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From: Pulp Fan <pulpfan@anon.nymserver.com>
Subject: Spring Orgy - Tropical Dreams (MF)
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TROPICAL DREAMS

by

Pulp Fan

NOTE:  "Tropical Dreams" is an episode in the Spring
Orgy on Malinov's Island, currently underway on
a.s.s.m. and a.s.s.  This story takes place after the
authors attending the Erotic Writer's Workshop on the
_S.S. Sybaris_ flee the ship and are stranded on a
deserted (?) island.  The full series, by many writers,
can be found at:
http://www.gslink.com/~dcain/xanadu/erotica/island/. 
As always, comments are appreciated; you can e-mail me
at pulpfan@anon.nymserver.com.

* * * * *

     An animal gleam in her eye, the cavegirl ripped
off her fur bikini top, exposing her glistening,
voluptuous breasts to the chill night air.  Nude but
for a flimsy loincloth, cherry red nipples hardening
instantly in the sea breeze, dishevelled hair flying in
the wind, she stood there like a pagan goddess, a
goddess glad that she had human worshippers and intent
on making one of those lucky stiffs worship a little
more at her altar...

     "Lana want Pulp Fan!" she growled, fixing the man
lying on the ground in front of her with a hungry,
feral look.  "Lana want him now!"

     Staring up at her, Pulp Fan--or Pulp, as he was
generally known--could feel the familiar stirring
beginning in his groin.  He couldn't help himself--Lana
was incredibly hot, a dead-ringer for Raquel Welch in
"One Million Years B.C.".

     Of course, that wasn't too surprising.

     _All_ of the cavegirls on the island looked like
Raquel Welch.

     The lifeboats had landed on the shores of
Malinov's Island a few days before.  Expecting the
island to be deserted--as Mal had asserted it was--the
castaways were shocked to learn otherwise.  Pulp could
still vividly recall the consternation that had flashed
across his fellow author's faces that fateful day when
Poison Ivan had rushed into camp, yelling at the top of
his lungs, "Dudes!  Kim's been eaten by a caveman!",
before collapsing in an exhausted heap.

     It was bedlam.  Their collective cries of horror
were muted somewhat when, after catching his breath and
sucking down some coconut juice, Ivan had hurriedly
explained that his statement wasn't meant in the
literal, cannibalistic sense--what he had meant was
that a caveman--with Kim as his willing partner--was
muffdiving like there was no tomorrow.

     And the castaways' reactions on learning that the
island was indeed inhabited by a small tribe of
cavefolk completed its 180 degree turn when they
learned two interesting facts.  Fact number one--all of
the cavegirls looked, and dressed, like Raquel Welch in
the aforementioned dinosaur pic.  "Buxom bronzed babes
in bodacious bikinis," as one scribe had joyfully put
it.  Fact number two--the cavemen, while not stunningly
handsome, had been prodigiously endowed by nature, both
in size and stamina, when it came to their "packages."

     Actually there was a third interesting fact as
well, fortunate given the first two.  And that was that
the sexual appetites of the cave dwellers were
incredible.  The cavegirls had swooned over the
(relatively) good-looking batch of men that had washed
up on their shores, while the cavemen, having to that
point subsisted solely on a diet of Raquel lookalikes
and bored stiff of it, were like kids in a dessert
smorgasbord with the fantastic variety now literally at
their fingertips.  They had never dreamt that women
could come in such varied shapes and sizes and colors! 
Not that the brave writers minded...

     And so, in addition to doing each other, the
castaways had expanded their erotic horizons.  A few
less adventurous souls had muttered some warnings about
tainting the pristine neolithic culture that clearly
existed on the island, but their reservations were
overwhelmed when they themselves were overwhelmed by
the rapacious cavefolk.  Coming up for air, even the
initial naysayers had to admit--their new friends may
have been primitive, but fucking certainly wasn't
rocket science and what the natives didn't know about
it hadn't been discovered yet!  Plus they were good at
keeping the sabertooth tigers at bay...

     Indeed, the only downside that anyone had been
able to come up with was that Uther had yet to figure
out an appropriate story code to indicate cavemen (or
cavegirls), assuming of course that they ever made it
back to civilization in order to post a story.

