Final Man

Jordan was left completely dumbstruck. He was supposed to be in here for the next six-hundred and eighty years? That was absurd. It was all a dream: it had to be. He had fallen down and passed out and this was all a shitty dream he was about to wake up from. Jordan didn't wake up, though. He remained suspended in the field until he started to get curious about what John had meant. John had evidently created this program specifically for him so he may as well find out what it did.

"Hey... avatar..." Jordan frowned. "John!" He called.

The avatar reappeared and looked up at Jordan. "You summoned me?" The thing sounded exactly like John.

"Yeah, how does this thing work?"

"Well, you're currently being frozen in cryostasis so your consciousness will be at the mercy of your mind and state of being."

"I get that, but how do I make things happen?"

"You think whatever you want. Here, let me help you out real quick. Let's imagine you're standing in your house and it's a sunny afternoon." John's avatar said. Jordan's bare feet immediately grounded upon the carpet inside his house and he was standing in his living room naked. The sun was shining through the blinds nearby. It was almost as if he had woken up in his living room and hadn't heard anything John had said. "Now, the world is going to appear as you remember it, along with everyone in it from here on out. You're free to change it however you feel. I'll let you get used to things and you can call me if you need me." The John avatar disappeared once again.

Jordan imagined himself wearing blue jeans, a shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. When he looked down, he was wearing his favorite Saturday afternoon scouting outfit. "Now how do I view my images and videos?"

Jordan had seen a lot of pictures and videos of women-maybe more content than 90% of the people on the planet, which might seem ambitious in a competition with the male populace of Earth, but such was his obsession for so many years. When the massive filing cabinet slammed in front of him, he didn't even know where to begin. He slid open the top drawer of the metal cabinet and saw folders full of the pictures he had saved on the old floppy disks. It was all in order of when he had saved everything by date. There were images of sexy cartoons, characters from videogames that the designers had put together to entice young men.

His obsession had started innocent enough. Most of the women in the early years still had clothes on. He went through a phase in middle school where he just wanted to see naked women before he had developed a sort of fetish for the sexy clothes designers used to shape the intrigue of the male population throughout the nineties and early 2000s. It was all so fake, so engineered, when you really broke down what a woman looked like and how amplified she seemed to be when she wore those clothes. Women, for the most part, look like all the other women in the world. Some having bigger breasts, some have curvier asses, some had cute feet and others had gorgeous faces, but the differences were negligible if you stood all these women naked beside one another-those that actually existed anyway.

And what were these images? Even the best video he had was just moving pixels frame by frame. They were just images or moving images. Granted, Jordan could easily lose himself in these files, but to break down the true reason for all of this made the whole thing seem hollow. He had spent his life gathering images of women so that he could sit in suspended animation ogling over them for all eternity. A shroud of depression passed over him as he realized what a waste his life had been-all life really. Humans should have known this was coming, that the planet's conditions were as static as a bipolar personality.

Meanwhile, the golden age of humanity upon the planet of Earth was coming to a rapid conclusion. Had human beings put all that time and effort into rocket ships and streamlining the ability to survive in space, we might have had a chance. We were too busy bickering with each other, threatening to bomb some nation or another while the populace of the planet yearned to be pacified with pornography and programmed themselves to be complacent, to drop all focus and put their attention into some sexy woman walking by. It was a mental problem, this addiction that Jordan had created for himself, and it never seemed more apparent than it did now. Unfortunately, if the human race could do it all again, he doubted that it would be any different or that it was even a good idea for them to be given a second chance.

He felt disgusted with himself for even entertaining this filth, but he was stuck here for a long time, stuck as a thirty-eight year old man with over four and a half million women to look at to pass the time. He had pictures of girls he had crushes on in high school, girls he had known that had liked him but he was too insecure to know they had wanted to get to know him better. He had a lot of videos and pictures of his ex girlfriends as well. He watched the video of him fucking his first girlfriend, pounding her with his twenty-year old cock as she squealed with pleasure, videos of her sucking his dick, of catching the perfect ass while in the grocery store with her at his side.

