Last Man

Copyright © 2018 - This is an original work by Michael Fitzgerald and is protected under copyright by U.S. copyright law. It is only submitted at Literotica.Com. Any submission to any other site has not been authorized by the Author and is an infringement of copyright. Such other site is requested to remove this story. All persons depicted in this work are at least 18 years of age.

This story is dedicated 26thNC and my new friends of Chlann MacGriogair. Nollaig Chridheil bho agus Bliadhna ùr Toilichte! No lassie has been burned at the stake. No slack-jawed lad was allowed to vent his wee pasty spleen. Alba gu brath!

To the trolls, I say this:

You stumbling, bumbling, impotent, and cold,
Come show me the proof of your amorous labors?
Where are the women who appreciate your favors?
I'm grateful when I see men, hearted of gold,
Laboring so hard you'd think they'd faint and lose hold,
Loving their wives by day and by night,
Protecting their name with all their might,
Standing by their side because it is right.
We'll set the bonfire to read your comments out loud,
Laugh ourselves sick and do our loving wives proud.
Brian Merriman, "The Midnight Court," (Cúirt An Mheán Oíche) (with liberties).

*****

This is an old man's story. Today, my wife Ellie gave me permission to tell you the story of what happened to us. There were tears that fell then. I admit freely that I cried as I wrote this. If it's any comfort, not all the tears were sad.

The news could not have been worse. The doctors said there was no hope, no cure, no way to get past the problem. No God to pray to, no Lourdes water to drink or rub. I was on the way to a meeting. I don't remember pulling off the highway after I called home and got the news. I don't remember checking into the hotel. I do remember downing tiny bottles of Scotch. The bar was already crowded when I came in, and I went back. It was too busy at midday with too many women of a certain age. It was a cheaters' bar. I looked around trying to pick one out. I wanted one of those cheating women. Even though I was married, I wanted one of them. I wanted to fuck her hard. I wanted to explode inside her and shoot my seed. I didn't care that I was married. My marriage didn't matter. I needed to feel like a man again. I needed to feel like I could go on.

I was born in Scotland in 1936 near Inverness, a MacTavish. My name is Simon after my father. The men in our family had come down to a few. Many were lost in the Great War. My father and Uncle Brian were all that was left of the male line. After Culloden Moor, to survive the small families allied themselves with a larger clan. My family allied itself with Clan Fraser but our numbers were few and over time our name fell into disrepair.

When the war against the Nazi's began, my father and Uncle Brian stepped up and fought with their Clan under Lord Lovat, the great war chieftain, first at Dieppe and then at D-Day. My father was with Lord Lovat on the beach when Piper Bill, that mad, magnificent bastard, piped the men ashore. My father made if off the beach. Three days later, he was shot as Lovat pushed inland. Uncle Brian was killed with his mates, still at sea. A German artillery shell hit his landing craft. All I remember of my father was that he was big and warm and wonderful; I don't recall a face.

After the war, on a spring day my mother made me dress in my best clothes as an important guest would visit. He was a tall man and I thought he stood very straight. He presented himself at our door and waited for my mother to greet him. He had a nice smile, but I thought he looked sad. My mother was a strong, self-reliant woman and brooked nonsense from no one, certainly not from me and never before from a stranger. Yet, for this man she cast her eyes down and curtsied. She said something, a greeting or an acknowledgement, something that I didn't understand.

"MacShimidh." You say it as "McShimi."

She bobbed her curtsey and offered her hand to Simon Fraser, Lord Lovat, the 25th chieftain of Clan Fraser of Lovat, heir and successor to men who had fought and died for Scotland for centuries. He took her hand and bowed slightly. My mother explained to me who Lord Lovat was, that the men of the Clan and their ladies called him MacShimidh and, as I was now the man of the family, I must do the same. At the time, I was ten.

My mother and I sat on the sofa and Lord Lovat took the good chair. He came alone. Lord Lovat told my mother about my father's life as a soldier, how he had been brave and did his duty. He told us of the other Scottish lives that my father saved. He knew my father and thought highly of him. He told us how my father died, holding off the Germans to give our boys a chance. My father saved the day, but it cost him his life. To my mother, Lord Lovat handed a medal. We buried it with her years later to give to her husband, my father, when she saw him again.

To me, Lord Lovat gave a small knife. I knew what it was when I saw it - my father's hidden dagger, a sgian dubh. A father passes his dagger to his first-borne son to protect the family when he no longer can.