     All of which explained why Pulp was now
frantically shedding his clothes, freeing his throbbing
erection, while Lana tore the skimpy barrier from
around her loins and, dropping to all fours, sinuously
crawled towards him like a sleek jungle pussy, wetting
her full, red lips with her moist, pink tongue. 
Reaching him, she wasted no time on preliminaries--she
might not have been a woman of the 90's (well,
technically she was, though she didn't know that), but
she knew what she wanted and how to get it.  Throwing
him back against the ground, she straddled his hips and
in one fluid motion sank down on him, burying his hard
shaft in her molten depths.

     "Uunngghh!" he cried as he felt himself being
enveloped by her satiny oven.  The sensation was
unbelievable, as Lana rose and fell, flexing her
muscular thighs to drive him in and out of her, over
and over again.  Reaching up to cup her heaving
breasts, diamond-hard nipples burning into his palms,
he could feel himself spiralling higher and higher.

     "Pulp!"

     "Yes!"  His body shook.

     "Pulp!!"

     "Yes!!"  It seemed like there was a small
earthquake hitting the island.

     "PULP!!!"

     With that last cry, the earthquake hit with full
force.  Or so it seemed to Pulp Fan as he snapped awake
to find himself being shaken frantically.  "Hey, what
do you think you're doing?" he muttered angrily,
shrugging Taria's hand off his shoulder.

     "Sorry, but it looked like you were having a
nightmare," Taria explained, sitting back down a few
feet away, next to the blazing fire.

     Pulp sighed with the memory of his dream.  "No,
not a nightmare," he said.  "It was a dream--you know,
the cavegirl dream."

     "Again?" Taria asked, eyes widening with
astonishment.  "That's what, the third time this week? 
Do you _ever_ dream of anything else?"

     "Sue me.  And I'll probably keep having the damn
dream until I get to _finish_ it," he concluded
pointedly.

     "I already said I was sorry," she said.  "I
thought you were having a nightmare."

     "No, no, I'm sorry," he replied, upset at himself
for rebuking her for her kindness.  "I don't mean to
snap at you.  Thanks for being concerned; it's just
that each time the dream gets more vivid and just once-
-just once!--I'd like it to come to its conclusion.  I
mean, the cavebabe is the spitting image of Raquel
Welch!  Can you imagine, me, doing Raquel Welch?  Ivan
would turn green with envy!"

     "I'm sure," agreed Taria out loud, though her
thoughts were not quite as sympathetic.  Men were
curious creatures.  Here an orgy had been in full swing
on the island for nearly a week, with more and
different couplings than anyone but the most jaded
writer of group sex stories could imagine, and yet Pulp
was upset he hadn't finished having sex in his dream
with an imaginary Raquel Welch.  On the other hand, he
_was_ kind of cute and had been a willing and
imaginative participant in the authors' reindeer
games...

     "Hey, I know what will cheer you up!" she
announced, a bit of a smile playing around the corners
of her lips.

     Over the last week, Pulp had come to know that
hint of a smile well.  When it hinted, better things
were sure to follow.  "And what's that?" he asked, his
curiosity piqued.

     "Let's go for a moonlight swim in the lagoon," she
suggested.  "I'll even wear my fur bikini--for a little
while, at least!"

     Pulp laughed.  "You don't own a fur bikini," he
pointed out.  "And if you did, it went sailing away on
the ship.  But," he continued, "I'd be happy to go with
you anyway!"

     "That's mighty big of you," she laughed, sticking
her tongue out at him as they arose.

     "It's not too big yet," he replied with mock
seriousness.  "But it's likely to get that way soon!"

     Stepping away from the warmth of the fire, around
which many of their fellow castaways were either
sitting--some alone, some in groups--sleeping, or
engaged in some carnal activity, Pulp and Taria clasped
hands and wandered off.  The full moon lit the way as
they traipsed barefoot through the sand along the
beach, the balmy sea air blowing clean across their
faces, gently rolling swells flooding cool over their
feet.