Once he hit the Facebook images, he started to get bored. But then something weird happened. He was looking at a girl he had never met, one who had blond hair and green eyes with an amazing body. He had dozens of pictures of her in various positions, in bathing suits from summer posts, and pictures of her in slutty clothing during a Halloween party. He stepped away from the cabinet and heard a knock at the door. The last picture he had looked at was her smiling up at the camera while wearing a sexy pinstripe shirt and a black skirt-a selfie from work. When Jordan opened the front door, that woman was standing there and rifling through her purse as if she had lost something.

"Hello?" He said.

She looked up at him, surprised. "Who are you?"

"Uh, this is my house." Jordan said.

"It's my house." She seemed frustrated as she stepped through the threshold of the apartment. "How did you even get in here? I should have a security alarm set."

"Sorry, no security alarm." Jordan said, trying to avoid checking her out. He didn't know why he was being careful, this was his apartment and he had the paperwork in his office filing cabinet that said that he had purchased the flat.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Jordan?" She asked. "Get me a drink and let's get this party started."

Jordan didn't understand what was going on or why she expected anything from him. He had seen her hundreds of times over the years, but didn't even know her name. And then he realized that none of this mattered, no story that could be formulated between them made any difference. This entire circumstance had been formulated by his brain and he had made the reality make sense as best as his brain could. He had never been a very creative person so the storyline was weak, but he had made every second happen.

Now, Jordan was extremely curious about her. She had substance. She wasn't just a pixelated image. She was really here. He could see the fabric of her shirt ruffle and change as she walked toward the bar. He could see the outline of her panties through her skirt as she leaned and placed one leg over the bar stool and sat down. Jordan swallowed and went behind the counter of the bar in his flat and started mixing her a drink. In one of his pictures of her, she had gotten a Tom Collins at a bar so he made her one of those. She took a sip and flared her eyes, liking the taste.

He watched the woman carefully, still appreciating the detail John's program had given her. She looked absolutely real in every sense: the eyeliner around her eyes, the makeup on her cheeks, the way she seemed a little insecure of herself in the process of watching him. The weirdest thing was that his brain had concocted a scenario where she was interested in him when, in true reality, she'd never have given him the time of day. She was horny now. He could tell from the way she kept shifting in her seat and looking him up and down. She was probably fifteen years younger than him, but that didn't matter here.

He took this woman to his bed and took off her clothes one piece at a time, kissing her exposed skin the way he used to kiss his wife. She ran her fingers through his hair as he pinched her black bra apart at her back and pulled it away from her breasts. Jordan ran his tongue over her nipples and they became erect at the feel of his tongue. He ran his fingers up her thigh along the seam of her stockings and massaged her vagina. She gave a little sigh as he peeled her stockings down. She fell back on the bed and he moved his tongue to the nubbin of her cleft, moving his tongue over the spot rapidly until he could hear the squirt of her orgasm.

Jordan pounded her for hours, finally gripping her legs and firing into her as he made her his. It was the best sex he had ever had because it was effortless. He didn't have to expend any energy and he didn't get sore or tired. It was impossible to exhaust muscles that weren't actually being worked in real life. She fell asleep beside him and he fell asleep with his arms around her.

When he woke, she was still there. They made love again until he grew bored, and then she got her clothes back on and left. He felt strange, watching her go but knowing that she could be back at any time if he so desired. Understanding the power he was now capable of, Jordan began to mix things up. He imagined a beautiful asian woman that he had met once in college based on the pictures he had, and then duplicated her into eight different people.

At one point, he had a version of each of her sucking each of his testicles, a third one sliding her mouth around his cock, two kissing his nipples, and another fingering his ass while he caressed the breasts of two others. He had never been so at peace as he came and came in the mouths of each woman around him. It was such an extreme personal fantasy and none of it would ever have happened in reality.

