It had been a moment of weakness, but one that pursued him like a plague. He stared into the shard of mirrored glass he kept in his tattered sleeve. Unable to move about freely, to access his encrypted savings account, he’d lost a good deal of weight, most of it in his cheeks. The face that stared back at him was almost unrecognizable. Certainly, it had something to do with the way his skin seemed to cling a little too tightly, but more so because he could see in his eyes the result of one frayed nerve too many.



**



It had been sixteen years since the world ground to a sudden, deafening halt. The planet’s hulking economic apparatus lay in disrepair, abandoned and withering ever since human male fertility fell below one thousand. Its rapid plunge had been foreseen and foretold, but largely ignored until critical. People around the world always seemed to fall back on vague self-assurances: We’ll fix it. We’ll invent a solution. We put a man on the moon…we can do this, too.



It used to be you only heard about someone who’d had it happen. Then it was someone you knew, a neighbor, a couple guys from work with whom you weren’t well acquainted. Later, it rattled then rocked then decimated entire towns. The 24-hour news cycle focused on the counter that had been erected in London when world male fertility fell below one million. It seemed as though one could hardly turn on the television without seeing its precipitous tumble—the numbers shedding like leaves from a maple tree after winter’s first hard freeze. On the day it reached one thousand, the world of man came to a standstill. A dull reality began to set in like a hangover we couldn’t shake. The human race wasn’t going to win this one.



It was only then that the matriarchal power structure acted as swiftly as any bureaucracy can. Where ongoing scientific sequestration had so far been voluntary in order to control as many variables as possible while searching for clues as to why this was happening, suddenly mandates rolled out giving authorities permission to seize fertile men off the street, tear them away from families and friends, and quarantine them without notice. Forced laboratory procreation became the norm.



Simply harvesting sperm from a healthy male did not stop whatever was causing the pestilence. Entire refrigerators full of specimen could turn up useless. Whatever it was, it was deeper than researchers’ penetrating gaze via microscope.



An elaborate draconian system grew up like a bitter weed almost overnight, pairing fertile men with as many women as the new police-state could wrest control of. Of course pregnancy wasn’t simply going to solve the problem. The hope, however short-sighted, was that a large enough baby boom might buy us some time to stumble upon a miracle. But even that was of little avail. Nine out of ten boys were infertile by puberty. And by the time they were even old enough that researchers became privy to this fact, it was too late. There were fewer than fifty known fertile men left.



**



He eyed the old wound on his wrist. He may as well have left the barcode unblemished, for all the good it did. The bumpy off-color scar tissue was just another way of saying, I am tagged. Volunteering those fourteen years earlier had seemed one’s patriotic duty. It was only now, years removed, that he could finally see how the propaganda machine had spun its noose so effectively. Everyone had been in sheer frenzy at the possibility that the human race would simply age itself out within the next eighty to ninety years. That rushing out to be tagged was supposed to be a noble thing, responsible and self-sacrificing. Gazing down at the blemish he cursed himself for the umpteen thousandth time. Here he was, squatting in an old furniture store, forced to lay low because his tag—genetically programmed to fade when a subject became infertile—had never lost its freshly inked sheen.



**



It wasn’t as though people stopped having sex. The world’s urge hadn’t subsided to any real extent. Sure, there was the initial shock over learning that the final generation was now in diapers, and for some time, volumes of people were simply too stunned to do anything worthwhile. Sex was the least of what suffered because of it. Who’d have imagined that losing the impetus for working toward a better tomorrow would cause people to suddenly realize that their jobs were of little meaning, and so to stop going to work? What no one understood until it was too late was that without the promise of tomorrow’s generation, motivation was dying.



The government encouraged those willing and able not to give up on sex for the purpose of procreation. Something could change. Heck, they said, the body might just figure things out on its own. So the infertile masses went about their business, some of them returning to work, while many more simply turned their back on the great big economic mouse wheel altogether.



