The Last Man in Town (Part #2)

In Part #2, Jack, the only adult male left in his small community during WWI, continues to service its lonely women. The fifth one is a sexy, single secretary.

Author’s Introduction

This is obviously a sequel to an earlier story I wrote titled “The Last Man in Town.” It was set in Canada, in the tiny, 78-person hamlet of Dunfield, Alberta in 1915. Jack Quincy, age 76, is relating the tale in a 1961 memoir he is writing.

The First World War had begun in August 1914. Swelling with patriotism, all the military-aged men in Dunfield quickly enlisted in the Canadian Army—with one significant exception. Jack Quincy, who served three roles as the hamlet’s postmaster, librarian, and archivist, was medically disqualified from military service due to his poor eyesight and a damaged left elbow from a childhood accident. This made the 30-year-old as the only adult male in Dunfield. By default, he also assumed the role of the hamlet’s reeve (the equivalent of its mayor) since women could not yet vote nor hold public office.

By early 1915, the women of Dunfield have become sex-starved and seek succor from Jack as he is the only person who can provide them with the most intimate of personal services. He accepts two dinner invitations from married women whose husbands are serving on the Western Front and has a marvelous time enjoying post-meal carnal activities with them. To his surprise, Jack learns from his second bedmate that there are about ten such women in Dunfield who have agreed to patiently wait in a specific order to be serviced by him.

As in the original story, Jack is the narrator in the second installment.

Part One

I may have been the happiest man in Canada in the early months of 1915. I was certainly the most joyful male in Dunfield, Alberta. There was little doubt about that! It wasn’t much of a feat, however, as the only other males left in the hamlet were mere children, all of them under the age of 12. All the other men of Dunfield were doing their best to endure the miseries and horrors of life in the trenches somewhere in France or Belgium.

Since New Year’s Day of 1915, I had sampled the horizontal delights of two local women—both mothers of two children—who sought the sexual contact they were no longer getting from their absent husbands. They were so desperate that they did not mind too much that I was the only person who could provide it for them. It wasn’t that I was ugly or repugnant in any way, but I was far from being noticeably handsome. Never before had so many females been interested in having me as a dinner guest at their homes. I accepted every invitation with alacrity knowing full well what would follow an excellent meal.

The first four women I bedded according to the schedule they’d apparently devised were all married, all great cooks, all had children, and all very affectionate when it came to providing me with sexual favors. I did my best to reciprocate. I think I was successful. At least I heard no complaints from any of them.

The fifth female on the list—at least she was the fifth woman to approach me at the post office about a sexual dalliance—was Jeannie Peterson. Unlike the first four applicants, Jeannie was single, in her early twenties, and had employment outside of her home. She was the secretary for Dunfield’s only lawyer. It’s hard to imagine it now, but before the war broke out, most secretaries were men. Women filled the positions when the male secretaries went off to war. They performed their jobs so well that females quickly became far more common in that role than men—and it had stayed that way ever since.)

It was rather startling to me in early 1915 that an unmarried woman was having difficulty coping with sexual abstinence. Virginity before marriage was supposedly the norm among Canadian women in the early twentieth century. However, I wasn’t going to hold a negative opinion of her if an eager young lady held a contrary viewpoint. Jeannie was a very attractive gal, having prominent dimples; curly, shoulder-length, auburn hair decorated with a wide, red ribbon that gave her a girlish look; and an alluring curvy body. She looked to be about 5’5” tall—and all 65 inches of her were first-rate. Of course, I readily accepted her “date” for nookie when she told me what her plans were. Furthermore, I was so enthusiastic about it, I happily offered to treat her to dinner at the local diner. It was attached to the hamlet’s bakery and was the only restaurant in Dunfield. It stayed in business because it attracted a great many patrons who traveled from out of town to dine there.

We both ordered its famed roast beef dinner—which was superb. During our meal, Jeannie was quite up front about why she had approached me. “Before the war,” she quietly began, “I had four or five rotating beaux. I was never serious enough with any particular one of them to get married, but I was willing to sleep with all of them for the sheer pleasure of it. They all liked the sexual contact, of course—and so did I. They’ve all joined the army, so now I’ve got no one to fuck. As you know, Jack, you’re the only male remaining in town who isn’t a child. As long as your equipment works, I intend to benefit by it.”

I can honestly state that was the first time in my life I’d heard any female use the dreaded f-word in general conversation. I must have had a surprised look on my face, because Jeannie reacted to it. “Jack,” she said, “I’m a girl who typically speaks her mind. Since I believe in clarity, I usually don’t allow niceties to get in the way of what I’m trying to convey.”
“I confess your choice of words was a little bit startling to me, Jeannie,” I replied. “But you definitely did get your meaning across. There was no ambiguity at all about it! Since you were blunt with me, I think I should be completely straightforward with you, too: Miss Jeannie Peterson, I am very attracted to you, and I intend to give you a thorough fucking tonight! What do you think about that, my dear?”

