JammyJimmy
Champion Fred Killer
- Joined
- Jan 23, 2008
- Posts
- 7,602
Hi there everyone. 
I'm relatively new to posting on the site, but I've been writing for a while, and at the end of July I started posting a re-write of a series I'd been working on for a while called the "The Phoenix Promise", a kind of post-armageddon survivors story, using sex as a major theme.
The first four chapters are up on the site, and I'm just editing the fifth just now, and I've been really pleased with the response I've received, particularly as this is the first time I've ever let anyone else read any of my work.
However, everyone should live in a state of continuous improvement, and I've been thoroughly impressed with the level of feedback given in this forum.
So.....
If any of you could spare a little time to share your thoughts on my story so far, I'd greatly appreciate it. All comments welcome.... even if it's to say 'You're Shite'
Kind regards,
JJ
Chapter One:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=377878
Chapter Two:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=378252
Chapter Three:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=378851
Chapter Four:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=379513
* * * * *
(First Chapter, in blue, added by moderator)
* * * * *
The Phoenix Promise Ch. 01
by JammyJimmy©
This story takes place at some time in the near future, in our world, in real places, however all the characters are fictitious, and are solely creations of the author. Any scientific or other errors are solely my own.
Jammy fumbled the alarm clock off at 6:00 a.m., squinting as the rising sun lit his room with blazing sunshine. He stretched his lean tall frame, yawned and ran a hand over his half-shaven head, feeling the bristles of the short Mohican stripe running from front to back. His hand travelled past his sleepy eyes, down to his single stripe of facial hair under his lip that ran down to his chin, his sole commitment to retaining some facial hair that had been a quirk for more than ten years now.
"Morning", he mumbled to no-one in particular but himself, his voice sounding hoarse and croaky as it always did in the mornings.
He threw back the quilt, slid out of bed and wandered through to the bathroom, flicking the switch for the power-shower as he entered. After stepping into the shower cubicle he selected one of the nine identical bottles of shower gel and set off his waking-up process for the day.
A scrub, a shave, an emptied bladder and a rinse off, and he was clean and all ready for another soul-sucking day of loneliness, routine and searching.
The thought brought a frown to his brow, an all too common occurrence these last six weeks, and he turned away from the mirror and returned to his bedroom. Opening the wardrobe he selected a pair of dark brown cotton cargo pants, along with a sleeveless olive green hooded top and his favourite pair of walking boots.
Five minutes later, he made his way downstairs, listening for the quiet hum of the generators from the passageway outside. His frown eased slightly as he noted that all seemed to be running fine, and he opened the door to the kitchen.
Row after row of cases of canned and dried food lined one wall, everything from beans in tomato sauce to spaghetti Bolognese, dried couscous to bags of pasta, small sacks of basmati rice to condensed milk.
He sniffed at the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee and fresh bread from the bread-maker, all timed to be ready at 6:10 a.m., and he chuckled. "Quite a routine you're getting for yourself, dude."
Jammy opened one of the refrigerators and took out a pot of peach jam and two sachets of coffee-mate, and in minutes he was eating his breakfast – warm bread and jam, and freshly brewed white coffee.
While he ate, he flicked a DVD on using the remote, and chuckled away watching old episodes of Friends, not because he was a fan of the show, but because he liked the noise of conversation in the house. It wasn't something he heard much nowadays.
Not after M-Bola came along.
Ten minutes or so and a refill of coffee later, Jammy had tidied his kitchen up and was about ready to head out for the day. He walked to the back door of the house, seeing his belt hanging there, the item he disliked and despised because it reminded him of everything he'd lost, but the item he had to wear.
It contained all his survival items.
A folding lock-knife, a small metal hatchet and a few other tools that allowed him access to pretty much anywhere, a first aid kit containing more than the normal small belt pouch required, a can of spray paint, some cable ties, a can of mace and a small air-horn. Everything he needed to continue his pointless existence.
He sighed and belted on his equipment, stuffed a few packets of cigarettes into his pockets and a couple of bars of chocolate, grabbed a bottle of water, and opened the door.