For the fifty known men left on the planet who had not yet succumbed to a similar fate, they would come to know the ultimate sacrifice. Most were rounded up and secreted away to top secret research installations. The story told to the masses was that these men were doing their utmost to contribute to our scientific salvation. And indeed, the public saw numerous photographs and videos of these famous fellows posing and working with doctors and researchers. After a while, however, details emerged of a frightening reality for those remaining men. Tales of living dissections, erectile injections and forced procreation for eighteen-hour periods leaked to the public by unknown whistleblowers.Suddenly, people got a very uneasy feeling that the matriarchal government had become desperate.



**



He’d done so well at laying low, blending in. The trick was to act so completely nonchalant that nobody suspected a thing. There were two distinct types of people left in the rapidly dwindling world populous. Either you were living each moment as though it truly was your last, or you moved about like a drone. Since he couldn’t afford to draw too much attention to himself, he chose the latter. It had worked for half a decade; ever since the infamous footage surfaced depicting the gruesome endings suffered by the Last Men at the hands of the Authority.



She was a waitress at a dark, smoky night crawl at the edge of town. He’d gone a few times to sit in a dark corner, drink and listen to the old blues band poke holes in his heart. She was something to look at, this waitress, as dark and mysterious as the space she occupied, long-legged and always wearing dark fishnets and a very short mini. Sure, it was part of the motif, a uniform meant to quicken the pulse and pad the check. A girl like her, when she asked to freshen up your drink, it was hard to say no.



He should have known it was a bad idea to make eyes at her. He’d done better than most at not taking risks. Until recently, it had been enough to go to that smoky joint, listen to music and harvest the odd mental picture of those long legs, smooth skin, and pretty face that always seemed half-hidden behind her hairstyle of the week. Later, he’d retire to his apartment and call up those images on the lids of his closed eyes, worry his junk awhile with his good hand. That was, until one incident made his well-worn custom grow tired in a hurry.



It was a late evening, slow as pitch with only a few patrons making the pilgrimage away from the inner city to get their fix of heartbreak and soul music. He’d just lit a cigarette and was taking a satisfying drag when she approached. The way she walked gave him chills, and this time it seemed that those long legs carried her with a sense of purpose. It said, I’m up to no good. Even before she was all the way to his dark corner, he was swallowing cotton.



She stood there at the edge of his tiny table. The hem line of her skirt was eye level. Fishnets framed her legs, turning that pale skin into a thousand white diamonds. She didn’t say anything at first, just reached for the cigarette in his mouth, placed it between her full lips and took a deep drag. The cherry grew bright, illuminating her face for but an instant, and he heard the shutter on his mental camera open and close, capturing her beauty for later recall.



She untied her apron and rolled it up, dropped it on the table and sat next to him. Her shift was up and she was bored, wanted to know if he felt up to a little fun.



The memory shattered into a million pieces and he woke up sweaty and scared. Why had he gone through with it? No woman that hot walked up to a strange man in a dark corner and asked him if he wanted to have a little fun. She wasn’t really off the clock.



He made his second mistake when they somehow ended up at his place, his apartment in downtown. Power came and went, causing his single overhead bulb to twitch and fall prey mostly to cold darkness, but it didn’t make any difference. It was his sanctuary, the place where he escaped from the drones and the revelers, or the Infertile Dead as he silently called them. They were on his bed, kissing, touching, her beneath him feeling warm and impossibly alive. When he’d first encountered her at the night crawl, he categorized her immediately. She was a drone, one of the ones who moved about the world, doing just what was expected of them as though nothing had changed, as though the species wasn’t really rafting toward a waterfall at the edge of the universe.



But having her in his apartment after no more than a dozen words—mostly bitten back or swallowed by hungry kissing—he thought he’d have to put her in the other category. She was clearly out to make a fiery splash before her time was up, before the end of the world.



Watching her hike up that skirt was almost too much for him. He felt flushed and over-stimulated. If she wanted him to be rough, would he get carried away? How long had it been since a woman flipped the ignition switch and said, ‘Let’s go’?