Jordan went further and made two extra versions of himself and had a four-way with Margette Thompson, the woman in the Barnes and Noble he had seen so long ago. She was bent over and naked on top of one version of him as a second version fucked her asshole. He watched with fascination before sliding his erect penis into her mouth and gripped her curly hair as he fucked her mouth. She loved every moment of pain and pleasure as the three versions of himself made her theirs. During all of this, Jordan seemed to experience pleasure from all versions of himself. It was all the concocted insanity of a perverted mind.

This went on for years, Jordan enjoying every woman of the four and a half million plus that he had saved in dozens and dozens of different ways. Sometimes there was violence, sometimes he felt pain, but he held control of the fantasies throughout every experience. He spent every day fucking different women, sometimes returning to women he had fucked earlier in different ways. He could dress them up however he wished, he could make them as slutty or conservative as he wanted. He could make them hate him but still want him. Some of them begged him to let him fuck them: mostly women who had rejected him in real life. He degraded the people he hated, and elevated the people who were naturally good. He was God and held complete control of every image and video he had at his disposal.

He owned them all, and they were his forever. Not only them, but their height of perfection. They were never old, never children, never at their worst, never sick or out of work, never unhappy, never bitchy, never sleepy, they always wanted what he told them to want, and for him that was good. They were perfect in the moment that he had captured them all those years ago, and they were his to do with as he chose. That was the best part about all of it. His best friend had truly given him the greatest gift imaginable.

It would be appropriate to say that Jordan got bored, that this lifestyle was completely unsustainable, that he would go insane and try to commit suicide after years upon years of fucking people who didn't exist and were certainly dead now in reality, but he didn't. He enjoyed the gift of power every single day: the gift of being able to release and be a perverted man every moment. Nothing was a surprise or a shock. He sometimes performed atrocious acts that the real people he wanted would have detested with every fiber in their body. He fucked dozens of women in different positions and situations every day and never grew bored. This was his life now. They were trapped and suspended in the forms that they had chosen when he met them in the past life, the life he thanked and appreciated every single day as he fucked all the women he had dreamed about fucking so many times in life. He fucked both sexy and ugly bosses, he fucked women he didn't even like in life out of spite. He fucked actresses, he fucked characters who were played by the same actress, he fucked women he thought were sexy in characters who didn't exist. Any pornographic scenario he could imagine, he lived through every single one.

Boredom eventually crept into his mind. After hundreds of years of making millions of imaginary women bend over backwards for him, Jordan finally lost track of himself and his situation. The idea of John subjecting him to this way of life, and the entirety of existence no longer held any meaning. He was able to simulate any image of any place. He had access to the last version of Google Maps and so he could make any setting he wanted. Jordan spent days anywhere he could think of and then went back to screwing woman after woman after woman. He did everything anyone could ever want to do with the world and its memories and images. It was all based on videos and graphics so the computer program was able to simulate an almost perfect ambience based on those places.

One day, he was having sex with the girl in the bank who had the blue pants on, and John's avatar appeared out of nowhere. Jordan nodded at him, motioning for him to have his way with the woman if he wished as he'd made him do before, but the avatar shook its head. It was the first time something had happened that he didn't will into being in a very long time.

"We are in the process of reentering the Earth's atmosphere as we speak. I wasn't sure if you would last this long, but you did, so congratulations. I imagine you're the most bored man alive, but you've been pretty well entertained for the last six-hundred and eighty years if you can believe that. You've done everything the way I hoped you would. It's hard to pacify the mind for this much time."

Jordan didn't really care what the avatar had to say. He had become a god among men here in the program and didn't see the point of leaving. The avatar vanished and Jordan continued his fantasies for another few days. The times he slept he didn't really know why he slept since his real body was at rest all the time. It was simply part of the daily lifestyle of his previous life, but Jordan woke finally, and this time it wasn't exactly what he expected.