Jammy eyed his vehicle parked in the gated back garden, a Nissan Navara with all the trimmings, a big black pick-up with all the extras, a big cab on the back and a roof-rack on top. He locked the back door and began his morning ritual, re-fuelling the truck from the barrel in the yard using the hand-pump and getting the engine warmed up, booting up the laptop for music in the cab, and checking the oil and water levels.
With that all done he allowed himself his one real vice. Jammy lit up a cigarette, inhaling the dry smoke, and smiling slightly as he felt it enter his system.
"Everyone has to have a habit," he muttered softly, another part of the ritual that he completed every day.
Once that was finished he opened the back gate and drove the truck out onto the street and closed the gates behind him, remembering briefly his former neighbour, Martin, and how he'd be appalled to know that his beautifully tended garden was being used as a car park now.
Jammy grinned slightly as he climbed back into his truck and pulled away to the sounds of U2 singing Beautiful Day.
M-bola came along in early April, the first cases springing up in an alarming huge number of hospitals and clinics all over the world.
Within days the hospitals were swamped, patients lying in corridors dying, exhausted doctors and nurses trying to help, but nothing seemed to work. International panic followed by the end of the week, almost every nation declaring border closures, martial law and doing what they could to battle the sudden anarchy that erupted as people feared for their lives . Within a fortnight Britain had lost an estimated thirty million dead, and hospitals were closing, people were staying home and rumours flew like wildfire. Utilities started to disappear, and people continued to die. Looting became ferocious, and stepping out your own door could have you murdered for nothing more than suspicion of possession of a loaf of bread.
The same thing happened the world over.
Telecommunications failed days later, quickly followed by electricity and gas supplies as workers stopped being able to physically work, or just gave up trying, and complete collapse of the government followed within the third week.
After that it was truly every man, or woman, for themselves.
M-bola continued to spread, and nothing seemed able to stop it, as deaths continued to accelerate, sparing very few. Only one in maybe ten thousand people seemed to be immune to the disease, and no-one had a clue as to why. People speculated that it had something to do with DNA, as where one sibling survived, frequently so did others, but the truth was that no-one knew where it came from, how to treat it, or how to cure it.
For the human race it was too late.
For the survivors... Well, that's a different story altogether.
Many took their own lives through either guilt at having survived, or were unable to bear the loss or loneliness. Many died because they were unable to survive in the modern world, and didn't have the knowledge or the skills to adapt quick enough.
Others just died...
Jammy didn't though. He had to live.
He'd made a promise...
The drive from South Queensferry into Edinburgh was as boring and mundane as ever, a road that Jammy had driven thousands of times over the last ten years. He could never get used to the absence of traffic though, the dual-carriageway being the main route to the capital from Fife and the North of Scotland, a road that was frequently a multi-mile tailback.
He passed through Barnton, Blackhall, and all the nice expensive houses, and ten minutes later he turned onto the west end of Princes Street, stopping for a moment to look around for signs of life.
Jammy raised his binoculars and scanned the street ahead, as it stretched straight for nearly a mile, the castle up on the hill to his right, and all the high street stores facing it on his left.
"Usual," he grunted, seeing yet again an empty street as he pulled away slowly, heading down the deserted road, seeing all the boarded up shops, smashed windows from looters, and occasional bit of debris lying around, before turning right on the Mound, and making his way up to the Edinburgh Castle Esplanade.
He pulled up next to the large caravan parked right in the middle of the Esplanade, and glanced around at the banners he'd tied from the railings on the sides, clearly visible to the surrounding areas.
SURVIVORS. CASTLE ESPLANADE 8 am-10 am DAILY.
"Nothing changes", Jammy grunted, getting out his truck and opening the caravan door, stepping inside and dropping his laptop on the table.
He got the generator going, put the coffee on, and went outside to start the signal fire, a metal drum that he set fire to every day to send up a plume of smoke, hoping to attract any other survivors.
"Futility sucks", he murmured, after his twenty-second straight day here alone.
As he took a seat in the large double-axle caravan he'd liberated from Livingston, his mind drifted back to Cathy, his ex-girlfriend, a bitch of a woman but hornier than anyone he'd ever met. There was nothing she wouldn't try, the one thing that had kept them together for two years, not usually something Jammy was interested in, always considering himself more of a 'make love' kind of guy.
