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.