     Shortly after they had made landfall, the writers
had broken into small bands to explore the island in
search of food and water. One such group had discovered
a freshwater lagoon a short ways inland, complete with
its own little waterfall splashing down into it.  It
had quickly become a popular destination for amorous
interludes.  It had also become a hot spot for non-
erotic entertainment as well when, on a dare, The Bear
had jumped into the stream above the waterfall and was
swept over the edge, taking a twenty foot plunge which
ended in a gigantic "splash!" as he landed in the
lagoon.  "Just like a wet-and-wild," he had enthused as
he emerged from the water, prompting a flurry of
comments as to who was exactly wet and wild--and how
wet they exactly were.  Following in his footsteps--or
pawprints--it had become a sort of right-of-passage for
the castaways to take the "lagoon-leap" as they termed
it, and many embellished their own plunges with twists,
turns and barrelrolls.  Many had gotten so good at it
that someone had suggested holding a competition, but
some of the genre writers complained that they wouldn't
be judged fairly and the idea hadn't caught on.

     As they drew closer to the lagoon, Pulp suggested
they leave the beach and cut across a verdant hill. 
Though Taria initially demurred, he insisted it would
be a shortcut.

     "The lagoon has to be just on the other side of
the hill," he said.  "The beach goes out and then
curves around.  Going over the hill will be quicker. 
Plus we haven't been to the top, and there's gotta be
an awesome view from up there in this moonlight!"

     Acknowledging he might be right, Taria allowed
herself to be persuaded.  Donning their footwear, they
cut inland, meandering slowly up the gentle slope, palm
fronds softly sighing in the tropical breeze.  Reaching
the summit of the small hill, Pulp pointed.

     "There, what did I tell you?"  he said.  Ahead of
them lay the lagoon, its still waters shimmering with
the silver light of the moon.  From their vantage
point, a large expanse of the island was exposed to
their view.  Seen by the light of the moon, the
landscape was surreal, as huge black shadows
crisscrossed the land, checkerboarding the island,
while tall trees rustled in the wind, devoid of color,
seemingly alive in the stark illumination.  They stood
for a moment in silence, drinking in the eerie vista. 
For a moment, it was easy to imagine that they were the
only souls in creation and that the starry night
belonged to them alone.

     "Everyone gets lucky once in a while," Taria
finally responded, breaking the reflective mood and
jabbing him playfully with an elbow.

     "I should certainly hope so," Pulp grinned.  "The
key question is, though, how lucky?"

     "Well, wait until we get to the lagoon and I'll
show you!" Taria laughed.

     Heading back down the hill, towards the lagoon,
disaster struck.

     One moment they were walking side by side; the
next, Taria's hand was torn from Pulp's grasp as the
ground seemingly opened up beneath her and swallowed
her whole.  A surprised scream cut the still night air
for a split second before ending abruptly.

     "Taria!" Pulp yelled frantically, as he gazed in
stunned disbelief at the hole which had opened in the
hillside beside him.  His voice reverberated in an
underground cavern as he shouted her name over and
over, but only his echoes answered back.  Laying on his
stomach, peering into the pitch blackness, Pulp could
see nothing; the moonlight was too dim to penetrate
deeply into the crevice, which jealously guarded its
secrets.  Finding a lengthy branch, Pulp probed
downwards, trying to determine how deep the hole was,
but the stick was swallowed up without reaching bottom. 
He feared to drop it, lest it strike Taria, lying
below.

     There were flashlights and rope back at the camp. 
It wasn't far--he could be back in minutes with help. 
Hoping that she might be able to hear him, even if she
couldn't respond, Pulp Fan called down to Taria, "I'm
going for help!  I'll be right back with the others--
we'll get you out!"

     Still receiving no reply, Pulp leapt to his feet
and tore off towards the camp.
* * * * *

     "That's odd," thought Taria.  "One minute I'm
walking with Pulp Fan at night, and now here it is
daylight again."  The sun was shining brightly, only a
few wisps of clouds breaking up the brilliant expanse
of blue sky.  Before her, close at hand, the sparkling
waters of the lagoon glinted in the golden light.