Almost without thinking Jammy accessed a folder on his laptop, opening up some videos and photos of her, video's they'd shot together, and he clicked on one at random.
An image opened of Cathy on her knees sucking Jammy's erection, her cheeks drawn in as her eyes focussed on the camera.
Another click, another image, this time of Cathy from behind, a dildo inserted in her ass, spots and everything, and a wicked grin on her face.
Another click, another image, another memory, the back of Cathy's head buried in his lap as he drove the car, drawing a stir from his own growing penis as he sat in the van.
Jammy opened a video, the player flashing onto the screen. He smiled faintly as his hand drifted to his crotch resting over his growing erection, remembering this video vividly, filming Cathy cooking in the kitchen wearing nothing but an apron, her ample butt showing from the back.
Her laughter came through the speakers drawing him into the memory as she picked up a cucumber and began to simulate a blowjob on it, teasing him. He saw through his memories and the video how naked he was, panning the camera down, showing his cock growing just as it was in the caravan.
Jammy idly caressed his balls as the camera moved closer to Cathy, hearing his own voice offering encouragement, daring her, and then moving closer as she lifted herself onto the worktop and began to slide the cucumber over her pussy with her legs spread wide, apron folded up over her chest.
He slid his hand inside his cargo pants and took hold of his rapidly stiffening cock as he watched Cathy take the cucumber and slide it slowly inside her gaping shaven pussy, his pulse racing as he relived the memory, hearing her moans from the laptop and in his head.
He watched as Cathy began to fuck herself with the long green cucumber and unconsciously mirrored his own hand on the screen as he slipped a finger forward and began to massage her hairy little asshole, hearing her moan as her eyes rolled back in her head. He stroked his cock as he slid the finger inside her to the first knuckle, then the second, remembering the feel of the cucumber plunging in and out of her wet pussy through the thin membrane inside her.
Jammy twisted his wrist in time with the screen, totally absorbed watching and reliving the moment as he began to rotate his finger inside her ass. Removing it he began pouring olive oil all over her pussy and down over her ass, massaging it in, as he stroked his solid erection inside his trousers.
"Hello?"
Jammy scrambled frantically, his hand shooting out of his trousers, his whole body whirling in his seat as he slammed the laptop closed, hearing a female voice outside, an unknown voice.
A stranger.
"Just coming out", he called back, flushed and startled, his voice higher pitched than normal.
Jammy slid out his seat, moved to the caravan door and looked outside, seeing a red Mini Cooper parked next to his pickup, the drivers door open, and a woman standing there looking nervous.
She looked to be a few inches shorter than him with a slim build, dressed in a pair of grey trousers, boots and a black top, with a black jacket over the top, her light brown hair held up in a ponytail. Jammy guessed her age at around thirty, similar to his own.
"Hi", he said, finally stepping down from the steps.
"Are you real?" the girl called back fearfully, a strange question six months ago, but not now, as Jammy harboured the same doubts.
"I am".
"How do I know?" she called back.
Jammy grinned while looking around. "Well you could feel if the fire is hot, but that'd just be crazy. How about we try a handshake?"
With a sudden flush of embarrassment he remembered his still-erect cock and pulled his hooded top a little further down.
The girl watched him carefully, not sure of him at all.
"What's your name?" he asked gently.
"Kirsty," she replied after a moments pause.
"I'm Jammy".
"Jammy?" she asked with a chuckle.
He grinned, knowing that jammy was Scottish slang for lucky. "Long story, but I've got fresh coffee and electricity here if you want to hear it."
At the mention of electricity, Kirsty's face lit up.
"You have electricity?" she asked incredulously.
"Generator," Jammy replied, trying to think of what to do next. "I got hot coffee too, and some fresh bread, if you want to come in."
He smiled as Kirsty paused for a second, then made up her mind and closed her car door.
"Sure, that'd be great."
Jammy turned inside the caravan, smiling for the first time in a long time.
"Sure would be great to have some company".
Kirsty's tale was one of loss and struggle. She'd lost her husband, both her children and all the rest of her family and she'd struggled with the guilt of why she survived and they didn't. She'd buried them in her own back garden, the hospitals already shut down, and her ordeal was visible in the drawn circles under her eyes and the grease in her hair.