He opened his eyes and it wasn't easy this time. Water ran into his eyes, bringing stinging pain into his vision. He saw a metal ceiling he had never seen before, and the weariness of life met him for the first time in six-hundred and eighty years. Jordan sat up, seeing a weird mechanical space station in front of him. He was in some kind of pod, and there were hundreds of other pods lining the walls around him. There were bodies inside, but most of them weren't moving. Some people were hanging out of their pods, frozen blood pouring out of their orifices. They were most definitely dead.

Jordan heard movement and looked around. Several women peered around the corner nearby. The front door of the spacecraft they were on had been opened to a sunny afternoon prairie. A gentle breeze was billowing through the ship. It took a lot of effort to get up and climb out of his pod. He hadn't used his muscles in almost seven hundred years. There was a pair of crutches pre-placed for him in this event, and he used them to hobble to his feet and get dressed. There was only a simple pair of clothes here for everyone so everyone emerged from the spacecraft bald and wearing gray shirts, brown pants, and a pair of brown shoes that had been matched to their feet.

They all left the ship and stood on a giant cape beneath the blue afternoon sky. Far in the distance, sticking out of the sea ahead, was the point of the Washington Monument. It was late summer, and it was at least eighty-five degrees fahrenheit. The grass was brown and crispy beneath their bare feet. Jordan looked around and saw about a hundred different women. He didn't see any men. He ran his hand over his bald head and realized that he was the last male on the entire planet.

According to John, around ten-thousand people had been blasted into space along with him. Was this really the last of the human race? If all the others had died on the ship, that made him the only seed-carrying male human here. Part of him was disgusted, knowing how he had spent the last six-hundred and eighty years. His mind had been completely warped, and that was in his blood. Any child he would have would be like him: experience a high sex drive, be prone to addiction-both his father and mother were chronic alcoholics and a smokers-have very low willpower and be completely unable to resist temptation.

And it was what was next that made life seem like a horrible version of hell in which the devil throws you a personal birthday party: he was now expected to procreate with all of these women. They needed his seed in order to create more children. Jordan somehow remembered reading somewhere that that wouldn't work, that in order to sufficiently prevent cross-breeding and incest, it would require more couples. While he wanted to be the savior of the male population-whatever that meant-he didn't think the science was going to be there to help them further along the line.

"Hey," a bald woman said, putting her hand out to Jordan. "I'm Andrea."

"Jordan." He laughed, scratching the back of his head with one hand and shaking with the other. "I guess I'm a little on the spot here."

"That you are my friend. It's been a long six-hundred and eighty years and I'm ready for a good time if you know what I mean."

Was he still in the program? He didn't know. Looking around, all the women were looking at him like he was the last plate of warm bacon on Earth. That line sounded exactly like one of the cheesy lines he would have come up with right off the bat in one of his fantasies within the program. But then again, maybe she was just really forward. It had been six-hundred and eighty years. No, everything was absolutely real. Jordan could tell. Yes, the program had been almost perfect, but only almost. There were flaws here and there that he noticed after awhile, and they were easy to ignore. Everything here was seamless, smooth; no catches, no hang-ups.

"If I'm really the last man, how will we make more children without the risk of inbreeding?" Jordan asked.

"I think they accounted for that on the ship. Didn't you go through the training program?" She asked.

"No."

"What do you do before all this?"

"I was retired."

The color drained from Andrea's face. "Really? You weren't like, a chemical engineer or something?"

"No, I sold airplane parts five years ago-err, prior."

Andrea's expression told him that she wasn't as interested in him as she had let on in the beginning. This was definitely not part of the program. He'd had a lot of fetishes in the past, but bald women hadn't been one of them so they weren't part of his imagination. Jordan decided to accept that he had no control over women anymore-short of being the last living man and them needing something from him, even if it was just his sperm. That much, he could do, and he didn't know why this woman was judging him for not being more than a man-stick. Having sex was the point of living again, and fortunately for everyone here, that's precisely what Jordan had been practicing for the last seven-hundred years. Yes, life was going to be very good on this new world. That, or the women might tear him apart limb from limb.