Amazonia [ M/F M/f F/F ] - 2 of 2

Story #5
by Tom Bombadil  (c) Apr 1997

Disclaimer:  All the standard rules apply.  If you are offended 
by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is 
illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are 
under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you 
might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this 
text from your computer.

This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions 
described by me coming straight out of my imagination.  As a work of 
fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or 
actions described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in 
my life, or known to me in the lives of any of my friends or 
relatives.

You've been warned.

I give permission for anyone to archive or share this story.

********************************************************************

The next morning started with what he assumed was becoming normal 
for the women - Raquel was working on inserting his member into 
herself.  For the first time since the crash, he was able to think 
with a clear mind.  He stopped the young lady, avoiding a repeat of 
the rape performed a few days prior by laying her down beside him 
and engaging in some caressing foreplay.

Only with difficulty could he recall specific events from the past 
few days.  The sex, while nice, had seemed dreamlike, unreal, as 
though it weren't really happening to him.  The rest was a blur of 
images.

It was with a newfound sense of self, some determination, and not 
a little regret, that Tom decided he had to see if there were any 
civilized folk on the island.  "People will be missing me, people 
will be worrying.  I have to make the attempt."  He justified in 
his own mind his reasons for escaping from what he saw as gentle 
captivity.

Tom decided that something they'd been feeding him had to be 
drugged.  It was the only possibly reason, he thought, for his 
several days of mental fog.  He looked around to see what was 
happening, and to see if there was any possibility of escape.  

Elizabet was preparing breakfast - the usual - and was ignoring the 
activities at his end of the hut.  Marilyn was laying there, just 
watching, with half-lidded eyes, as though she were still mostly 
asleep.  

Getting up, he made the motions for having to visit the latrine.  
Raquel tipped her head, Marilyn made no overt gestures or noises, 
and the older woman simply ignored him.  After climbing into his 
jeans, he went to where he'd indicated, did his morning business, 
then, with a final look around to see if he was being watched, he 
simply walked off into the trees.

Heading south at what he considered a fairly rapid pace, he 
followed the beach line.  There, the foliage was more open, the 
ground was firmer than beach sand, and there was some cover from 
spying eyes.  He also liked the fact that the jungle was no more 
than a few steps away.  "Distance", he thought, "then invisibility, 
then think about everything else."

Tom had never in his life been in what could be called prime 
physical shape.  He had been gifted with a firm, decently muscled 
body by the genetic lottery, so he'd never had to work at staying 
good looking.  It now showed.  After surviving a near-fatal spill 
in the ocean, after doing very little for more than a week, after 
suddenly getting up and exerting himself with no breakfast and no 
supper the previous night, he exhausted himself within the hour.
He had to stop and lean against a tree for a few minutes to catch 
his breath before he could force himself to continue.

Ten more minutes stumbling walk found him a small, clear, sweet 
stream.  A long drink refreshed him somewhat, bringing back a little 
of his flagging energy.  It also reminded him that he was hungry.

There were no banana trees right there waiting for him, no date 
trees, and no ripe berries or other fruit to be found.  Only the 
ubiquitous coconut could be seen, and he had neither the strength 
nor the skill to harvest those.  Walking upstream a few dozen yards, 
he found a pool.  In it were fish.  He knew that because he saw 
their shadowy forms darting away from him under the water.

All the want in the world didn't help.  He couldn't catch them with 
his bare hands, and they didn't oblige him by jumping out of the 
water and landing at his feet.  An hour later, with his stomach  
complaining loudly, he slowly came to realize that running away 
before breakfast might not have been such a good idea, even though 
the food might have been laced with something.

Three hours later, two of them spent stumbling farther south along 
the beach line, he came to realize that finding lunch could be even 
more difficult than finding breakfast.  He was at another of those 
small streams, trying to catch a fish in what turned out to be a 
rather large and deep pond.  They weren't cooperating any better 
than their brethren had in the first pond.

Tom gave up after doing a face plant in the water.  The fish he'd 
been after, small even by his standards, was somewhere behind him, 
back in the deeper water, and he could almost hear it laughing its 
finny little head off.

During his trek, he'd seen plenty of birds - way up in the trees.  
He'd seen a few bird's nests - way up in the trees.  He'd seen what
could have been edible fruit.  It was - you guessed it - way up in 
the trees.  He'd ignored the few lizards that had crossed his 
trail.  Nothing else edible, other than seaweed, seemed to be in 
evidence.  Frustration, and an increasing sense of helplessness, 
started eating away at his resolve.