Jammy had told his own tale while they drank hot coffee and ate hot soup with crusty bread, the first hot food Kirsty had in weeks. He told how he lived alone, having split from Cathy six months ago, and how his father, his last remaining relative had got sick, how he'd brought him home and tried to help him, and how he ultimately failed.
He told Kirsty about one of the last conversations he had with his father, how the old man had made him promise to not just die, not just survive, but to rebuild society from the ashes of the old.
"'Rise like the phoenix from the ashes', he told me, and I promised to do what I could," he explained.
"So this is why you're here every day?"
He nodded. "And why I've got supplies, electricity, gas, petrol, and hot running water."
Kirsty's breath caught in her throat. "You have hot running water?" she breathed, her eyes full of wonder.
Jammy nodded, and then grinned. "Desperate for a shower, huh?"
Kirsty's grin answered the question without words. "Can I?"
"Sure."
Jammy got back into his Navara and Kirsty got in her Mini and they drove back to South Queensferry where Jammy opened the gates and they parked up and entered the house.
"Wow!" was all Kirsty could say on seeing the stacks of food, the working combi-boiler, all the appliances in the kitchen, and the freezers next door full of food.
She grinned when she got to the bathroom and after Jammy explained how the shower worked he gave her some towels and clean clothes of his own. He left her to it and went downstairs to refuel her car.
It was an hour before Kirsty came back from the bathroom.
"I hope you don't mind, but I used your razor," she grinned. "I hate having hairy legs, and once I started getting clean... well."
Jammy chuckled. "No problem. I bet it feels good to just be clean."
"Oh, you have no idea."
Jammy looked Kirsty over, admiring the swell of her breasts as she moved around the room, noticing her lovely pear-shaped ass, her smooth confident walk. He could almost feel his cock twitching in his pants.
"So what now, Jammy?" Kirsty asked, interrupting his musing.
He jerked his eyes away quickly.
"I dunno. You fancy doing some shopping?" he chuckled.
Kirsty laughed, a merry little chuckle that made Jammy smile.
He could tell that spending time with Kirsty was going to be more and more appealing...
* * * * *
(end of chapter 1)
* * * * *
I'm relatively new to posting on the site, but I've been writing for a while, and at the end of July I started posting a re-write of a series I'd been working on for a while called the "The Phoenix Promise", a kind of post-armageddon survivors story, using sex as a major theme.
The first four chapters are up on the site, and I'm just editing the fifth just now, and I've been really pleased with the response I've received, particularly as this is the first time I've ever let anyone else read any of my work.
However, everyone should live in a state of continuous improvement, and I've been thoroughly impressed with the level of feedback given in this forum.
So.....
If any of you could spare a little time to share your thoughts on my story so far, I'd greatly appreciate it. All comments welcome.... even if it's to say 'You're Shite'
Kind regards,
JJ
Chapter One:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=377878
Chapter Two:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=378252
Chapter Three:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=378851
Chapter Four:
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=379513
* * * * *
(First Chapter, in blue, added by moderator)
* * * * *
The Phoenix Promise Ch. 01
by JammyJimmy©
This story takes place at some time in the near future, in our world, in real places, however all the characters are fictitious, and are solely creations of the author. Any scientific or other errors are solely my own.
Jammy fumbled the alarm clock off at 6:00 a.m., squinting as the rising sun lit his room with blazing sunshine. He stretched his lean tall frame, yawned and ran a hand over his half-shaven head, feeling the bristles of the short Mohican stripe running from front to back. His hand travelled past his sleepy eyes, down to his single stripe of facial hair under his lip that ran down to his chin, his sole commitment to retaining some facial hair that had been a quirk for more than ten years now.
"Morning", he mumbled to no-one in particular but himself, his voice sounding hoarse and croaky as it always did in the mornings.
He threw back the quilt, slid out of bed and wandered through to the bathroom, flicking the switch for the power-shower as he entered. After stepping into the shower cubicle he selected one of the nine identical bottles of shower gel and set off his waking-up process for the day.
A scrub, a shave, an emptied bladder and a rinse off, and he was clean and all ready for another soul-sucking day of loneliness, routine and searching.
