The Island by Paco Andante Word count: 4042 Genre: Fantasy Required prompt: "Trapped on a mysterious island" Author’s Preamble: When first I read the prompt list and saw "Trapped on a mysterious island," the first thing that entered my mind was Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Land That Time Forgot. I considered writing a take-off on that, but the setup, with U-boats and all, was daunting. So here is my January submission, a fantasy with neither elf nor goblin. May you enjoy it nevertheless. I don’t know how I could have been so foolish. I saw the storm coming, and like a fool, I headed for the island, the only land in sight in the great emptiness of the Tropical South Pacific. Although my GPS showed no island nearby, I dismissed the oddity of that. Perhaps, I thought, the lightning in the storm had thrown the GPS off, or something. Besides, there it was, in clear sight. To my delight, it held the prospect of a harbor and I thought it probably was a safe harbor. A narrow inlet promised to lead to a bay shut off from the ocean, accessible only by that means. It looked to me like an ideal place to wait out the storm sheltered from the worst of the winds. I had been on what was a lifelong ambition of mine; to circumnavigate the globe, single-handed, in a small sailing vessel. My father passed away and left me a small sum, which enabled me to take a year’s sabbatical and to purchase a sailing craft. I had outfitted her with adequate stores and all the necessities; electronic devices to navigate and to communicate, batteries that were recharged by a small windmill on the mast and an auto sailor to guide the boat while I slept. I negotiated the entrance to the bay. It proved to be a lagoon hemmed in by cliffs on one side and on the opposite side by a sandy beach that sloped up sharply. It looked safe, so I resolved to shelter from the impending storm in the lagoon. So I headed for the beach, and when near enough, I dropped the sails and coasted in. While here, I thought, why waste the time of the stop? Despite the storm, I might find fresh water to refill my supplies, and possibly even some tropical fruits to add to my larder. So, I moored the boat, waded the shallows to the beach and started to climb. It never occurred to me to wonder why the beach rose so steeply from the waterline, or why the sand ascended so far. I was to learn very soon. I was nearly to the top when the wind and the rain came, and with it came the storm surge. The lower air pressure of the storm caused the sea to rise above the normal, as it usually does, and the sea rushed into the lagoon. I had expected this, and consequently left slack in the anchor line so the boat would not be swamped and drawn under the rising surface. But I hadn’t expected the water to surge so high! Nor did I anticipate that the water of the lagoon would swirl! Evidently, in coming through the cut, which was angled somewhat, the sea water was funneled, causing the water of the bay not only to rise higher than the sea itself, but to circulate rapidly as well. Horrified and helpless, I watched as my boat strained at the anchor line, and even begin to tip as that line grew taught. I ran back down the sand, though I have no idea what I could have done to prevent disaster. To my relief, I watched the boat break free. Perhaps the anchor had let loose or the line had parted, I couldn’t tell which. My boat began to go around the lagoon with the swirling waters. I thought that, when the storm ended and things returned to normal, I could swim out to the craft and all would be well. And, for a time, it seemed to be so. Soaked and dripping water in the torrential rain, my clothes whipping about me in the wind, I stood powerlessly watching as my boat, unmanned and borne by the whirling waters of the lagoon, went round and round. On its third circuit, to my utmost horror, the waters bore my little craft directly onto the rocks of the cliffs! Screaming in futility, I watched as my boat was rendered a useless mass of splintered fiberglass. Its precious cargo of supplies, and more importantly the radios by which I might have sent word of my plight and called for rescue, plunged in ruin to the deep bottom on the far side of the lagoon! Even were I able to dive and retrieve the radios, even if they worked, it would be useless without power, and the batteries were irretrievably ruined by the seawater. And, to make matters worse, an errant gust of wind tore my glasses from my face to dash them against a rock. I could hardly see. I must admit that I sat on that beach crying, overwhelmed by the horror of my plight. I sat there long after the storm had passed on to vent its fury elsewhere. I had known, of course, that my adventure would be dangerous, but never had I imagined this catastrophe. I was stranded! No one waited for me; no one knew of my predicament. I would not be missed for a long time. Even if a ship were to hove into view, I had not even a flare to signal with! And how could I see, nearsighted and without glasses? At length, however, I gathered my wits and realized that I had to find or make some shelter before the fall of night. No knight in shining armor would come to rescue me. And who knew what sort of predators roamed the jungle after dark. So I stood and realized that I could see perfectly! Miraculously, my myopia was gone. The lowering sun reminded me that I had no time