It was the sound of giggling voices which broke him out of his 
misery.  Whoever was making that noise was getting closer, so he 
hid in the bushes.

A dozen or so of the teenage girls walked into view.  Most of them 
were carrying bamboo sticks with something wrapped around their 
lengths, but three of the youngsters were carrying strings of fish 
hanging from the ends of poles.  His mouth watered.  After twenty 
years of enjoying sushi, he figured he'd have no trouble handling 
another variety of raw fish.

None of the girls looked in his direction, and none of them seemed 
to take any notice of his footprints around the pond.  He started 
to relax a little.

They set about their task, which seemed to be catching dinner.  Most 
of the girls unfurled their poles, which turned out to be short 
nets strung in between two bamboo rods.  They entered the pond from 
one side, walked across in a line, made as much noise as possible 
while holding the nets underwater as a sort of moving fence, and 
stopped in the shallows of the far end, forming a semi-circle.  
The remaining three teens then used their nets, shortened for ease 
of handling, to scoop a number of fish out of the water.  When they 
had, by Tom's estimate, a couple dozen of the silvery skinned 
creatures, the girls broke ranks and let the rest escape back into 
deeper water.

They strung their catch onto a couple of new lines, packed 
everything up, and left.  All Tom could do was stare, and marvel at 
their efficiency.  The entire operation had taken less that ten 
minutes.  Shaking off his lethargy once the voices faded away, he 
rushed over to see if they had left any fish on the bank.  They 
hadn't.  His stomach growled loudly, as if disappointed.

Sleeping through the heat of the day, he woke again in the late 
afternoon.  Something was chewing on his arm.  He slapped at it, 
then realized something was chewing on his other arm as well.  His 
slaps didn't do much good.  Then the pains started on his shoulders 
and his back.  Finally he took a good look.  Ants were swarming all 
over his bare skin.  A quick dash, a quick splash, and some quickly 
suppressed bellows of pain later, the ants were gone.  Their legacy, 
a number of painful bites, stung sharply from the salt water.

Tom quietly cursed some more, then quickly ran and hid himself in 
the jungle.  He'd heard voices.

A group of six older women walked by.  One of them stopped and 
pointed at his footprints, saying something.  The others looked like 
they were unimpressed and resumed walking.  Tom figured it had to 
be a hunting party, since all six carried spears, and he had a 
nasty suspicion that it was him they were hunting.

Ten minutes after they passed, he started walking again.  His feet 
hurt.  Having no shoes to wear, they were being punished far beyond 
what they were used to.  He figured that if he didn't get some 
protection for them soon, they'd start blistering.  No ideas for 
help came to his mind.  

Nightfall found him near another stream.  Thirst was not a problem, 
but hunger was a gnawing pain.  Crabs were easy to catch, but with 
no fire to cook them with, he couldn't bring himself to try eating 
any.  One small fish fell prey to his skills.  That, and a 
half-dozen clams broken open with a rock and eaten raw, finished 
off his meal.  Twenty minutes later he lost it all.  Water did 
little to remove the acrid taste.

Fallen leaves, gathered into a relatively soft, sandy spot, was 
his bed.  He figured it was better than nothing.  Sleep came 
quickly, despite his discomforts.  

**********

He thought he was dreaming, hearing the girls giggling in his 
sleep.  When their voices grew louder, and he noticed that it was 
daytime, Tom suddenly realized he was awake, he wasn't very well 
hidden, and that some girls were coming down the beach.  

Staying completely still, he tried to become invisible.  The spot 
he'd chosen to sleep on, while good from a comfort point of view, 
was right near the edge of the beach.  He could tell by the sounds 
that it was too late to try and hide.

Nine or ten teenagers came trotting into view along the beach line, 
accompanied by half a dozen of the pre-teens, talking and laughing 
among themselves.  Staying as still as his hammering heart would 
allow, he watched them pass.  All but the last two.  A shout from 
a tiny brunette brought the whole group to an immediate halt.  They 
stared at him.  He stared back.  They started whispering to each 
other.  Among the quiet words and occasional nervous giggles, he 
heard his name, and that of Raquel and Elizabet.  Another name, Sam, 
was also mentioned frequently.

He did nothing, absolutely nothing, for a little while.  Three of 
them went running back in the direction they came from.  The rest 
stood or sat in the shade of the trees, watching, but otherwise 
not interfering with him in any way.

Tom thought he should run, should hide, should do something.  He 
felt far too miserable.  Then something wonderful happened.  One 
of the girls, under the watchful eyes of himself and the others, 
passed him a satchel.