     "What the fuck happened?  I was walking with
Pulp...  I must have blacked out or something...but
something's strange."  Her mind raced frantically. 
"The lagoon--it looks different...  I know!  Those palm
trees--they weren't there yesterday!"  Three large palm
trees swayed in the breeze along the shore of the
lagoon, in a spot where Taria would have sworn there
were no trees.  Hell, that was the spot where, just a
few days ago, Bronwen and Vicky Tern had made love one
lazy afternoon--to the delight of those swimming in the
crystal water!  Other details about the scenery weren't
correct either; for one, the waterfall wasn't in
exactly the right place.  And the path the castaways
had cut through the underbrush winding upwards towards
the stream was gone.  Something was wrong...seriously
wrong.

     Taria turned her head to look out towards the
ocean.  At least she tried to, but was shocked when
nothing happened.  Worried, she tried to bring a hand
to her face but it remained at her side.  "My God!  I'm
paralyzed!" she thought in horror.  Her mind spun
wildly for a moment before she realized that she was
standing.  Her rational mind asserted itself.  "If I'm
paralyzed, how come I haven't fallen down?"

     There was a noise behind her; to her relief, she
turned to face it.  At least she could move sometimes! 
However, if she had been startled at the changes in the
lagoon, the sight that met her eyes was enough to make
her question her sanity.  Standing before her was a
rakishly handsome young man, sporting an engaging grin. 
Not that this would generally have been surprising,
except that Taria was pretty sure she knew (by sight at
least, if not more intimately!) all of the ship's
company on the island, and she was positive he was not
one of them.  Just as she was positive that none of her
fellows went around armed with a cutlass and flintlock
pistol!

     Taria opened her mouth in order to demand he tell
her just who the fuck he was.  At least her mouth
opened; however, what came out of it was somewhat
different than what she had intended.  A voice--not her
own, but very close to it--exclaimed with delight,
"John!  You startled me!  What took you so long?"

     What the hell was happening?

     "I'm sorry, Tara, my lass," replied the stranger. 
"The captain insisted I be in his company; it took me
longer than I thought it would to slip away."  Tara? 
As he spoke, Taria's bewilderment was complete when she
stepped forward into his waiting arms and eagerly
brought her lips to his.  John enfolded Taria--or Tara-
-in his arms as she clung to him, her soft lips pressed
against his, slightly parted, her tongue eagerly
darting out to dance with his.

     "This has _got_ to be some sort of dream," Taria
said to herself--though for a dream, the guy was a damn
good kisser.  And her body wasn't obeying her--in a
dream, wasn't your body supposed to listen to you?

     Breaking off the kiss, the buccaneer began to
plant tender kisses on her upturned face while
murmuring soft words, words that she replied to in
kind.  Taria's head was spinning; she had no control
over her body or her speech, and had no idea why she
was saying what she was saying, but she could feel--
vividly--the pirate's lips upon her, his strong hands
running up and down her back, stroking her through her
shirt.  Though she was confused, Taria's body responded
to his caresses; she could feel herself growing moist,
could feel her nipples hardening, eagerly anticipating
the delights to come.  Hey, Pulp wasn't the only one
who could have a sexy dream!

     "We must hurry, my love," he whispered, his hot
breath tickling her ear.  "Captain Jennings will be
back soon, and I must return, to look as if I had
stayed with the hunt.  He'd take none too kindly to
discovering that his wench and first mate were lovers!"

     Wench?  Taria was pissed for a moment, before
figuring what the hell, it _was_ a pirate dream.  Might
as well go with it--she _could_ be a saucy wench!

     "Please John, let's just take the treasure and go! 
Or leave the treasure and run off, just the two of us!"
Taria heard herself say.  Her gaze swept up the hill,
lit on the mouth of a cave.  Resting before the
entrance were two massive chests, padlocked, each
sporting a crude skull and crossbones design carved
into the wood.

     "Ah, would that we could, lass," he replied,
holding her close.  "But you know we'd never make it. 
There's not enough of the crew loyal to me on ship, to
hie the treasure back 'fore sailing away.  We couldn't
take the ship, and if we ran on the island, the Captain
would hunt us down.  I promise you though that when we
reach New Providence, I'll ship with someone else and
find a way to take you with me.  I swear to you, Tara,
we'll be together!"

