Generation Z

1 - James the scavenger

James was born into a new world. One of the last people ever to be born. When he was just four weeks old, a virus began to spread across the USA. It was an illness that only seemed to be contracted by females of sexual maturity. Initially the survival rate was around eighty-five to ninety percent.

It didn't take long before the airborne virus spread to every continent across the globe. Mutations of the virus also began to jump species. Within the first year of the pandemic cases were being reported in most mammalian species.

Most of the women infected survived the primary infection, the intense fever decimated the infected woman's ovaries effectively sterilising an entire population. This became known as the cruel survival. The secondary infection became known as cold flush.

Very few women survived this.

When James was six his mother lost her battle with the Cold Flush and passed away in her sleep. Soon after his eleventh birthday, the last known woman; Angela Evans of Sidney Australia died aged just forty-seven.

The global scientific community fought against time to establish a viable method of reproducing the human species. In the early stages of the pandemic, hundreds of millions of unfertilised eggs were donated and stored in vast scientific facilities across the globe, every trial and every experiment used one more egg.

Every experiment failed.

Over the years the hundreds of millions of eggs became thousands, then hundreds then all hope was lost.

Rumours of cloning experiments were rife. But the utter failure of science to bring about a cure had led to fear and distrust of the scientists. Stories of cloned people running amuck and turning on their masters became the modern-day monster tall tales and nightmares.

James was unfortunate as he was a member of Generation Z. The last possible generation of human beings to exist, and the Homo Sapien species was on top of the critical endangered list.

It was only a matter of time.

As James entered his teens, the world was becoming a dark place. It was difficult to survive on intelligence alone. Brawn always out muscled brains, debate and discussion were replaced by fights and brawls.

James's Father was a former army officer, he was tough and mean. His mother was a beauty pageant contestant, James took after his mother. Unfortunately, good looks and brains put him at the bottom of the food chain.

His Father Ethan began to realise how difficult life would be for his only son. Despite everything he loved James, and fought hard to provide and protect him. But it was getting more and more difficult to be the father he always wanted to be.

By the time James entered puberty mob rule had taken over. Governments tried desperately to hold on to control, stories of government sponsored massacres were rife.

As desperation took over it was harder to encourage workers to work. More and more blue collared workers turned to crime as a means to put food on the table. So, the lights went out, there was less money for the big corporations to rake in, so organised gangs took the place of government.

Ethan had to travel further and further to get work to be able to provide for his son, leaving James to fend for himself often for several days at a time.

James was a small boy even in his teens, he just never seemed to grow. His small frame and weak demeanour made him easy pickings. This kept Ethan up at night more than the trouble he was having. He had tried to toughen his son up, with boot camps and by the "boy named sue" school of parenthood, but nothing seemed to work.

James just seemed to become more and more effeminate. Being fairly liberal this didn't bother his father, what worried him was that if anything ever happened to Ethan, his only son would be incapable of fending from himself.

With his father away, James was left alone to his own devices. He was an eighteen-year-old boy who had only recently discovered sexuality. As such, his life revolved around finding new ways to entice orgasm.

But before he got to pleasure himself, he had chores to do.

They lived in an old town house on the outskirts. The electricity running water had stopped flowing years ago. So, James's daily routine involved getting out of bed, getting dressed and heading out to the large garden at the rear of the house, to empty his bed pan and his bladder.

He would then fill up the drinking water from the spring at the bottom of the garden. Cautious as always to ensure he washed his bed pan at least ten meters downstream of where he gathered his water.

He put the water on the fire to boil and set about finding some food. He routinely searched his neighbours' houses for left overs. Almost everyone in the town had upped and left long ago. James approached Mr Tillerson's house.

It was a little over a mile away from home and he knew that Jeff Tillerson would not be home. His wife and eldest daughter died of the cold flush ten or eleven years earlier the youngest daughter never saw five. Gregg the asshole son with a penchant for torturing those weaker than himself never recovered from the flue in the last winter. Like so many other grieving fathers, Jeff Tillerson had given into the despair, which was the polite euphuism for suicide.