I took the blade and put it in my knee sock the way I saw the men do. MacShimidh wished my mother well and told her that the manager of the bank in Inverness would be calling to offer her a position. She worked there until she died. To me, Lord Lovat wished a long life and many children so that the Clan could forever count on the MacTavish's to come when called. It occurred to me as he walked away that I was the last MacTavish male and that it was up to me to so as he asked. I never saw him again. In 1995 when Lord Lovat died near my parent's home, I cried as if he were my father himself.

About the time I finished at the University of Edinburgh a dozen years later, my mother remarried. It was 1958. That left me free to go and I traveled to New York City to join a large construction company. I was a civil engineer. The first few years were filled with the great adventure of seeing America. I was on a train coming back from site-seeing in Washington, D.C. I can still remember the very pretty girl as she sat that day with her female friends. I was drawn by her creamy pale skin, her hair a long dark veil and her luminous brown eyes. She said her name was Eileen O'Connell and she was an exchange student from Ireland. Everyone called her "Ellie" and I could too. Back home in Kerry, they called her "Eibhlín Dubh." Her ancestor had been a great Gaelic poet and everyone said that Ellie favored her.

Ellie was a Catholic and we were married as soon as I could get her to say yes in front of a priest. I got a promotion and we moved into a house that had four bedrooms to fill. The newlywed sex lasted for almost three years. We used no protection and still my beautiful Ellie had not gotten pregnant. The doctor said not to worry. Such things can take some time. She recommended we take a long vacation and give nature a chance. A year later, we were in the specialist's office, having tests done. They weren't sure. My sperm seemed okay, but Ellie might have issues. Eighteen months later, we still didn't have an answer and Ellie wasn't pregnant. We kept trying. Ellie would call me at work to say that she was ovulating. I'd race home; it would have been fun if we weren't so worried.

My boss, Jimmy Muir, thought I was sneaking out for a drink. When I told him what I was really doing, he laughed. Jimmy was a former captain of marines. He ordered me to keep reporting to my "superior officer" for duty "above and beyond." Jimmy's wife later sent us a lovely card and two baby blankets - one blue and one pink. The both of them are gone now. Ellie would be there with the thermometer, checking herself, and I'd strip down. We'd have sex and I'd slip a pillow under her hips to keep my sperm in her. We tried that and so many other things so many times. Nothing worked, not the shots, nothing at all, but Ellie never lost hope and never gave up.

I was made a project supervisor, which put me on the road. I got my boss to agree that I could stay close to home when Ellie was likely to be fertile. Otherwise, I was away too often; I regret those lost days. There was an article in the newspaper about a clinic in Chicago that developed a new technique for diagnosing fertility issues. We flew out and they looked at us over. We'd get the results in about two weeks. Considering the distance and cost of travel, we agreed that they could tell by phone.

I was driving to Annapolis for a meeting and was coming up on the next rest stop. My beeper went off and I saw Ellie was calling. I pulled off and found a pay phone. Ellie answered on the first ring; it wasn't good. There were malformations in her uterus that made pregnancy almost impossible. She was not a viable candidate for in vitro fertilization. There was no way she could have children. Ellie was distraught. I kept telling her that I loved her, that it would be okay, that our love was strong, that we would get past this. I would call her as soon as I got to the hotel. Maybe I could cancel and come home. I'd see what I could do.

The thing is, I had never told Ellie how my father died, that the men of my family were gone - all but me. I never told her of Lord Lovat's wish or my father's dagger. She had her own struggles. How could I put that burden on her?

The bar was filing up and my head was filled with crazy ideas. I remember thinking that I should bed a cheating wife and knock her up (of course, she'd pregnant). I would recognize the bastard and give him my name, something more than one Fraser chief had done. I was pretty well drunk when I wondered whether my bastard should have my name from the start or the cuckold's name? I would announce myself as the sire and descend on the house where my bastard slept. I would identify myself and ... what? I lost my hold on my fantasy and saw myself in this sordid bar, broken.

A thin but attractive blonde came up to me and wanted to talk. Did I mention I have a Scot's accent? Women love it. Ellie always has. I had to correct her more than once to say that I am Scottish. Scottish, Irish - to Jessica, it was all just a sexy brogue. I didn't pay much attention and soon we were in an elevator going up.