He kissed her upper thighs and spied as her hemline shimmied up and revealed the dark strip framed like a goddamned work of modern art beneath her fishnets. She pulled his shirt over his head and ran her hands over his back, growing seemingly wilder with every kiss he plied dangerously close to her pussy. He made a motion to hook his fingers over her stockings and pull them down but she pushed his hands away. Confused, he looked up into the dark green eyes that caught soft alley light oozing through his bedroom window. She looked at him passion-drunk, her bottom lip pooched out revealing her gleaming white teeth.



Leaning forward she kissed him deeply before taking his hands and guiding them beneath her top. He ran his hands up her tight stomach and found that she wore no bra before his fingertips brushed the tall eraser points that were her nipples. Energy surged through him and he lifted her top over her head. In the dim light, her tits were silhouetted full and firm.



When his head fell between them, he let the skin caress his cheek, lost in a moment he wished desperately to make last. She rolled her hips then and he climbed onto the bed between her legs. He could now see why she’d stopped him from pulling her lacy stockings down. In view was the entire glory of her pouty-lipped vagina, and woven into the stockings, a slender slit intended to provide him unfettered access to her quivering sanctum.



She was already rubbing at the hard spot fully formed behind his trousers. And in another moment, she’d helped him unzip, pulling his boxers down and allowing the heavy thing to fall out against her thigh. He exhaled slowly at the sensation of heat emanating from her skin. She stuck a pair of fingers in her mouth, coated them with sticky spit, and dropped her hand between her legs where she spread the moisture over her tight little jewel. Cleaving the lips, she revealed to him a deep pink hue that gave way to a hole no bigger around than her pinkie. His balls lunged and his cock tapped her leg in anticipation, causing her to giggle and reach for it hungrily.



His head swam with lust as he stared down at the head of his cock which she used to smear the juices that formed at its tip up and down her swollen, blushing quim. Her tight abdominal muscles glistened with sweat in the soft light, carving her body an almost majestic silver-lined aura. Her dark hair fell in a pool against his bed, and her legs were drawn back so that her knees were bent. She lay there like that, completely and utterly open.



When he pushed forward, the two of them watched as his cock sank with deliberate slowness into her hot, wet fleshy channel. Jaw unhinged, her eyes rolled back revealing the whites, spectacularly framed against her dark black eye shadow. Her bottom lip quivered and her brow furrowed as though his cock’s every fibrous inch was raking each and every nerve, from clit inward.



“So fucking good,” she cooed.



He wanted so badly to fill her, to feel his balls pressed against her, to be rooted in her and know that she was nowhere else, in no other world but his. And after savoring that agonizingly slow push into her pussy, it became reality. For a moment, they held. He stared down at her, wondering how in fuck he’d gotten cock-deep inside her. She grinned and a gracious moan escaped her gently parted lips.



“Do you like how I feel?” she asked.



To which he nodded drunkenly. She reached around to grasp his balls, which were pushed tightly against her newly planted fuck hole, stroking and massaging them while the muscles inside her seemed to roll over his cock, squeezing and milking him. She flashed him a lusty smile, told him to fuck her. No need for a second invitation. As he withdrew she clutched his balls still, as though afraid he’d escape. He didn’t mind, retracting enough that he could see the head of his cock appear, wet and glistening with her pussy juice, before issuing a firm thrust that buried his piston once again.



Catching a gear, he ground and thrust, fucking her cunt until a wet slap rose between them. Once or twice, she ordered him to pull out so she could suck his cock, encouraging him to cradle the back of her head and gently fuck her warm, wet mouth. He watched as those full lips mashed against the base of his shaft, felt her tongue rolling along the underside of his glans. He would pull out only her have her resume a position flat on her back with her legs up so he could quickly ensnare himself in her rapturously hot haven.



They’d been at it for ten minutes or so when she flipped over onto her stomach, lifted her ass into the air and reached back to smear their collective lubricants over her puckered nether region. He closed his eyes and saw the star of her anus emblazoned on his eyelids as though he’d just been caught staring at the sun. When he opened them, he saw that she’d planted a pair of greasy fingers in her pussy.