The odours told him what it contained.  Dried fish, flat bread, 
and dried fruit.  It was hard for him not to bolt his food, he was 
so hungry.  The food tasted wonderful.  That, and water, was 
breakfast.

An hour later he started walking back towards the village.  He was 
moving rather slowly as his feet were blistered, swollen and 
tender.  The decision to return hadn't been difficult for him to 
make.  It was return, or starve.  He'd seen no sign of 
civilization - no boats, no planes, no smoke, no noise, and, most 
telling of all, no litter of any kind.  If modern people were there, 
they weren't there in numbers, or in any really obvious fashion.  He 
knew it was also possible modern people were infrequent visitors to 
the island, with no permanent settlement.  He just couldn't figure 
out where the blondes and redheads had come from.

A few hours later he was met by his usual retinue.  Elizabet and 
Marilyn looked mad.  They scowled and gave him dirty looks.  Raquel, 
however, stood in front of him, also scowling, and gave him a piece 
of her mind.  He didn't understand the words, but the meaning was 
clear.  She was upset.  Tom kept his eyes downcast and tried to look 
properly abject and chastened.  It wasn't hard, the way he was 
feeling.  They escorted him back to the village, back to the hut, 
fed him, and put him to bed.  He slept the sleep of the dead.

**********

Three days and seven women later, he was again allowed some freedom.  
They let him wander around unescorted, but someone was always 
watching.  He thought that better than being practically tied to 
one or the other of them.  

The next morning, he woke up with one of the older girls in his 
bed, one that appeared to be around sixteen.  She was one of the 
many that looked more native than not.  She wanted the same as all 
the others, and with his three keepers hovering over him to make 
sure he did what they wanted, he complied.  It wasn't something he 
found particularly onerous.  On the contrary, he enjoyed himself 
thoroughly, since the young lady was shapely, nice looking, and very 
much enjoyed herself as well.  It just seemed very strange to him 
that they would want such a young woman to do what she did.

Something else he wondered about was where all the men were at.  Did 
they all sail off someplace?  Or were they all in another village 
somewhere else on the island.  Without any information, his 
imagination ran wild.  Nothing he came up with, though, explained 
all the details, such as blonde-haired blue-eyed Marilyn.

Another of the details that bothered him was that most of the women 
lived in groups.  Not family groups, but sexual groups.  Even the 
older girls lived in pairs, threesomes, foursomes, and more.  Of his 
keepers, he suspected that Elizabet and Raquel belonged to a 
foursome, and Marilyn belonged to a fivesome.  Why they all shared 
a hut with him was yet another unsolved mystery.

**********

A week later, after he had enjoyed the attentions of another dozen 
women and girls, something different happened.  They packed him up 
for a trip.  There wasn't much to that - his three keepers simply 
got him up, let him put his pants on, got handed some satchels of 
food, and he, the three women, and a half-dozen others headed up 
the beach.  That was all before breakfast.  They went in the 
opposite direction to the one he had travelled in.

He still didn't understand much of what they said, but a few words 
had become familiar.  The names of the various foods and liquids, 
bodily functions, and sexual parts and acts - the things surrounding 
him all day - he'd memorized.  One word they used that he didn't 
know, but recognized, was the name Sam.  He remembered it from when 
the young girls found him.  It wasn't the name of any of the women 
in the village that he had met or seen, that he was sure of, yet 
they used that name and his quite frequently in the same pieces of 
conversation.  

It was while they were walking along the tide line, after lunch, 
that he spotted some wreckage.  They left him alone while he checked 
out his find, but watched carefully.  Tom finally broke down, 
dropping to his knees, when he turned over one particularly large 
piece of metal.  Despite knowing intellectually that his plane could 
never have survived the crash, having proof of its destruction in 
his hands was a different matter.  He sobbed, staring at the 
markings on that piece of wing, finally realizing that he was, 
indeed, trapped on that island.  

For the rest of the afternoon, he combed the beach and the surf for 
anything that might be useful.  The body of the aircraft was sitting 
under fifteen feet of water about two hundred yards from shore.

"A couple hundred yards," he cursed silently to himself.  "A fuckin' 
few seconds of air time.  You fuckin' bastards up there couldn't 
give me that little bit extra, could you.  Well fuck you all.  Tom 
Largent is gonna fuckin' survive and get off this fuckin' postage 
stamp without your fuckin' help!"