     As he spoke, John knelt on the grass, pulling Tara
down beside him.  "For now, let us enjoy the little
time we've been able to steal."

     Tara/Taria lay on her back, cushioned by the wild
grasses growing on the side of the hill.  The pirate
lay next to her, his lips finding hers and drinking
passionately, while his hands roamed over her body. 
The few clouds floating in the azure sky seemed to
promise her that soon, she would be floating too.

     One of his hands swiftly undid a few of the
buttons of her shirt, sufficient for him to slip a hand
inside and cup her naked breast.  She moaned against
his mouth, seeking to capture his tongue, as the rough
fingers toyed with her rapidly hardening nipple,
teasing the pink morsel, causing the warmth to spread
through her loins.  His other hand grasped the hem of
her skirt, pulled it up to mid-thigh, and slid beneath
it, running up and down her calves and thighs.  Each
time he slid his exploring hand up her body, he drew
closer and closer to her womanhood.  Slowly the ache
built inside her, to feel those fingers at the junction
of her thighs, frolicking in her slippery folds.

     His mouth descended along her body, licking her
neck, kissing the hollow of her throat, sliding lower
until he reached her breasts, now bared to the balmy
sea air, pink coral tips kissed by the sun.  His lips
captured a turgid pink tip, sucking it slowly into his
mouth.  Tara gasped with the sensation, loving the feel
of his agile tongue sliding along her sensitive nipple.

     "Oh yes," she breathed heavily, reveling in the
sensation of his mouth on her tits, feeling his hand
sliding inches from her moist pussy.  "Please touch
me!"

     Chuckling softly, the pirate closed the final few
inches, entwining his fingers in her soft fleece before
moving his hand lower, brushing the length of her damp
slit.  Tiny jolts of pleasure sparked through her
vibrant body, the sea breeze acting almost as another
lover as it caressed her exposed flesh.

     Wetting itself in her slickness, one finger
circled around her steaming hole before slowly pushing
into the wet, warm sheath.  Tara cried out, one hand
pulling his head harder against her firm tits as her
body welcomed the clever intruder.  The finger slid in
and out of her, caressing her satiny inner walls,
causing her love juices to flow ever more freely.  She
gasped as a second finger squirmed its way inside her
dripping cleft, filling her hot cunt.

     With a small cry of disappointment, Tara felt
John's lips leave her heaving mounds, but the cry
quickly turned to one of anxious anticipation as he
began to lick his way down her straining body.  Her own
hands moved to her breasts, tweaking the engorged
nipples.

     "Oh yes, my love!" she urged.  "Lick me, please
lick me!"

     For reply, the rogue just smiled up at the young
woman, but moved no faster in his slow but inexorable
journey down her body.  His wet tongue flicking at her
bellybutton, Taria couldn't believe how vivid her dream
was.  Her prior erotic dreams had been nothing compared
to this; the sensations coursing through her were as
real as if John was actually there with her, plunging
his fingers in and out of her wetness, sliding his lips
along her.  She could feel with exquisite pleasure his
fingers fucking her sun-drenched body, her love juices
dripping down her taut thighs, the agonizing
anticipation of feeling his mouth feasting at her lower
lips.  She had never cum from a dream before, but she
could feel the telltale signs of climax building in her
slowly as he worshipped her.

     "God, yes!" she cried, arching her hips off the
ground, offering herself fully to her lover, as his
mouth completed its pilgrimage and found her sopping
grotto.  Like a cat, he lapped at the cream of her
desire, licking the honeyed juices from her pink
petals.  The taste intoxicated him and he feasted like
one possessed, bringing his mouth down hard against her
soft flesh, sucking the erect nub of her clit into his
mouth, laving it with his clever tongue.

     Feeling his probing tongue on her womanhood, Tara
felt like she was going to burst with pleasure.  She
soared higher, ever higher, reveling in the delicious
sensations of his mouth on her, his fingers twisting
and turning.

     Suddenly she crested.