Jessica helped me sit on the bed and then went off to the bathroom to freshen up. Her dress was folded over a chair. My pants and shoes were off, and I had no shirt. We were going to have sex and my Ellie was home crying. How did I get undressed? Why was I here and not on my way to my wife? I started to cry. By the time Jessica came back, I was out of control.

I didn't notice as Jessica got dressed again; I only saw her dressed. She knelt in front of me. I couldn't figure out what she was doing. Jessica took my hands in her hands and asked me to tell her about it - whatever "it" was - and she would listen. I'm fuzzy on this part and always have been. I think I told her everything, all of it, more than Ellie knew. Jessica told me everything would be alright and held me. She picked up the phone and spoke to the front desk. Then, she was speaking with someone else, telling them what had happened and where I was. Jessica came back to me and we cuddled. She held me tight and I fell asleep.

Someone was knocking on the door and it woke me. I could feel Jessica get up and heard her walk to the door. The door opened and there were voices. Ellie was one of them. I could hear Ellie saying "thank you" again and again. More talking and tears, Ellie promised to call Jessica and tell her how things turned out.

Ellie laid down facing me and we looked at each other for the longest time. I told her what I had done. I told her how I tried to cheat on her and why. I had failed her. Ellie kissed me and told me it was okay. I told her about my mother and Lord Lovat and my father's dagger and being the last man. I told her how I had failed everyone so badly. That's when someone else got in bed behind me.

Female, warm - she smelled like Ellie. Her giggle sounded just like Ellie. "Simon, I want you to lie on your back. Can you do that for me?" Ellie was leaning over me, looking at me eye-to-eye, asking me to do something.

I did as she said. The next moment, her sister Mairi was next to me, naked. Mairi must have come with Ellie, together to help. Ellie slipped her hand beneath the sheet and had my cock in her hand, stroking. Mairi began to kiss me and together they seduced me. Ellie took my cock in her mouth and worked to get me hard. Mairi moved down from my mouth to tease my nipples and stroke my skin everywhere. It was so easy to surrender, the easiest thing I've ever done. Mairi straddled me and Ellie held my cock up for Mairi to take me inside. The women did the work. Mairi rode me until I came, and then slipped off. The three of us kissed and fondled each other and then I took Mairi in the missionary position. I don't know how many times we did it that night. My last memory is of Ellie telling the front desk that we were keeping the room for a couple more days.

Mairi was still asleep. Ellie and I were sitting in the big chair, watching the sunrise. I had never been more fascinated by her nipples. Nonetheless, she slapped me away so I wouldn't distract her from what she had to say.

"Simon, you know I love you and I would never cheat on you. And you will never cheat on me. But what's happening now is different.

"I can't be the wife you need and Mairi can. She's had her two and she's happy to have children for you. They'll be ours - your's and mine - and Mairi will be their aunt. Mairi was with me when Jessica called. She told me what you said. I wanted to come right away but Mairi called a meeting and everyone who could came or called people who could and listed on mobiles. Your cousins, I guess, ... people I don't even know were on the line. Mairi said what she wanted to do and asked if anyone objected. Some were not happy with it and a few had their say, but no one said "no." Everybody knows, and they want this for you. There will be no shame and secret to hide.

You will have sons and daughters who will bear your name and remember you. They will tell their children who we were, and about your family and its history, and mine. You will keep your word and have done your duty. To me, to yourself, to everyone."

I didn't know what to say so I said nothing. We held each other until Mairi woke up. She yawned and looked at us. Then she wanted to know how I wanted to fuck her next.

Ellie passed this morning at home, surrounded by her children and grandchildren, her sister Mairi and her dear friend Jessica. When Ellie went into hospice, I took Simon, our eldest, out for lunch and gave him his grandfather's dagger. I told him what it meant to me, my father and the line of men who passed down to him his name. I told him how proud of him I was and that I knew he would do his best. He was the head of the family now and my letter to the Clan chief would serve as his introduction.

I told Simon that my place was with his mother to care for her as she had always cared for me. I wouldn't make her wait. He knows that I stole a small bottle of morphine from hospice. He didn't argue, and I was grateful for that. Simon asked me to stay with the family until after Christmas so that everyone would have a good time, especially the children. Of course, I agreed.

But Simon knows that I'll be with Ellie soon, my Eibhlín Dubh. We'll wait together for Mairi and Jessie to join us and, together forever, the four of us will share our love.