Not much survived, he found out as he swam through the wreckage and 
searched the beach.  The black box, one of the tiny threads of hope 
he still held, seemed totally dead.  That wasn't unexpected, since 
it was several years overdue for replacement.  Not surprisingly, the 
radio was smashed - broken, he thought, by some flying debris.  
Three weeks under water rendered almost everything else useless too, 
including his emergency supplies.  Only two things either worked or 
were still of use.  One was the knife in his emergency kit.  Despite 
some corrosion, it was still sharp.  The second was that satellite 
navigation thing.  Tom groaned and shook his head at the injustice 
of it all.  Now he could tell anyone his exact latitude, longitude, 
altitude, speed, and just about anything else they would care to 
know.  There was only one small problem - he had no way of 
communicating with anybody.

"They can make one of these fuckin' things survive forever.  Why 
can't they do the same thing with a fuckin' radio."

When he finally gave up swimming through what used to be his plane, 
more because of exhaustion than because he really wanted to, he 
stripped off his jeans and washed them, and himself, clean of salt 
in a nearby stream.  The women set up camp at that point, feeding 
him the usual for dinner.

There was a different Tom bedding down that night.  Gone was the 
easy-going attitude.  Gone was the sense of unreality.  It was with 
new eyes that he looked around the fire at an alien people.  He 
tried to forget about how familiar they looked, and how they treated 
him, and instead thought of them as an undiscovered native tribe.  
Tom believed that his survival depended on learning about them and 
somehow coming to understand their culture.  

Nobody tried to share his bed that night or the next morning.

**********

Two days later, they arrived at another village.  He had serviced 
three more women and one more teenager en route, but he was no 
longer enjoying himself doing so.  The physical sensations were 
there, and he did perform to their expectations, but mentally, it 
was now a chore, not a pleasure.  They either didn't notice the 
difference or didn't care.

The new village was nearly identical to the one they had come from.  
A welcoming committee of half-naked women and teenagers and totally 
naked girls greeted them.  Again, no men were around.  An hour 
later, all the excitement over and done with, he was led to another 
shaded mat in the centre of the village and was again expected to 
sit there on display.  Why they bothered moving him, he couldn't 
even begin to imagine.

That's when it happened.

"Halloo!  Do you speak English?"

Tom's head snapped around so fast, he almost got whiplash.  
Approaching was a white woman with a deep brown tan and blonde hair, 
about six foot two, stout, with very little figure, smallish 
breasts, and wearing the traditional grass skirt.  He thought she 
was quite ugly, but didn't care in the least.  There was a huge 
smile on his face as he stood up.

"Mhhh!  <cough cough>"  His voice was a little rusty from lack of 
use.  "My God!  Am I glad to see you!"

"Hiya mate.  I heard there was a new bloke on the island.  Couldn't 
wait to meet you!"

"Yes.  Well, I crashed here a few weeks ago, and since then, you 
wouldn't believe what's happened to me!  What is this weird place?  
And these women?  More importantly, do you have a radio?  Is there 
any way off this island?  And ..."

"Hold on there, mate.  I ken you got a sackful of questions and I'll 
fill you in with what I can.  Just slow down a bit.  Grab a piece of 
mat and have a breather."

Tom sat down before his knees buckled.  Relief washed through him 
like a wave, leaving him giddy and lightheaded.

"I suppose introductions are in order.  I recken you must be Tom.  
You're a Yank, right?"

He nodded.

"Right.  Well, the Sheilas been talkin' about nothin' but you 
ever since you washed up in that blowup a few weeks back.  My 
name's Sam."

Sam stuck out a hand, and Tom shook it rather unsteadily.  

"You're an Australian?"

"Right first try.  Queensland.  Been stuck on this God-forsaken 
patch of hell for twelve years now.  Yep.  There ain't ...

Everything seemed to go silent and still as Tom's spirits came 
crashing down.  It was with a sense of desperation that he 
interrupted Sam.

"Sam.  Please.  Tell me that you have a radio.  Or a telephone.  A 
plane, a boat, something!  Please!"

There was a sense of finality to the way Sam shook his head in the 
negative.  A long groan came from Tom as he fell back onto the 
mat.  "You mean there's no way off this fucking island?"

Once again, Sam said no.

"You're sure?"

"Mate, if there was a way off, I'd a been back home enjoyin' a 
Foster's long since.  The ladies tell me you came in by plane.  
What's your story?"

Tom shook his head, unsure about what to do or say.  "Yeah.  I ran 
out of gas running in front of the hurricane and didn't quite make 
it to the beach.  I survived.  Nothing else did, not even the 
radio."

"Now that is a cryin' shame, though I kinda figured it got broke, 
the way you was carryin' on.  I guess you're just as stuck as me 
then.  Sorry if I got your hopes up, mate, but there's not much I 
can do, I'm afraid."