     With an inarticulate cry, her body convulsed,
thighs closing reflexively around his head, grinding
him closer against her spasming cunt as she shuddered
like a sapling in a strong wind.  Her body rippled as
her climax tore through her, beginning at her core and
spreading like wildfire throughout, overloading her
senses as she thrashed mindlessly, focused only on the
intense delight.  John drove his fingers mercilessly
into the young woman's quivering body again and again,
delighting in the cries of pleasure his mouth was
wringing from her lips.
     Temporarily sated, her thighs loosened their grip
and her upraised buttocks slumped back to the ground. 
Lifting his head from her honey pot, the pirate smiled
up at her, his face smeared with her juices.  She lay
back lazily, eagerly watching as he unbuckled his
pants, dropped them to reveal his jutting cock.

     "I want you, Tara, my love," he murmured as he
knelt betwixt her open thighs.

     Gasping her assent, she reached down and grasped
his hard shaft, positioning it between her lower lips. 
"Aaagghh!" she cried in delight, as he thrust into her
slickness.  She could feel her vaginal walls expanding
to accommodate the welcome invader, feel the head push
its way in, feel every vein and knob and bump as he
speared her, thrusting himself deeply into her.  His
pubic hair mashed against hers, intermingled with her
thatch, scratching her clitoris like tiny little rough
fingers as he lay on her for a moment, buried inside
her, letting her body adjust itself to his size.

     She urged him on, beating on his buttocks with her
heels to spur him.  "Fuck me, fuck me!" she shouted to
the wind, screaming her ecstasy to the sky.  Above her,
the buccaneer began to drive himself in and out of her
soaked snatch.  She pulled him to her, delighting in
feeling his hardened shaft slide almost all the way out
of her body, massaging her fevered interior walls,
delirious with pleasure when he rammed himself back in
again, his pubes stimulating her swollen clit until she
was near delirium.

     Her initial orgasm had served only to whet her
sexual appetite.  Countless tiny tremors wracked her as
he plundered her willing body.  Together they soared on
the wings of passion.  Her hot inner walls clutched him
in a steaming, silky embrace, caressing his hard cock
with their velvety softness.  He could feel his balls
tightening, his spunk desperate for release, as he
impaled the writhing young woman beneath him again and
again, slamming her ass hard against the ground with
each savage downstroke.

     With a hoarse shout, John came, his hot cum
jetting out, coating her sopping cunt.  Feeling his
seed spurting into her, Tara ground herself against
him, burying his length full inside her, striking her
clit against him, sending her over the edge.  Her feet
beat a staccato pattern on his buttocks as she
climaxed, her cries of primordial pleasure startling a
flock of seabirds into frenzied flight.

     The two lovers flew with them.

     Finally, exhausted, John slumped down, lying on
top of his lady love.  Kissing her gently, he said,
"That was fantastic, Tara, but I must needs be getting
back.  It wouldn't do for the Captain to miss me."

     She murmured her reluctant agreement.  They
exchanged one last deep kiss--and were suddenly shocked
when a maddened voice shouted near them, "Ya scurvy
dog!  Betray me, will you!"

     John rolled off her, sprang to his feet.  Facing
him, not a dozen feet away, was Captain Jennings, rage
contorting his face, his pistol out and pointed at
John's chest.  John knew the temper of his Captain,
knew that he was a dead man if he didn't kill the
Captain first.  His own weapons lay on the ground a few
short feet away.  With a wild cry--"Tara, I love you!"-
-he leapt for his pistol, dove, grabbed it and rolled
into kneeling position, swinging the flintlock towards
Jennings.

     Though John was swift as a hunting cat, Jennings
had the drop on him.  As the first mate raised his
pistol, the Captain's weapon belched flame, the bullet
taking John between the eyes and hurling him backwards
to the ground, staring sightlessly up at the sky.

     With a scream of primal anguish, Tara threw
herself on the body of her lover, sobbing
uncontrollably, stroking his hair, calling his name
over and over.  She scarce realized that Jennings had
moved closer to her, his cutlass in his hands.  She
sensed, rather than heard, him say, "And now for you
too, you traitorous wench!"  Without thinking, she
plucked John's pistol from his still-warm hand, turned
slightly to see the Captain towering above her, his
blade descending in a vicious arc towards her head. 
Screaming, she pointed and pulled the trigger...