“That’s marvelous! Just wonderful!” Jeannie noted with glee. She squeezed my hand and continued, “That’s exactly what I want and need from you tonight, Jack. I can hardly wait. However, let’s finish our lovely dinners and then head straight to my place for some adult fun. One thing, though: We have to stay for dessert. This diner reputedly has excellent blueberry pie—the best in all the county. I absolutely have to try a piece topped with their homemade ice cream.”

Part Two

The diner’s blueberry pie was indeed the tasty treat it was advertised to be, but the best treat of all was upcoming. In a short time, I’d be bedding this busty, vivacious 21-year-old secretary. (Jeannie freely told me her age when I dared to ask her that personal statistic.) I was one of the few people in Dunfield who owned a car—it was a Model T Ford—so I had the hamlet’s streets pretty much to myself. Jeannie had met me at the diner after work, so I didn’t know where she lived. When we got into my vehicle, she directed me to a large house on a street that had nothing but impressive homes. She rented half of it from its owner, a Mrs. Southfield who was about 70 years old. From what I knew about her just from engaging in idle chitchat at the post office, she had been a widow for at least the last 25 of them. I asked Jeannie if my presence as a male visitor would be awkward for her. My date just laughed and then replied, “Mrs. Southfield is elderly but she’s a real firecracker! She knows that I like sex. She didn’t have any qualms at all when I used to bring my roster of boyfriends to the house to do what comes naturally. In fact, it was her favorite topic of conversation. She used to kid me about it.”

When we got inside the house, Mrs. Southfield was busy in the kitchen, so I didn’t actually see her. However, I certainly heard her voice. Jeannie shouted, “Hi. I’m home, Mrs. Southfield. I’ll be entertaining a guest tonight—Jack Quincy, the man in charge of the post office.”

“Entertain him well, dear,” the homeowner stated from a distance. “Once you’re through with him or he’s through with you, if he still has anything close to a stiff dick, and he likes old ladies, send him to my bedroom to give me a screwing, too!”

Jeannie was right: Mrs. Southfield definitely was a firecracker—and an irrepressible one!

Part Three

“I’m a little bit old-fashioned in some ways,” Jeannie told me after we ascended a tall staircase and got to her large bedroom which was very feminine. I was struck by its very beautiful, light-blue decor. “I prefer to do plenty of kissing and cuddling with all my beaux before we get down to the serious business of screwing. I hope that’s alright with you, Jack.”

This time it was my turn to chuckle. I said in response, “Jeannie, I’d say you are easily the most beautiful female in this little town. No normal male would object to smooching with you for any length of time—regardless of what is next on the agenda. Let the cuddling and kissing begin!”

Locking lips with Jeannie and embracing her tightly was great fun. Jeannie was as enthusiastic about intimacy with a member of the opposite sex as I was. My passionate kisses strayed to every part of her face and neck. My hands became frisky. I took a chance and gently cupped her breasts, giving them both gentle squeezes. It was a chance well taken. Jeannie didn’t mind my sudden aggressiveness in the slightest.

“My tits are among my best features,” Jeannie told me in a sexy whisper—as if I could not figure that out for myself. “Help yourself to them, Jack.” I loved free-spirited young women as this one clearly was.

I took that as a signal to unbutton her pristine white blouse. Women didn’t wear brassieres in 1915; they didn’t come into fashion until the 1920s. Therefore, when Jeannie’s blouse fell from her pale torso, I saw her beautiful breasts without further obstruction. They were firm but bouncy, sturdy but pliable. In other words, they were great fun for a typical male to handle. Jeannie’s sexy boobs were the type featuring pointy areolas that practically begged a smitten male to suck on them. I figured Nature had designed them that way for a purpose, so I merrily placed my mouth on her right one, sucked on it a few times, did the same with her left one…and back and forth I went! Jeannie seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. She coyly giggled and constantly caressed the hair on the back of my head to indicate she was in no hurry to have me stop what I was doing.

Of course, this highly arousing act of sexual foreplay had caused an enormous erection to rapidly grow in my trousers. Once it got to the point where my penis was uncomfortably trapped there, I shed my woolen pants and cotton briefs to show Jeannie what I had brought to the party. I think she liked what she saw.
“That’s very promising, Jack!” Jeannie stated when she got a clear look at my phallus at full alert. “I’m sure you know how to please a girl with it. Am I right?”

I stopped licking Jeannie’s treasures long enough to reply, “Well, since you are the fifth female on this wonderful list of Dunfield beauties who want to fuck me, and I’ve had no complaints from my first four bedmates, I think the answer would be a resounding yes! Once you show me the rest of you, I’ll put it to the test!”