Entering through the back James searched the kitchen, finding some tinned hams and various vegetables. Normally that would be enough, but James was in a curious mood today. The distant autumnal sun struggled to shine through the dusty windows, giving the Tillerson's house a gloomy feel to it.

James had a shopping list in mind. He needed new shoes, his Nike's were more duct tape than leather now. With winter approaching he would not be upset at finding a new coat. So, he ventured upstairs.

James had forgotten that Mr Tillerson was a rather large man, so when he found his closet he held up a pair of Levi's and realised that James could have fit in the jeans three times over.

"Dam it." he exclaimed.

He found some soap and toothpaste in the on-suite bathroom. "You can never have enough soap," he thought to himself. Putting the toiletries into a little linen bag he had brought with him.

He entered the second bedroom and was taken aback with the femininity of it. Pink bed clothes, matching curtains and carpet. This was Jilly Tillerson's room, she had died at 4 years old. James knew that he would find nothing here.

He moved to the third room and it was Greggs room. He was a few years younger than James. A large framed boy it was known around the remnants of the town that Gregg was not to be trusted with animals or younger children. James did not mourn the loss of Gregg. He had a quick look around but everything he found was much too small for him.

He moved to the final room, this was Cassandras room. She was a twenty-one-year-old college student when the cold flush took her, four weeks before her mother would die from it. James didn't really remember much of Casandra. He was only seven when she died.

There was a lock on the door. He imagined that Mr Tillerson wanted to keep Gregg out of Cassandras room. But they had been gone for some time now, and the pad lock was open. James stepped in.

As he fished through her belongings James realised that the dead Tillerson girl and he were approximately the same size. In her closet hung jumpers and jeans, some had rotten though or had been eaten by insects and vermin, but most were in good condition, and as he held them up to himself, he found that they were a suitable fit for his slim frame.

At the bottom of her closet were her shoes. A pair of white Nike air max running shoes gleamed like precious stones in sunlight.

It didn't take much effort but his tattered shoes all but fell off his feet. He pulled her trainers out of the closet and they fitted him like a glove. The instant comfort of an air cushioned sole made him groan in pleasure.

When he had pulled out the sports shoes, a pair of black leather boots fell over. They caught his eye and James struggled to take his eyes off them.

Lifting them out of the closet he inspected them. They would come up to just under his knee, with a zip up the side. The heel was about 3 inches long and fashioned into a spike and the toe was weirdly pointed. Not remembering too many adult females or any women's fashions, he was bewildered at why this girl would have such impractical footwear.

He had to know. So, he slipped his foot into one of the boots and was astonished as his body shape altered when he pulled up the zip. Gazing at the shoe, he turned to see a full-length mirror behind him.

He was fully aroused, and erect. He did what every eighteen-year-old virgin boy did and has done throughout time when they get aroused. He pulled down his tattered pants and jacked himself into oblivion.

He spent the next few hours searching Cassandras room finding countless unknown delights. Soft and smooth panties, nylon sleeves for his legs, strange fabric and wire contraptions to cover his nipples. All in wondrous colours and materials.

He found magazines that illustrated how to wear this new delight seemingly called fashion. As the sun was starting to set James knew that he would be a frequent visitor to the Tillersons.

He selected some things to take with him. The boots of course, Cosmo had told him that he needed a black dress, so he packed one of those. Some of the sexy panties and pantyhose and a bra.

It took him almost an hour to walk the mile home in the silly boots. But once he had mastered it, they felt somehow empowering.

2 - Ethan has needs

The remaining men still had needs. As always, the law of supply and demand meant that if someone wanted something badly enough to pay for it. Someone somewhere would be willing to sell it.

Effeminate men were dressed in lingerie and serviced the work force.

Ethan had picked a sissy who resembled the love of his life. By resembled he had the same style of hair as his long dead spouse.

They went up to the room and settled on a price of twenty-five dollars. Ethan paid the sissy who put the money in a tatty looking handbag that he carried about with him. The sissy tried to kiss her date.

"No, I either cum in your mouth or your asshole. I'm not here to find a wife." Ethan resisted the sissy's attempt at romance.

Unfettered the thirty-year-old man in a denim skirt and ankle boots and red boob tube, appreciated Ethans honesty.