"Sorry.  It's just that you're the first civilized person I've seen 
since I crashed.  I just assumed you'd have some way off this rock.  
I thought ..."

"'S'all right, mate.  I been through it all m'self.  This place gets 
to a body after a while.  Kinda makes one strange, if you aren't 
careful."  Sam looked around the village for a few seconds.  "Almost 
got to me too, sorta like ... "

There was a pause, as Sam appeared to lose himself in thought.  

"Well, you're here now," he finally continued.  "So ask away."

Tom put voice to the question that was uppermost in his mind.

"Where are all the men?"

Sam laughed.  Long, hard, and almost maniacally.

"S'truth!  You sure came out with the worst one first.  Tom, there 
ain't no men here, 'cept you and me, and I don't count no more."

Tom stared, disbelief very apparent in his eyes.

Sam gazed down at his own body for a few seconds before looking Tom 
in the eye.

"Mate, when I got stuck in this place, twelve bloody long years ago, 
I was as much a man as you are now.  This place changes a body.  It 
ain't natural.  My mate, Jack, when he saw what was happenin', well, 
it got to him.  One mornin', he just climbed up one of them coconut 
trees an' tried to fly home."

"But - but - what, how?  I mean, look at you!  You're a woman!  
What gives?"

With a shrug, Sam answered.  "Don't really know.  Maybe there's 
something in the water, or in the food.  Maybe there's some weird 
bug here.  Whatever it is, that's why there ain't no blokes."

"How long..."  Tom cleared his throat, gulped, then tried again.  
"How long did it take?"

"Well, these," he hefted his breasts, "showed up after two years.  
The ladies cut off the rest soon after."

"They WHAT?!"

"It didn't work no more anyway.  If I'd fought too much, they 
would'a killed me instead."

"You mean, they just - just ... "  Tom struggled for words.  "And 
you let them!?"

He shrugged.  "Hey, I'm still here, and I guess I got a reason to 
hang around a bit longer."

"What?"

"I got a stake in this place now, just like you will soon enough."

"No fuckin' way!  What the hell could I possibly think important in 
this bloody place?"

"You mean you ain't figured it out yet?  Yanks.  I tell ya, if you 
had to depend on your brains, you'd all be goners for sure.  Look, 
you been treated the same as I was, right?"

Tom just stared, appearing more than a little puzzled.

"The women.  The sex!  They been keepin' you real busy, right?"

He nodded.  "Yeah, so?"

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head.  "Think!  I got here twelve 
years ago.  It quit workin' eleven years ago.  All the kids are 
around ten or eleven.  I figure half of 'em are mine and half are 
Jack's, so that's about two hundred kids each.  How many you done 
so far?"

"That's what they're doing?  You mean, they want me for ... 
but ... all they want is a goddamn fuckin' sperm machine!?"

"Hey, you're a damned sight luckier than the last couple of blokes 
who got stranded here.  The ladies decided they weren't good enough 
to service 'em or something, so they were eliminated."

"They were killed?  But that's barbaric!  Why didn't you stop them?"

He shrugged.  "Nothin' I could do about it.  They tolerate me 'cause 
I don't cause no problems an' I pull my own weight.  If I threw in 
with some strange blokes, they'd do me too."

"Shit, what kind of hell is this?  Waitaminit, all the kids I've 
seen are girls.  What happened to the boys?"

"Far as I can tell, there ain't none born here.  At least, I never 
saw none.  Every one I saw born was a girl, and I saw plenty of 
'em."

"Jesus H. Fuckin' Keerist.  No guys.  None.  Just women.  All right, 
how many?  How bloody many women do they expect me to service?"

Sam shrugged again.  "Four, five hundred.  I think that's how many 
are about.  Five villages, anyway.  The bosses all get first crack 
at you.  Well, that's what Rhoda said when she told me you were on 
your way."

"Rhoda?"

"The headwoman in these parts.  You'll meet her soon enough."

"Four or five hundred?"  Tom spoke quietly, almost whispering.   
"What the hell did I do to deserve this anyway?" 

"Pardon?"

"Huh?  Sorry, I guess I was talking to myself."

"No problem, mate.  You got a lot to think on.  Oh-oh.  Here they 
come."

Tom looked over his shoulder, expecting to see his keepers and 
whomever approaching.  Instead, a small gaggle of giggling girls 
came running up.  Sam smiled broadly.

"Sorry mate, but I promised these young sheilas I'd help em' with 
some shellfish harvestin'.  I'll be back after you have your 
tucker."

With one kid on his shoulders and two more tugging on his arms, he 
walked off towards the beach, smiling and joining into the animated 
chatter he was surrounded with.  Tom watched them go.