We both quickly discarded all our remaining clothing, tossing it helter-skelter onto the bedroom’s wooden floor. I specifically instructed Jeannie not to remove her red hair ribbon. When she gave me a quizzical look I said, “It makes you look like Dorothy Agnew,” I told her. “When she and I were both 14 years old, we quietly absented ourselves from our church’s annual summer picnic for half an hour. We held hands and together we scampered into the nearby woods. We found a remote, grassy clearing, and…well, you can guess what happened. Dorthy was wearing a similar red hair ribbon that day.”

“Hey, whatever works to help you get rock-hard is fine by me,” Jeannie remarked. “In fact, for personal reasons I encourage it! Therefore, the ribbon remains.”

“It’s never been harder than it is right now,” I said to Jeannie with a contented grin on my face. I pointed at my rigid dick to prove I wasn’t lying. Clearly, I was not exaggerating at all. At that moment, I felt like I was wielding a steel rod between my legs.

“Let me taste it, please,” Jeannie insisted. I wasn’t going to refuse such a request! She knelt in front of me on the bed and proceed to give me a terrific blowjob, something that Dorothy had not considered doing at that picnic in 1899. I absolutely loved the sensation! It was truly a fantastic sex act that I was receiving from this comely and somewhat slutty stenographer.

“Yeah, you could support a bridge with that thing, Jack! Good for you!” Jeannie noted. I smiled at the hyperbole.

I intended to start fucking her then and there, but I began fingering her shaved vagina. Jeannie was the first female beyond adolescence I had seen whose muff had no hair whatsoever. I was fascinated by it. I quickly shoved the middle finger of my right hand inside of it and gave it a few thrusts. The look on Jeannie’s face was half delight and half amazement. “None of my beaux has ever done that before to me, Jack! Keep doing it until I tell you to stop! I don’t care if I lose control of myself!”

Orders are orders, so I vigorously rammed Jeannie’s inviting pussy for several minutes until my hand was soaked by her love juices. She had obviously attained a large orgasm. “Jack,” she informed me, “if your lovely dick is half as good as your finger, it will be heavenly,” she told me while hyperventilating.

“Let’s see, then!” was all I said to that. I quickly mounted the prettiest secretary in Alberta and slammed away at her vagina with my throbbing erection. There was nothing subtle nor romantic about my fucking technique. I had told Jeannie at the diner what my intentions were. I was going to keep my promise. After about ten minutes of nonstop screwing, I let loose with a fountain of semen. Not for a second did I consider pulling out of her pussy. I enjoyed the sensation of filling her feminine crevice with my warm seed—consequences be damned! I eventually collapsed on top of my gorgeous bedmate from sheer tiredness. I immediately got a secondary thrill: loved the feel of Jeannie’s erect nipples contacting my chest.

I felt the need to compliment Jeannie—and myself—regarding the volume and power of that tremendous cum shot I had unloaded. It was one that we had both enjoyed. I blurted, “Egad! That was one terrific ejaculation! I’d rank it as the best one I’ve ever had in my whole life. Of course, you were the reason for it, Jeannie, my dear. You are one sexy young package.”

“Did the red ribbon in my hair turn you on?” Jeannie joked.

“Well, it didn’t hurt,” I noted. “But I didn’t fire anywhere near the same amount of cum on Dorothy Agnew 16 summers ago that you got in your pretty pussy tonight. Back on that sunny Saturday in 1899, every drop of it ended up splattered all over Dorothy’s bare titties. That was the first and last time I had sex with her. When we came out of the woods smiling that afternoon, her father suspected what we had done and forbade Dorothy from ever seeing me again. That was a crying shame. I wonder what became of her. She was a very cute and adventurous girl. I liked her.”

Jeannie scowled and said, “Would you forget about Dorothy, Jack! We just had a tremendous fuck. I want the discussion to focus on us—particularly me!”

“Fair enough!” I conceded, even though it was Jeannie who had alluded to the hair ribbon. “Miss Jeannie Peterson, you are undoubtedly the finest female I have ever fucked in my 30 years on the Earth. I don’t think I’ll ever be as sexually aroused by anyone else’s charms. At least it would take someone extremely sexy to lift me to that level again.” I kissed her romantically on the lips and quaintly on her forehead. “How was that?” I asked her.

Jeannie paused for a moment and said, “That was a wonderful compliment, Jack, but I understand the ninth person on the list to screw you is Mary Summersby. I’m sure you know her from your work at the post office.” Jeannie then began describing her—which was absolutely unnecessary. Every male in Dunfield knew who Mary was and thought she was an absolute eyeful. She seemed to get prettier each year—and she was gorgeous as a teenager.

“Wow! She’s absolutely breathtaking!” I said without thinking. Mary was about my age and had a two-year-old daughter at home and a husband fighting in France like every other man from Dunfield.
Jeannie gave me a slightly dirty look. I noticed it and said, “Alright, I’ll be honest. I can’t imagine anyone but Mary Summersby getting me as aroused as I was with you tonight.”