. I didn't think anyone would ever stand up to those bastards!"

I think I heard a sob as she disconnected. My pair of Queens were watching me with narrowed eyes. I repeated what the young woman on the phone had told me. All of it.

Bernadette and Maureen looked at one another and did that silent mind-melding thing they do. Then. in a thoughtful voice, together revealed.

"It was probably Nancy Welsh?"

"Must of been just before you mustered out?"

"During the Fourth of July celebration." 

"At Parker Lake." 

"Little Joe and his posse were putting on a big showoff." 

"There had to be more then a hundred people?" 

"Mostly young." 

"Lots of teenagers." 

"There for the free beer." 

"Nancy was one of maybe a dozen or so found passed out drunk."

"The next day."

"And there was evidence of sexual abuse."

"But the bastards must have used condoms."

"No evidence to prove who'd specifically raped her."

"A couple of weeks later?" 

"Some of the stupider goons were overheard bragging!" 

"About how many girls they'd fucked that night."

"The Sheriff investigated" 

"But couldn't come up with definite evidence."

"The bastards denied everything, of course!"

"Hearsay ain't proof/" 

"It's just barroom chatter."

"One guesses that having the Sheriff asking questions."

"Scared Little Joe to clamp down." 

"And from then on they all denied any memory of that night."

I grunted thinking about all I'd heard this morning. File it away till it becomes clearer if the info will be of some use. They started fixing some eggs with toasted muffins for our breakfast. 

"There shoulda be some pre-cooked grits and sausage patties 'round about where yahall found the eggs. Ah'd better be gettin' a good feed on in case the sheriff wants to take meh in after he be finishin' at the hospital."

They both looked stricken at that but I just waved a hand dismissively at the threat of being arrested. 

Sheriff Edison and I ain't buddies but then again he's never been a fan of the Worster clan. Or their leeches. He just had to tolerate them all these years. Maybe the opportunity to do them dirt, get some charges that will stick, would be a swell way to go into retirement at the end of a long, distinguished career. 

Don't just concentrate on knowing your enemies. Take the time to know your friends and possible allies. Only a moron would fail to understand why all the major and a lot of the lesser nations of this world spy on their allies as well as their enemies.

Breakfast was pretty good, I just added a few drops of tabasco sauce to my eggs. If it'd hurt that much to pee this morning? I'd hate to think how loudly I'm going to scream when I gotta take a dump!

Afterwards, while Girl Two was cleaning up the kitchen. And getting my now ghoulishly messed up robe soaking in my washing machine with the sheets and cloths from last night. 

Girl One was running me a herbal bath and unwrapping the bandages encircling my upper body as I was ripping 'ouch' off 'ouch' each 'double-ouch' band-'fuckin' ouch!'-aid. 

I barely restrained a girlish scream as I sank into the hot water. Okay, not so restrained. I think I made the bathroom window rattle. Then I was in and sort of let myself float, with a rolled up towel under my neck for support.

To avoid getting the t-shirts wet, the Twins stripped off. I groaned in frustrated lust and just closed my eyes. One of my Angels gently washed me, whatever she could reach. Yeah, I got a hard on. Made it easier to clean? Sounds like a perfectly valid reason to me. 

The other Angel, lightly shampooed my hair. Is hair suppose to hurt? Then she used my old gillette to shave my face.

As the water drained both women helped me stand up. All of a sudden out in the cold air, my hardon shriveled and I had to pee again. One of the Freckled Ones draped a big bath towel over my shoulders. While I was standing there dripping, I pissed right into the water going down the drain.

After I was out of the tub and carefully patted dry. They wrapped a new bandage tightly around my torso. That actually noticeably diminished the pain of breathing a bit. 

Helped me put on a clean pair of boxers. Then dabbed all the obvious cuts and scrapes with some of that clear antibiotic ointment containing a topical anesthesia. 

I managed myself to roll on deodorant and brush my teeth. Uhh, no. I wasn't brave enough to slap on some aftershave. (Whatta pussy! Yah be thinkin'. Well, fuck yahall and the horse yah rode in on!) 

Dressing me in a baggy sweat shirt and pants set. Finally rolling on a pair of athletic socks and denim loafers for me. Finishing off with combing my air-drying hair.

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Just in time for the front doorbell to go off. Back into the t-shirts, Girl Two went to answer the door while Girl One was helping me walk out into my living room. Well, that was what the t-shirts indicated. How the hell could I tell if they had swapped? 

Yep, it was Sheriff Edison with an envious expression at the sight of my two companions. Donna know what he's got to complain about? His wife has got to be one of the most gorgeous, drop-dead sexy GMILTF's in this state. 

I can sympathize why he choose a profession where he gets to carry a firearm all the time! You just gotta watch the men drooling after Mrs. Edison as she sashays past. Even in her most demure Church Lady dress, Missus Sheriff, VA-VA-VOOM!!!

I was surprised he'd came alone. I'd have expected he would have brought at least one deputy to corroborate his questioning. I felt relief that this was turning out to be more a social call than the lead-off to an official asswhomping!