Lunch showed up about an hour later, giving him plenty of time to 
absorb and reflect on what Sam had told him.  The food was a little 
different than he was used to, since it included seaweed and some 
sort of shellfish instead of dried fish.  The change was welcome.  
Two women, both decent looking dark haired native ladies he didn't 
recognize, brought it to him and stayed to help him eat.  Both 
fussed over him throughout the meal.

It wasn't too long after he finished that Sam returned, coming back 
with the same batch of children he left with.  They all ran off 
carrying baskets full of something, while Sam himself stopped in at 
one of the large buildings and picked up his lunch before sitting 
down with Tom again.

"Whew!  Them kids can really tire a body out.  So where were we?"

"Are those all your kids?" asked Tom.

Sam shrugged.  "Two are for sure.  The rest, who knows.  I treat 'em
all like mine.  Jack was my mate, and they're all his or mine, so 
now they're all mine.  Their mothers know whose is whose, but I 
don't ask."

"Was Jack a blonde too?"

"Nah.  He was a redhead.  His Mum was a blonde, though."

They were interrupted again, this time by a grey-haired native 
looking woman.  Tom thought she had to be at least sixty years 
old.  She and Sam talked back and forth for several minutes.

"Tom, this here is Mama-san, their leader.  Her title don't 
translate too good, so that's what I call her.  I've never heard 
anyone say her real name.  She wants to know if everyone's been 
treating you right so far."

"What?  You mean other than being treated as nothing but a portable 
sperm bank?  Other than being held prisoner?  Other than being 
forced to perform three times a day, like it or not?  Oh sure, I've 
been treated just fine!  Faugh!"  Tom turned and stared at the ocean 
while Sam translated his words.  Their conversation took some time.

"Sorry for the delay, mate, but I still ain't all that great with 
the lingo.  I told her what you said, word for word - well, as 
close as possible - and she gave me an answer.  Here it is, word 
for word.  

'You are unsettled.  This is not your place, not what you know, not 
what you understand.  Yet <something I don't ken> answered our 
prayers and delivered you to us.  It has been too many seasons since 
our last <don't know this one mate, something to do with having 
kids>.  Our need is great, so we are more <something or other> to 
you than the others.  <I think she's referring to the last couple of 
blokes, the ones that didn't measure up or something.>  If you 
refuse our need, we will not force you any longer.  But no longer 
will you be a <sheltered guest, I think>.'

She's giving you a choice.  They won't kill you if you don't 
perform, but they won't feed you no more neither.  Me, I hope you 
do the right thing, 'cause they need a new load of sprogs here."

"So if I put out, I'm their guest, at least until I peter out, as it 
were, and then they'll cut it off and make me an honourary woman.  If 
I don't, then what?  What happens?"

"Most likely they'll drive you out of the village.  Take your 
choice - jungle or beach.  It don't matter.  If you ain't trained 
in jungle livin' you won't last two weeks.  Starve to death.  Or 
worse, maybe eat something wrong and die of gut rot.  I seen it 
happen.  Bad way to go - really bad."

"How much time do I have to make up my mind?"

"Until dinner, most likely.  When Mama-san wants an answer, nobody 
keeps her waiting."

"Why the hell do they do this?  And why the hell are they doing it 
to me?"

"Tom, this ain't no paradise.  These ladies are tryin' to survive 
and keep their civilization alive.  Why you're here, I don't know, 
but you are.  The next bloke might be along in a week, or in ten 
years.  Or longer.  They need you probably more than you need 
them.  It ain't so bad, really, once you get used to it.  Me and 
Rhoda been makin' a pretty decent life for ourselves."

"You mean, you and her?  Together?"  Tom waved his finger back and 
forth between Sam and the grey-haired woman.

"Huh?  Me and Mama-san?  Not on your life!  What gave you that 
daft idea?"

"You said you had something going with the head woman."

"Oh, I got ya.  No, Rhoda - she's the one claimed me - she's the 
head woman of this village.  Mama-san's top woman of the whole 
island.  You'll probably see Rhoda later."

"This is just too much.  I need some time to think."

"That's fine, mate.  I got about thirty young'uns waitin' up on me 
right now anyhow.  They're expectin' a story while they do all that 
shellin'.  Well, I guess better a story than me shellin' them slimy 
things.  It's Jack and the Beanstalk today, adjusted slightly for 
local conditions.  See you in a bit."

