The Last Man

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Roger spys a comely lady shortly after a big mistake.
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coaster2
coaster2
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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.

coaster2
coaster2
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