Girl One brought in the coffee pot "Fresh brewed gentlemen."

Girl Two brought each of us men a mug, the sugar dish and a container of milk. They poured for us. 

"Sugar?"

"Milk?" 

I was pleased to see that Edison was now looking amused at this little pageant of nearly naked women serving us. Ain't like those thin, skimpy t-shirts were actually hiding anything in particular or even specific.

As they headed back to my bedroom and bath, they said "One will leave" 

"you two too it,"

"as One showers"

"and gets dressed."

As he sipped at the hot coffee, Sheriff Edison gave me a look of amused tolerance, complimenting me with "Son, you fell into the briar patch and came up with roses."

As painful as it is to laugh, I was able to chuckle with only minor bodily convulsions. At least I managed not to spill any hot coffee into my lap. 

Then he asked "If I checked out your phones, how many people called you from the Hospital? And maybe, from the Sheriff's Station?"

I (gently!) shook my head in ignorance. "Ah haven' checked mah messages yet. Ah did answer one cahl from the Hospital. An anonymous cahler. Informin' meh that several of the goon squad are awake enough to talk to yahall. And the sentiment expressed was a heartfelt 'thank yah kindly' for mah accomplishments puttin' the creeps into the hospital."

The Sheriff nodded and thought for a moment then told me "I have the conscious ones in separate rooms but I doubt if that will prevent them trying to get their stories together once any of them can get out of those beds."

Then he chuckled and remarked "The Hospital staff is proving rather uncooperative to Mr. Worster's demands to let him out of traction. When Little Joe insisted that I order the doctors to let him out of all the contraptions, I told him in no uncertain terms, that I had no authority to override any Doctor's medical decisions." 

I snickered and offered "He thinks his Daddy is still the Boss around here."

Shaking his head, Edison said in an exasperated tone "That boy never had any common sense!"

Another slurp and he continued "The statements I have so far are rather addlepated histrionics. Each dummy contradicting the others. Those, ahh, Karate blows? You uhhmm, inflicted, Larry? Really seemed to have scrambled their brains."

I held up both my swollen, bruised hands and admitted "Well, Ah'ma payin' for 'em now."

"Yep, I'd imagine."

Absentmindedly I gingerly poked at my side and winced.

"Not that Ah'd hadna any choice."

With a bland expression, the Sheriff replied.

"Not like you went looking for a beating. Nope."

I grumbled feeling the aggravation in my aching bones.

"They'd all brought the fight to meh!"

As he leaned over to the table, to set down his mug.

"One man attacked by six, you did what you had to do."

In a unexpected and I'd hope temporary fit of insane honesty, I admitted "Desperation is the evil stepmother of brutality!"

Edison chuckled and nodded thoughtfully, then shrugged and replied. "A Man has the right to defend himself. Especially on his own property. By any means necessary to the situation and the threat."

Huh, Edison almost managed to say that with a straight face. Somehow I'm guessing this experienced policeman wasn't quite buying all of my story. But just enough to cover my ass from legalist recriminations.

With a grin, the Sheriff began to list charges. "So far we're intending to be charging Little Joe and his pack of mutts with Trespassing with intent for criminal mischief. Assault and Battery with intent to commit great bodily harm. Premeditated Conspiracy to commit battery. Criminal Conspiracy to commit bodily injury and/or death. Invasion of a Business Premise with intent to commit criminal violence. Might even be able to charge 'em with a hate crime."

He stopped to think for a moment before including "Also, ahmm? Conspiring and Colluding in premeditated criminal acts as a mob. I forget what the lawyers call that one now with the Terrorism Act."

He shrugged and joked "I'm sure the DA's office is looking for anything else, including the kitchen sink, they can pile on them."

Offering my own bad joke "Spittin' on the sidewalk?"

The Sheriff dolefully shook his head and solemnly disagreed "Sorry, Mr. Miller. But they were spitting their blood and their teeth on your business private parking lot. Best you can do is to sue Joe and the boys in Small Claims Court to recover the costs of getting your tarmac cleaned."

We both had to laugh at that.

The Angelic Sisters then came out, dressed and looking fresh as ever considering these were the same outfits as they'd worn yesterday. I wondered if they swapped outfits to confuse me? 

Sheriff Edison decided to surprise me, himself. With one final bombshell I was totally unprepared for and wouldn't have expected in a million years.

"Well, Miss Mayo, Miss Mayo, Mr. Miller. I have to get back over to the Hospital and see if anymore of the punks are conscious enough to tell me more gibberish. I just want to leave you with one final thought, Larry."

Edison had this weird glint to his eyes and a smirk on his lips as he blew all my suppositions for my future right out of the water.

"As you'd probably have heard by now, I'm going to be retiring by the next election. I'd be happy to support you if you should consider running to be the next County Sheriff."

As he went out the door "You folks all have a good day now."

He was totally gone and I was totally stunned. The Twins stared at me in open mouth astonishment.

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What the fuck'all did I just do to my life?

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To quote that Wise Old Sage & Philosopher, 

Caligula " Lupus ad te Lupus insidiaris...."