The thought brought a frown to his brow, an all too common occurrence these last six weeks, and he turned away from the mirror and returned to his bedroom. Opening the wardrobe he selected a pair of dark brown cotton cargo pants, along with a sleeveless olive green hooded top and his favourite pair of walking boots.
Five minutes later, he made his way downstairs, listening for the quiet hum of the generators from the passageway outside. His frown eased slightly as he noted that all seemed to be running fine, and he opened the door to the kitchen.
Row after row of cases of canned and dried food lined one wall, everything from beans in tomato sauce to spaghetti Bolognese, dried couscous to bags of pasta, small sacks of basmati rice to condensed milk.
He sniffed at the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee and fresh bread from the bread-maker, all timed to be ready at 6:10 a.m., and he chuckled. "Quite a routine you're getting for yourself, dude."
Jammy opened one of the refrigerators and took out a pot of peach jam and two sachets of coffee-mate, and in minutes he was eating his breakfast – warm bread and jam, and freshly brewed white coffee.
While he ate, he flicked a DVD on using the remote, and chuckled away watching old episodes of Friends, not because he was a fan of the show, but because he liked the noise of conversation in the house. It wasn't something he heard much nowadays.
Not after M-Bola came along.
Ten minutes or so and a refill of coffee later, Jammy had tidied his kitchen up and was about ready to head out for the day. He walked to the back door of the house, seeing his belt hanging there, the item he disliked and despised because it reminded him of everything he'd lost, but the item he had to wear.
It contained all his survival items.
A folding lock-knife, a small metal hatchet and a few other tools that allowed him access to pretty much anywhere, a first aid kit containing more than the normal small belt pouch required, a can of spray paint, some cable ties, a can of mace and a small air-horn. Everything he needed to continue his pointless existence.
He sighed and belted on his equipment, stuffed a few packets of cigarettes into his pockets and a couple of bars of chocolate, grabbed a bottle of water, and opened the door.
Jammy eyed his vehicle parked in the gated back garden, a Nissan Navara with all the trimmings, a big black pick-up with all the extras, a big cab on the back and a roof-rack on top. He locked the back door and began his morning ritual, re-fuelling the truck from the barrel in the yard using the hand-pump and getting the engine warmed up, booting up the laptop for music in the cab, and checking the oil and water levels.
With that all done he allowed himself his one real vice. Jammy lit up a cigarette, inhaling the dry smoke, and smiling slightly as he felt it enter his system.
"Everyone has to have a habit," he muttered softly, another part of the ritual that he completed every day.
Once that was finished he opened the back gate and drove the truck out onto the street and closed the gates behind him, remembering briefly his former neighbour, Martin, and how he'd be appalled to know that his beautifully tended garden was being used as a car park now.
Jammy grinned slightly as he climbed back into his truck and pulled away to the sounds of U2 singing Beautiful Day.
M-bola came along in early April, the first cases springing up in an alarming huge number of hospitals and clinics all over the world.
Within days the hospitals were swamped, patients lying in corridors dying, exhausted doctors and nurses trying to help, but nothing seemed to work. International panic followed by the end of the week, almost every nation declaring border closures, martial law and doing what they could to battle the sudden anarchy that erupted as people feared for their lives . Within a fortnight Britain had lost an estimated thirty million dead, and hospitals were closing, people were staying home and rumours flew like wildfire. Utilities started to disappear, and people continued to die. Looting became ferocious, and stepping out your own door could have you murdered for nothing more than suspicion of possession of a loaf of bread.
The same thing happened the world over.
Telecommunications failed days later, quickly followed by electricity and gas supplies as workers stopped being able to physically work, or just gave up trying, and complete collapse of the government followed within the third week.
After that it was truly every man, or woman, for themselves.
M-bola continued to spread, and nothing seemed able to stop it, as deaths continued to accelerate, sparing very few. Only one in maybe ten thousand people seemed to be immune to the disease, and no-one had a clue as to why. People speculated that it had something to do with DNA, as where one sibling survived, frequently so did others, but the truth was that no-one knew where it came from, how to treat it, or how to cure it.
For the human race it was too late.
For the survivors... Well, that's a different story altogether.