“Sorry, this one’s taken,” she cooed. Was she really urging him to make a similar arrangement between his cock and her tight little asshole?



As the head popped through he felt a dizziness overwhelm him, her tightness almost demanding he blow his load right there. Shaking it off, he felt his control loosen. This strange waitress with long legs, tight body, gorgeous little tits and firm ass was begging him to fuck her naughtiest hole, the least he could do was give it to her proper.



He slid in slowly, letting her become accustomed the invasion. Feeling her fingers working feverishly in her pussy, he pulled back and began drilling her. He leaned forward, gathering her tits and lifting her up from the bed. She leaned against him and he fucked her as deeply and as hard as he dared, savoring the curve of her ass as she pressed it into his pelvis. She moaned and threatened repeatedly that she would come … or some variation of “fucking-fuck-fuckity-fuck …” soon thereafter making good on those threats and squealing with over-sensitive lust as she climaxed down one valley and up the other. Without warning, she pulled away so quickly his cock slipped out of her ass with a glorious pickle jar pop.



Sticking her tongue out at him and spreading her legs, she flashed her reddened pussy at him in a daring, playful way. He slunk slowly up the bed, grabbed her foot and pulled her to him. In a flash, he was balls deep in her cunny, thrusting for all he was worth as his balls clapped her anus in time. She wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed long and hard, never for a moment slowing.



He asked her if it was all right, and her eyes snapped open. She stared directly into his, and said inside. But he knew she knew. After all, why would anyone ask? When was the last time someone needed to request to dump a load. You took a chance on an STD, not a baby. He could see the sudden change, the fear-laced wonder that crept into the corners of her smile, threatening to rupture the fantasy for both of them. But it was too late for him. This woman had been the subject of long-building lust. She’d taken him home and fucked him, against all likelihood. He was going to finish.



The raw, mind-numbing sensation crept up all at once, swelling his cock inside her so that his groan temporarily drowned out hers. He thrust deeply, feeling the lips of her pussy flatten as she was shoved against his headboard and could go no farther. She cried out and held her breath, clutching him as tightly as he clung to her. What felt like a flood suddenly erupted from his cock and he shook as he injected her snug little body with his spunk. Again and again, through wave after wave, he jerked and lurched until finally the thick clouds that covered his vision slowly began to recede.



Her perfume smelled sweet and innocent, and he felt the trickle of sweat between their panting bodies. Her spectacular tits were still pressed against him, the sharp jut of her nipples ever-present. He pulled back slowly, and they watched in a sort of reverent awe as his cock revealed itself, sliding past her pretty little lips until at last, the head departed before a torrent of sticky white seed flowed out of her—this dark, mysterious waitress he scarcely knew.



**



He should have known something was wrong when she wouldn’t meet his eyes afterward. She stepped into the bathroom with her purse, ostensibly to clean up. To his credit, he heard the scanner beep through the bathroom door and even the towel she’d wrapped around it to muffle its warning. And despite his meticulous planning for the day that might come, having performed drills a hundred times, it still took him precious, eternal seconds to fully comprehend what was happening. He’d fucked and fucked up.



So, she was working after all. But not for herself. The government recruited particularly attractive women all the time, arranging private exchanges in all the most likely places a Fertile might appear. Even if she wasn’t lucky, a girl could make a few extra bucks by scanning a few random hook-ups during a fluid exchange. Coming across an actual bonafide Fertile, on the other hand, could set up a girl for life. She could ride out the remainder of humanity in the lap of luxury.



He’d made the cardinal error: thinking he was special. Five years later and he still hadn’t had a moment when he felt completely safe. Rumor had it there were no more than a handful of Fertiles left. The government had gotten militaristic, almost surgical in their precision when it came to hunting them down. That’s what the world had come to, and here he was, hiding out in an old furniture outlet.



To Be Continued…

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