to marvel at that event. Armed only with the knife that hung in its sheath at my side, I set out to explore the island, hoping that, after all, there would be some outpost of civilization here, forgetting that the island did not show on my charts. My clothing soon dried, since the passing of the storm left a warm, dry breeze and sunshine, as it often does in the tropics. The way was not easy, and I needed my knife to cut my way through the brush. I wished for a machete, but of course I had none. I found fresh water in a small pool fed by a thin waterfall whose source was no doubt on the mountain above me. I was able, here, to slake my thirst. The sun was setting when I topped the ridge above the beach. Ahead and below me was a lush green valley, above me was the mountain. Behind me I could see the lagoon and beyond it the sea. No ship, no trace of smoke or other sign of a man-made object, no evidence of civilization, could be seen in any direction. I felt more alone than I had at any time in my solitary journey across the wide ocean. Painfully aware of the impending darkness and my vulnerability, I searched in earnest for some means of creating a shelter. I thought to make a lean-to against a rock or cliff-face, a perch in a tree perhaps, something to keep me from a hungry animal’s jaws in the night. I considered returning to the pool under the waterfall, the cliff over which it spilled would serve very well for a makeshift lean-to. But I rejected the idea - a night predator would be drawn to the water. So I elected to climb a tree and make a platform on which to sleep. I selected a tree whose bole was of a convenient size for climbing, and that had a pair of adjacent limbs which would provide a base for a platform, far enough above ground to be safe. I was considering how best to proceed to make a platform when a man appeared out of the brush. He was tall, well-built and tanned. He was dressed in a long loincloth that covered most of his legs, and he wore what appeared to be home-made boots or high moccasins. His chest, which was broad and muscular, was bare but for a necklace of shells. He carried a spear. He wore a short beard and his long hair was brown as were his large eyes. He was, in a word, a hunk! Overjoyed at the sight of another human being, I nevertheless experienced fear - would this man be friendly? Is he one of a tribe, and will they be friendly? Would he rape me? My knife was no match for his spear. I was without a weapon that would matter! I did not fear for my virginity - that had, after all, been lost years before in a back-seat adventure as a teenager. But to be raped? Before I could react in any way but surprise, the man peered up into the tree I had selected and uttered something in a musically liquid language. It was completely incomprehensible to me, but clearly he was asking what I was doing. I answered him in English, but he merely shook his head, not understanding. I mimed climbing the tree and, as best I could, mimed going to sleep. He nodded, which I took to mean that he understood. Showing no emotion whatever and accompanied by a string of that same liquid speech, he motioned for me to follow, and he turned back into the brush. I hesitated, not sure of his intentions, and he looked back and repeated the motions and his words. I followed him. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was the first shadow of the mysterious power of coercion that he proved to have over me, or perhaps it was the magic of the island, I don’t know. But I followed, into the brush, through brier and bramble. Although the vegetation seemed not to touch him at all, (another mystery!) by the time we reached the clearing my clothes were a torn and tattered mess, hanging in shreds from my body. Granted, they were suited for life sailing a boat, not for beating my way through a jungle. In any case, we arrived at a clearing - actually a nearly flat rock outcropping - and in that clearing was a hut and the embers of a fire in a fire-pit. The waning post-sundown light illuminated the scene. Yet, I perceived that the hut was sturdily built, with a framework of bamboo and thick thatching of some kind of grass or long-leaved plant. Looking inside, I saw that It was sparsely furnished, a rough table of sorts, some sort of cabinet and a bed of dry hay or thatching similar to that which covered the hut, covered in some material being the only visible fixtures. He grunted with obvious dissatisfaction at the dying state of the embers in the fire-pit. He fetched several logs from under a cover where they had been kept dry during the rain. He carefully placed them on the embers and fanned a fire into life. Then he went into the hut to reappear a moment later with fruits, most of which I didn’t recognize, and two large seashells filled with some kind of pudding-like material. He handed one of the shells to me, speaking more of that musical language, and piled the fruits on the ground between us. He sat cross-legged on the ground and ate the pudding from the seashell with his fingers, indicating that I should do the same. I was hungry. I had not eaten since my late breakfast on the boat, so I followed his example. The pudding was not unpleasant, being slightly sweet and sour to the taste. Afterward, I followed his example by eating a fruit that was similar to a mango. During the meal, my host introduced himself. Not with the coarse “Me Tarzan, you Jane,” chest-pounding gestures I had expected, but with a gentle pointing of a finger at himself and a repeated utterance of “Tané,” followed by a palm-up inquisitive gesture in my direction. I responded with “Amelia.” After the meal I must have fallen asleep, for I awoke later inside the hut, on the covered straw pallet. I don’t remember going in, so Tané must have carried me. The first thing I noticed was that I was naked. I was startled at that, and sat up. That was when I saw Tané. He was also naked, seated at the foot of the bed, quietly regarding me by the light of the moon. He didn’t say a word or do anything, he just sat there in that cross-legged way, with his hands on his knees. But even in the dim moonlight coming into the hut I could see that he had a respectably thick and throbbing erection. I don’t know what came over me. Normally, I would have been shocked and horrified to be naked before a man, especially one I had only known for a few hours, and one that was also naked. Not to mention the unmistakable evidence of his arousal jutting up and pointing at me!, But, oddly, it seemed perfectly normal at the time, and not in the least threatening to me. He muttered something in that incomprehensible musical language, smiled and reached out to fondle one of my exposed breasts. Rather than shrink away from him, which I would have expected myself to do, I actually leaned in to his touch! I found myself enjoying the attention that he lavished upon my chest! He grunted, an obvious sound of appreciation. If that was strange, the thing I did next I truly do not understand. Perhaps it was due to the magic of this island, an island that should not exist, that was not on the charts, I do not know. But it was wholly out of character for me. I reached out and took hold of his rampant member! Despite any misgivings I may have had- or not- it felt good! A rush of warmth coursed through my body and I felt a certain wetness growing- you know what I mean. It was like my hand started to do things of its own volition, and I found myself caressing and jacking his pole. Of course, he wasn’t really idle, either. Both his hands were now exploring and massaging my breasts, running over the roundness of them, rubbing the nipples and making them extend and become hard. That wetness and the warmth in my loins grew even more intense. I moved, then, not away from him, but to get closer. I knelt between his knees. He smiled and his hands roved across my back and then down, cupping my bottom-cheeks and massaging them as he had my breasts. At the same time he moved his head forward and began kissing my breasts, licking the by-now hard and protruding points of my nipples. He did not hurry at all, but rather took a great deal of time, languorously ministering to my body. I could smell the odor of my own arousal, and I am sure he could as well. I felt a trickle run down the inside of my right thigh as my vagina overflowed. All this time, my hand had been moving slowly on his member, drawing back the foreskin and fingering the corona. My left hand went to join the right in his crotch; went to fondle the sack of his scrotum, gently pulling the spheres within it. I don’t know what came over me. I seem to have been caught up in some kind of wild desire. I had only once done the next thing for a man, and then only because he wanted it. But now, I wanted to do this thing for myself, for my own enjoyment, so I pushed his head away from my chest and bent down to take his erection in my mouth. He gasped. For a moment his hands forgot to knead my rump. One of his hands came around to caress my cheek as it bobbed up and down in his lap. I licked his shaft, I swirled my tongue over the corona. Swallowing, I pressed my nose against the hairs of his crotch, the head bumping against my throat. I pushed the foreskin back with my lips and I licked the exposed head while holding it in my mouth. Again and again, I bobbed my head on his member. He groaned. I teased the underside of the head with my tongue. I twirled my tongue over the whole of it. I captured it in my mouth and sunk onto it. Once again I felt it collide with the back of my mouth, the hairs of his pubis tickling my nose. Again and again, I swirled my tongue over the corona. He began to tremble. With a word in his language, he raised my head from his lap. Effortlessly, he lifted me up, only to put me down on my back. He parted my legs and sat on his knees and rump for a moment, gazing at me- at my vulva, actually. I do not shave myself “down there,” but I keep myself trimmed closely, for I don’t want to show hair in a bathing suit. So his view of me in the full moonlight was unobstructed and clear, for the moon had risen in the sky and its beams fell directly on me. Then he lowered his head between my outspread legs and began to lick. How can I tell of the waves of pleasure that coursed through my core? He found all the right places with his lips and tongue. His hands were not idle either, for he reached up and played with my breasts and nipples. He caught my inner lips with his mouth and teased them. He ran his tongue through the vestibule and plunged it into the depths of my cavern. He worked me like one might work a piece of art, slowly and thoroughly. Repeatedly, he licked up one side of my vulva, then down the other side. He teased at my clitoris, never quite touching the nubbin