Many took their own lives through either guilt at having survived, or were unable to bear the loss or loneliness. Many died because they were unable to survive in the modern world, and didn't have the knowledge or the skills to adapt quick enough.
Others just died...
Jammy didn't though. He had to live.
He'd made a promise...
The drive from South Queensferry into Edinburgh was as boring and mundane as ever, a road that Jammy had driven thousands of times over the last ten years. He could never get used to the absence of traffic though, the dual-carriageway being the main route to the capital from Fife and the North of Scotland, a road that was frequently a multi-mile tailback.
He passed through Barnton, Blackhall, and all the nice expensive houses, and ten minutes later he turned onto the west end of Princes Street, stopping for a moment to look around for signs of life.
Jammy raised his binoculars and scanned the street ahead, as it stretched straight for nearly a mile, the castle up on the hill to his right, and all the high street stores facing it on his left.
"Usual," he grunted, seeing yet again an empty street as he pulled away slowly, heading down the deserted road, seeing all the boarded up shops, smashed windows from looters, and occasional bit of debris lying around, before turning right on the Mound, and making his way up to the Edinburgh Castle Esplanade.
He pulled up next to the large caravan parked right in the middle of the Esplanade, and glanced around at the banners he'd tied from the railings on the sides, clearly visible to the surrounding areas.
SURVIVORS. CASTLE ESPLANADE 8 am-10 am DAILY.
"Nothing changes", Jammy grunted, getting out his truck and opening the caravan door, stepping inside and dropping his laptop on the table.
He got the generator going, put the coffee on, and went outside to start the signal fire, a metal drum that he set fire to every day to send up a plume of smoke, hoping to attract any other survivors.
"Futility sucks", he murmured, after his twenty-second straight day here alone.
As he took a seat in the large double-axle caravan he'd liberated from Livingston, his mind drifted back to Cathy, his ex-girlfriend, a bitch of a woman but hornier than anyone he'd ever met. There was nothing she wouldn't try, the one thing that had kept them together for two years, not usually something Jammy was interested in, always considering himself more of a 'make love' kind of guy.
Almost without thinking Jammy accessed a folder on his laptop, opening up some videos and photos of her, video's they'd shot together, and he clicked on one at random.
An image opened of Cathy on her knees sucking Jammy's erection, her cheeks drawn in as her eyes focussed on the camera.
Another click, another image, this time of Cathy from behind, a dildo inserted in her ass, spots and everything, and a wicked grin on her face.
Another click, another image, another memory, the back of Cathy's head buried in his lap as he drove the car, drawing a stir from his own growing penis as he sat in the van.
Jammy opened a video, the player flashing onto the screen. He smiled faintly as his hand drifted to his crotch resting over his growing erection, remembering this video vividly, filming Cathy cooking in the kitchen wearing nothing but an apron, her ample butt showing from the back.
Her laughter came through the speakers drawing him into the memory as she picked up a cucumber and began to simulate a blowjob on it, teasing him. He saw through his memories and the video how naked he was, panning the camera down, showing his cock growing just as it was in the caravan.
Jammy idly caressed his balls as the camera moved closer to Cathy, hearing his own voice offering encouragement, daring her, and then moving closer as she lifted herself onto the worktop and began to slide the cucumber over her pussy with her legs spread wide, apron folded up over her chest.
He slid his hand inside his cargo pants and took hold of his rapidly stiffening cock as he watched Cathy take the cucumber and slide it slowly inside her gaping shaven pussy, his pulse racing as he relived the memory, hearing her moans from the laptop and in his head.
He watched as Cathy began to fuck herself with the long green cucumber and unconsciously mirrored his own hand on the screen as he slipped a finger forward and began to massage her hairy little asshole, hearing her moan as her eyes rolled back in her head. He stroked his cock as he slid the finger inside her to the first knuckle, then the second, remembering the feel of the cucumber plunging in and out of her wet pussy through the thin membrane inside her.
Jammy twisted his wrist in time with the screen, totally absorbed watching and reliving the moment as he began to rotate his finger inside her ass. Removing it he began pouring olive oil all over her pussy and down over her ass, massaging it in, as he stroked his solid erection inside his trousers.
"Hello?"