Sam got up, nodded to Mama-san, and left.  The old woman sat there 
on the other side of the mat and stared out at the ocean for nearly 
an hour before standing, nodding to Tom, and leaving.  He nodded 
back, then watched as she slowly walked away.  The woman held her 
head high, even though her steps were slow and her back was slightly 
bowed.  It seemed the weight of the world pressed down upon those 
bare shoulders.


His keepers showed up with supper late in the afternoon.  Sam 
arrived a few minutes later.

"Hiya mate.  I see they're keepin' close tabs on you.  Not lettin' 
you out of their sight, are they."

"I guess.  Sam, how did you end up in this place?"

"Oh, that's a bit of a story.  It's a bit daft, really.  One day 
Jack and me were drinkin' down at the local, and we were tryin' out 
some of that there imported Yank beer, only it ain't really imported 
you see, 'cause they make it in the brewery in town under licence 
from the folks what really makes it.  So there's this tourist bloke, 
and he's tryin' some of that same rot we're drinkin', an' he says it 
ain't nothin' like what he gets at home.  So Jack gets this idea in 
his head that he wants to try real Yank beer.  Only, he don't want 
to go into the city and buy some real import stuff.  Nope.  He 
wants to travel to the U.S. of A. for some."

"So you guys decided to fly from Australia to the U.S. - for a 
BEER?"

"Made sense at the time.  Only we didn't fly.  You see, Jack 
owned this oversized canoe, so we sailed."

"You SAILED to the U.S.  In an oversized canoe.  For a fuckin' 
beer.  How big was that thing?"

"I dunno.  Fifty foot, maybe.  Big enough for the three of us."

"Three?"

"Yeah.  Me, Jack, an' that tourist bloke.  He promised us one hell 
of a drinkup when we got to L.A."

"Let me guess - you never made it.  You got lost, and ended up 
wrecking on the reef.  Right?"

"Oh no, we got there all right, and we had one hell of a good time.  
One of the best weeks of my life.  That yank beer was definitely 
better'n the fake stuff we got.  It still ain't as good as 
Foster's of course, but it's a pretty fair brew.  No, we got caught 
in a bit of a blow on the way home.  Lost the compass, the sails, 
damaged the rudder, and almost got swamped, but we made it.  I just 
wish Jack had remembered to pack spare batteries for the radio.  We 
were takin' in a lot of water when we saw this place and made for 
shore.  There weren't much choice left, so we parked just off the 
reef and came in on a dingy.  That's when the next blowup came 
along.  Smashed our boat up on the reef and down it went, takin' all 
our supplies with it.  If the ladies hadn't taken us in, we'd a 
been goners."

"And you paid their price.  Any regrets?"

"Oh, sure.  I've got ... I guess that's had, a girl back home.  We 
had an understandin'."

"But that didn't stop you, did it?  You just jumped in and enjoyed 
all the ladies you could."

"Mate, I spent two weeks alone in the jungle before I gave it up.  
Ended up I couldn't see any good reason for dyin', 'cause there 
weren't no way back home."

"What about Jack?"

"Him?  Jesus, talk about your kid in a sweets shop.  He was the 
happiest bloke on the planet."

"For a while."

"No, he never got tired of it.  Even near the end, he'd snuggle up 
with his favourites and spend the night doing whatever he could.  
It wasn't what quit workin' what got to him, it was growin' his own 
pair."  Sam arched his back for a second, making his breasts stick 
out on display, then relaxed and smiled rather wryly.  "You know, 
life does play funny tricks on a soul.  I go out on a bit of a 
walkabout and end up here.  Now I'm talkin to probably one of the 
few other blokes in the world that don't think this is paradise.  
Go figure."

"I guess no matter what I decide, what happened to you, likely 
as not, is gonna happen to me."

"'Fraid so, mate.  Mama-san says it's 'cause the menfolk that first 
came here, back in the dawning of the world, insulted the island's 
spirits.  They got cursed, their sons got cursed, even their male 
dogs and pigs got cursed.  All of 'em what changed survived.  The 
rest died rather horribly.

"Is that why they, uh ..."  Tom made a cutting motion with his 
fingers.

"I recken so.  They did do it sorta ceremonial-like, though they 
never did offer up a reason for doin' it."

Tom lowered his head into his hands, then shook it back and forth.  
"I'm not sure I can handle this.  It's just too damned bizarre.  
An island full of women, a place that changes men into -- into -- 
well, into eunuchs, and it's not even on the map!"

With a furrowed brow and a rather puzzled look, Sam inquired - 
"It's not?"

"No!  I picked up new air and sea charts three years ago and this 
place just isn't here!"