itself, but running around it and driving me out of my mind, driving my up the mountain of arousal. I thought I was already transported, but then he captured my clitoris with his lips and flicked the tip of his tongue over it. With a little cry of ecstasy, I came. My legs trembled, my belly muscles fluttered and my hands flopped about aimlessly. Never had I come so hard before! The orgasm seemed to rush onto and into me, and it stayed, renewed with each flick of his tongue. When I finally came down to earth, he chuckled, but kept gently working me. I was utterly spent; I didn’t think I could climb that peak again, and I tried to dissuade him from continuing, but feebly. I was still on cloud nine and I didn’t realize that he was letting me down gently. Then he rose to his knees and lifted my legs onto his shoulders as he moved in closer. His erection stood gleaming between us, pointing directly at my belly. I did not find it frightening or even intimidating, but welcomed it. Slowly, he lowered his body toward mine and my hands went to his shaft and guided it to the entrance to my waiting core. The head nestled between my folds. He thrust into me. I almost came again, just from being suddenly filled up. And fill me he did! I felt his pubic bone crushed against mine as the corona of that pole of his pressed into my depths, a welcome invasion of thickness and warmth within me. I rolled my hips forward to have even more of him in me. He stayed quiet a moment, deeply ensconced in my core, and I felt his penis jump in there. My vagina responded by clamping down on him. For a time, we traded these sensations. Then he began to move. Slowly, he withdrew almost all the way, only to plunge deeply again. And again. And once more. I moaned. It felt like fire, a fire that started in my pelvis, but soon filled my whole body. As he continued to piston into me, he lowered his head to my breasts. Though they were squeezed between my knees, my ankles still behind his head, he reached in and licked them, kissed them, teasing the milk-white flesh and the pink-brown areolas and the rock-hard nipples. And all the while he plundered me, over and over, plundered in the most delicious way. Sweat began to roll off me, and sweat dripped from him onto me, but I needed no sweat to lubricate my tunnel. It was wetter than I had ever known it before. A river seemed to be flowing from my vulva and down between my butt-cheeks. My hands grabbed his neck and I moaned again. Then I was thrashing about as I plunged into another massive orgasm. I was still trembling with aftershocks when he rose off me and lifted me into his lap. My legs automatically straddled his waist and my arms went around his neck. He cupped my behind in his hands and lifted me, then let me down onto his pole and entered me again. The shock of his entry was nearly as great as it had been the first time, How deep into me he penetrated! Without thinking, I rocked on him, his hard penis lodged deep in me. I wrapped my legs around him. His thighs held me up as I rocked. He rubbed my back, pressing me close to him. I arched my back in pleasure and his mouth, now at the right elevation, began to enfold my breasts, first one then the other. My nipples were on fire from his sucking them. His other hand kneaded my buttocks. I rocked and rocked. The motion moved us only about an inch or so, but what a delightful inch! The sensations were other-worldly. I climbed once more toward the pinnacle of orgasm. I hardly noticed that he began to breath sharply, his breath mimicking mine. My rocking grew faster as did my breaths, and his hands on my back and bottom urged me to go faster. I was almost there when his hand on my butt went between my cheeks and a wet finger went into my anus. My eyes rolled up in my head and I came. I barely felt his spasms, barely felt him flood me with his seed. His penis leaped in me as he spurted, and its jumping was matched by the clenching of my my insides; my tunnel. We clasped each other tightly as we came together. When we cooled, we collapsed, exhausted. Gradually we unwound our entwined bodies and lay down together like spoons. I fell asleep cradled in his arms. Morning came, and I awoke. At first I thought I was still on my boat and that I had to check my position. But then I remembered Tané and the island and the night’s activity. The sun was shining into the hut, but Tané was not to be seen. I found my tattered clothes and dismissed them as useless, went outside and made my toilet, still naked, but in my boat shoes. I looked around. Tané had left me some more of the pudding and some fruits, which I ate. I was nearly done eating when he reappeared, dropped the firewood he had gathered and smiled as he came toward me. He was wearing the long loincloth again, and as I watched, it rose significantly in front. I smiled and reached out to remove it. --- My old life is all but forgotten. If it is Tané or the magic of this island, I do not know, nor do I care. His appetite and his stamina are a match for what I have discovered to be mine. He has taught me to enjoy things I would have been horrified at before. I have learned a little of Tané’s language and he has learned a little of English. But we need little of speech. I no longer look for smoke trails or sails on the far horizon, or even other people on this island. All I want or need is here, here on this magical island with him.