Jammy scrambled frantically, his hand shooting out of his trousers, his whole body whirling in his seat as he slammed the laptop closed, hearing a female voice outside, an unknown voice.
A stranger.
"Just coming out", he called back, flushed and startled, his voice higher pitched than normal.
Jammy slid out his seat, moved to the caravan door and looked outside, seeing a red Mini Cooper parked next to his pickup, the drivers door open, and a woman standing there looking nervous.
She looked to be a few inches shorter than him with a slim build, dressed in a pair of grey trousers, boots and a black top, with a black jacket over the top, her light brown hair held up in a ponytail. Jammy guessed her age at around thirty, similar to his own.
"Hi", he said, finally stepping down from the steps.
"Are you real?" the girl called back fearfully, a strange question six months ago, but not now, as Jammy harboured the same doubts.
"I am".
"How do I know?" she called back.
Jammy grinned while looking around. "Well you could feel if the fire is hot, but that'd just be crazy. How about we try a handshake?"
With a sudden flush of embarrassment he remembered his still-erect cock and pulled his hooded top a little further down.
The girl watched him carefully, not sure of him at all.
"What's your name?" he asked gently.
"Kirsty," she replied after a moments pause.
"I'm Jammy".
"Jammy?" she asked with a chuckle.
He grinned, knowing that jammy was Scottish slang for lucky. "Long story, but I've got fresh coffee and electricity here if you want to hear it."
At the mention of electricity, Kirsty's face lit up.
"You have electricity?" she asked incredulously.
"Generator," Jammy replied, trying to think of what to do next. "I got hot coffee too, and some fresh bread, if you want to come in."
He smiled as Kirsty paused for a second, then made up her mind and closed her car door.
"Sure, that'd be great."
Jammy turned inside the caravan, smiling for the first time in a long time.
"Sure would be great to have some company".
Kirsty's tale was one of loss and struggle. She'd lost her husband, both her children and all the rest of her family and she'd struggled with the guilt of why she survived and they didn't. She'd buried them in her own back garden, the hospitals already shut down, and her ordeal was visible in the drawn circles under her eyes and the grease in her hair.
Jammy had told his own tale while they drank hot coffee and ate hot soup with crusty bread, the first hot food Kirsty had in weeks. He told how he lived alone, having split from Cathy six months ago, and how his father, his last remaining relative had got sick, how he'd brought him home and tried to help him, and how he ultimately failed.
He told Kirsty about one of the last conversations he had with his father, how the old man had made him promise to not just die, not just survive, but to rebuild society from the ashes of the old.
"'Rise like the phoenix from the ashes', he told me, and I promised to do what I could," he explained.
"So this is why you're here every day?"
He nodded. "And why I've got supplies, electricity, gas, petrol, and hot running water."
Kirsty's breath caught in her throat. "You have hot running water?" she breathed, her eyes full of wonder.
Jammy nodded, and then grinned. "Desperate for a shower, huh?"
Kirsty's grin answered the question without words. "Can I?"
"Sure."
Jammy got back into his Navara and Kirsty got in her Mini and they drove back to South Queensferry where Jammy opened the gates and they parked up and entered the house.
"Wow!" was all Kirsty could say on seeing the stacks of food, the working combi-boiler, all the appliances in the kitchen, and the freezers next door full of food.
She grinned when she got to the bathroom and after Jammy explained how the shower worked he gave her some towels and clean clothes of his own. He left her to it and went downstairs to refuel her car.
It was an hour before Kirsty came back from the bathroom.
"I hope you don't mind, but I used your razor," she grinned. "I hate having hairy legs, and once I started getting clean... well."
Jammy chuckled. "No problem. I bet it feels good to just be clean."
"Oh, you have no idea."
Jammy looked Kirsty over, admiring the swell of her breasts as she moved around the room, noticing her lovely pear-shaped ass, her smooth confident walk. He could almost feel his cock twitching in his pants.
"So what now, Jammy?" Kirsty asked, interrupting his musing.
He jerked his eyes away quickly.
"I dunno. You fancy doing some shopping?" he chuckled.
Kirsty laughed, a merry little chuckle that made Jammy smile.
He could tell that spending time with Kirsty was going to be more and more appealing...
* * * * *
(end of chapter 1)
* * * * *
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