"S'truth!  Guess that explains why we don't get more visitors.  So 
why ain't it on the map?  With all them fancy new satellite things 
crowdin' the sky, you'd think they'd spot somethin' this size, 
wouldn't you?"

"Sam, nowadays they got satellites that can tell what brand of 
smokes you're carrying by reading the pack.  They're sure the hell 
not going to miss a fuckin' island.  Somebody, somewhere, has to 
know about this place.  God, this is so confusing!  Of course, none 
of this is helping me make up my mind!"  He was almost screaming by 
the end of that last sentence.

"Don't look now, mate, but you ain't got any time left.  They're 
comin' for you."

He turned to look, of course.  Four women and one of the teenagers 
were heading for him.  Three of the women he recognized from his 
village - his keepers.  The other woman and the teenager were 
strangers.

"The older blonde one's Rhoda.  The young'un beside her is her 
daughter Beth.  By the looks of things, I think Rhoda's givin' Beth 
first crack at you."

Tom saw a very pretty thirty-something blonde woman walking beside  
a beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed teenager who was no more than 
fifteen and was wearing nothing but the usual grass skirt.  The 
girl's breasts were moderate sized cones pointing straight at him, 
capped with light pink aureoles and nipples.  Like everyone else, 
she was darkly tanned, and that contrasted sharply with her 
varicoloured golden tresses.  Very shapely, she had long arms, long, 
coltish legs, and an utterly captivating smile.  Both cheeks were 
dimpled as the women approached.  

Beth stepped in front of the others and spoke to him in a smooth, 
melodious voice, then held out her hand.

"She wants you to go with her and put a baby in her tummy.  Tom, 
Rhoda was my first here, and she's got two of mine, so I know her 
an' Beth better'n my own sisters.  Rhoda's nervous, and Beth's 
scared as shit.  You could probably get away with turning her down 
if you took Rhoda instead, but I wouldn't bet the ranch.  Unless, 
of course, you'd rather head into the jungle."

Tom couldn't help himself.  He stared.  And stared.  The young woman 
looked so beautiful.  She was almost the twin of his ex wife when 
she was that age, when he had first fallen in love.  Those blue eyes 
seemed to grow larger and larger the longer he looked.  Eventually, 
he could see nothing else.  Sam said something, but the words just 
flowed around him, unnoticed and totally ignored.  When she blinked 
and tilted her head, he came back to himself, sort of.

Tom allowed her to take his hand and pull him to his feet.  She then 
led him away to a nearby shack, with the others following close 
behind.  Sam watched him go.  A sad, wistful smile slowly crept over 
his face as the women and their newest captive entered the hut.  Tom 
turned and looked back just as they were leading him inside, his  
expression reflecting his agonized indecision.  Then he was gone.

"Poor bloke's had his mind made up for him, just like Rhoda did to 
me."  Sam was talking quietly to himself.  "You gonna have any 
regrets, Tom?  Lots of em?  Maybe just one big'un, like me?  Or you 
gonna go like Jack did instead?  He always was the brave one.  
Sometimes I wish I had half his guts."


<Fin>

********************************************************************

Author's notes:

I've always wondered about being lost on a desert isle, with a 
whole lot of beautiful, attentive women around.  Would it really 
be like an adolescent wet dream?


Tom Largent - the protagonist.
  5'11", 170lbs, blonde, blue eyes, slender, wiry muscles, very 
  handsome.
Leiana - Tom's sometimes girlfriend, before the crash.

Raquel - #1 woman, the nurse.
  5'6", 110lbs, 23 yrs, black hair, dk brn eyes, moderate build, 
  moderate breasts, good looking, virgin.
Elizabet - #2 woman.
  5'2", 140lbs, 34 yrs, black hair, dk brn eyes, solid build, 
  fairly large breasts, very good looking.
Marilyn - #3 woman.
  5'5", 130lbs, 22 yrs, light blonde hair, blue eyes, curvy build, 
  moderate breasts, pink nipples.

Sam - the last one shipwrecked.
  6'2", 200lbs, blonde, blue eyes, heavy, strong, pert breasts.
Jack - Sam's old buddy.
Rhoda - Sam's main squeeze
  5'8", 130lbs, blonde, blue eyes, medium figure, 35, good looking.  
Beth - Rhoda's eldest daughter.
  5'6", 96bs, blonde, big blue eyes, slender and coltish, small 
  cone-shaped breasts, light pink nipples.  Beautiful.

Generations:
A -  9-10 years - virgins
B - 15-16 years - virgins
C - 22-23 years - virgins
D - 34-35 years
E - 42-43 years
F - 47-48 years
G - 55-56 years
H - 61-62 years - Mama-san