"Sure hon, here's some soap, go wash your cock and I will see what I can do?" the sissy said, lifting the remains of several bars of soap squashed together that was sitting on the bedside table.

Ethan stepped out of his denim jeans to the floor and strode over to a basin that sat on a table in the corner of the room, a jug of water sat beside the basin and Ethan lathered his cock and balls with the soap and water. Satisfied that he was clean he rinsed and dried himself with a towel that hung off the little table.

He stepped back to the male prostitute who nodded approvingly. Ethan never struggled with his sexuality. If there were still women available to him, he would be them. Men in panties repulsed him. But his wife had died twelve years ago, and the last pussy he fucked was almost ten years ago. No amount of lotion covered self-interest could cure his sex drive.

The tranny jerked him a few times, it was a pointless act and Ethan was pretty limp. Eventually he took Ethans cock into his mouth. He began to bob his head along Ethan's length. He sure was talented, so it didn't take long before Ethan member was stirring to life.

Pulling Ethan's cock from his mouth, he looked up into Ethan's eyes and asked, "Wanna fuck my pussy big boy?"

Without waiting for an answer, the hooker turned around and dripped to his knees, pulling the skirt up over his waist. Spitting on his fingers he coated his asshole in saliva.

From this angle, and with as much whiskey in Ethan's system as there was, the sissy almost resembled Ethan's wife. For the first time in a long time Ethan felt genuine lust.

He lunged cock first at the waiting whore. In seconds he was balls deep in her ass. Taking a breath before withdrawing then sliding back in. Slowly building up a rhythm which was getting faster and faster.

"Oh Bethany!" Ethan cried out lost in the moment.

"That's it Daddy. Mommy wants your babies" the willing recipient of Ethan's lust responded.

"Oh Daddy, please fuck me harder. I wanna feel your hot cum inside me. I wanna know that you made me pregnant Daddy!" Ethan griped his waist and ploughed into him. It wasn't going to take long, and it didn't.

"Oh my God Beth. I'm cumming!" Ethan cried out as he sent his load deep into his lovers' ass. He held him close until he the last few drops shot out of him. He released his grip on the sissy's waist, who leaned forward, and Ethan slipped out with a little pop. His cum began to pour out of the gaping hole.

Gasping for breath Ethan offered his thanks.

"Look, I know I'm not a real girl. Not really. But I was like this before everything went to shit. So, I am probably as close to a girl as you gonna find. You're a good guy, you treat us girls well. You don't blame us for turning you fag, like some of the other assholes we get in here. So, you can keep paying me twenty five dollars to fuck my brains out..." She said while wiping up the cream pie dripping out of her asshole with some tissue paper.

"Or?" Ethan asked while washing his cock with the soap at the basin.

"Or you can take me home with you and fuck me for free. Whenever you want..." She moved closer to him, kneeling down and kissed the tip of his softening cock before saying seductively "However you want!"

"I've got a kid." Ethan said, moving her away from his sensitive prick.

"Ethan I can be a good mamma. He can suck on my titties when he's hungry. He can fill my ass when he's horny and you're not around." Ethan chuckled at her.

"Oh, Claire you have been asking every guy you fuck to marry you since you turned thirty."

Wrapping herself in the bedlinen Claire said, "You can't blame a girl for trying. Sides who's gonna want fuck an old fag?"

"Claire your still pretty and fuckable and that asshole of yours as tight today as it was when you were blowing jocks at senior prom." Ethan said pulling up his pants and leaving the room.

He walked down the stairs into the lounge where his friends were still playing cards and drinking.

"That was quick!" Reilly joked as he saw Ethan descend.

"I only had ten bucks." Ethan answered. His companions laughed heartily, knowing that Reilly could never afford the first ride.

'Marys Ale house' only had two 'girls' working at any time. So, a menu was in place.

You paid twenty-five dollars for the first ride of the night. Twenty for the second, fifteen for the third and ten for every ride thereafter.

"She propose to you again?" Jeff asked.

"Yea she did." Ethan sighed and ordered another whiskey.

"She likes you Ethan, you could do much worse than Claire." Jeff pushed.

"Nothing says I love you like I could do much worse than you." Ethan answered with a chuckle.