     Screaming, Taria awakened.  A babble of confused
voices greeted her, people asking if she was all right. 
Disoriented, she stared wildly around her.

     She was in a cave.  About her, their faces
expressing concern in the glow of the flashlights, were
several of the castaways, including Pulp Fan.  Everyone
seemed to be asking her all at the same time if she was
okay, inquiring if she was hurt.

     "I'm OK--I think," she replied and slowly got to
her feet, assisted by some of the others.  Though her
body ached from numerous bruises, she appeared to have
suffered no serious injury from her fall.

     "Thank God you're all right!" exclaimed Pulp,
expressing the sentiments of everyone there.

     Just a few moments before, Pulp had rushed into
camp, gasping that Taria was in trouble.  The castaways
had speedily set forth.  With The Bear, Ivan and a few
others anchoring the rope, Pulp and several others had
climbed down into the hole, which dropped straight down
for a dozen feet or so, before gradually sloping,
ending in an underground cavern.  They had found Taria
there, unconscious, but before they could begin to
carefully examine her, she had started screaming before
suddenly awakening.

     Standing somewhat unsteadily, Taria stared at Pulp
for a moment.  "That's the last time I yell at you
about your dreams," she said.  Confused, Pulp stared
blankly back at her.  "Never mind," she said.  "I'll
explain it all to you back at the camp."

     Securing herself to the line, Taria was hauled up
out of the cave by The Bear and crew, the others
following on her heels.  Finally, only Malinov and DG
were left in the cave.

     "You go up," Mal said.  "I'm going to do a little
spelunking." 

     "I'm not going to let you have all the fun!" DG
declared.  "I'm with you."

     Calling up to the others to tie the rope to
something, the two intrepid explorers moved deeper into
the cave...

* * * * *

     "And the rest, you know," Taria concluded,
finishing her story.  "That's when I woke up screaming,
to find all of you around me.  Thanks again!"

     Taria and the others had arrived back at the camp
a short time before.  Though she had made reference
during the trip to "a heck of a story" to tell them,
the writers had waited patiently while she ate a little
food and downed some orange juice (liberally spiced
with rum).  It was only after Malinov and DG returned--
answering the questions of, "did you find anything,"
with "we'll tell you about it in a moment,"--that Taria
had launched into her tale, telling of her dream, of
how she had seemingly been trapped helplessly in
someone else's body but enjoying the experience
immensely, until its sudden and horrifying conclusion.

     "What a terrible ending!" exclaimed Kim, echoing
the thoughts of everyone there.  She leaned over and
kissed Taria gently.

     The group immediately launched into a frenzied
discussion of Taria's dream; Mal and DG conspicuously
absent from it.  After the debate had proceeded for a
few minutes, Malinov and DG looked across the fire at
each other.  Nodding, they got up and disappeared into
the night for a moment, returning almost immediately,
staggering under the weight of a huge chest.  Dropping
it on the ground in front of their amazed fellows, they
disappeared once more, returning with its twin.

     "DG and I found these in the back of the cave,"
Mal announced by way of explanation, perhaps
unnecessarily.  "From the looks of it, a group of
pirates placed these chests in the cave before sealing
it up."

     The two massive chests were emblazoned, each with
a skull and crossbones carved into them.  Seeing them,
Taria stiffened.  "They look exactly like the ones in
my dream," she whispered, half to herself.

     At a request from Mal, The Bear grabbed a large
rock, pounding it against the rusty padlocks securing
the contents of the chests.  A few choice blows struck
the locks open.  Eager hands raised the lids.  Gold
doubloons and glittering necklaces, bejewelled gobbets
and gem-encrusted trinkets poured out in profusion.

     "We're rich!" cried several of the writers in
unison, before Sven the Elder pointed out that, seeing
as this was Malinov's island, the treasure probably
belonged to him, or to its finders, Mal and DG.  The
dampening of enthusiasm this observation brought lasted
scant seconds, however, as Mal announced, "Libertines! 
Are we not united in our common love for erotic
adventure?  Are we not united in our current plight? 
Whatever this island has to offer is ours together,
share-and-share alike!"

     As the crowd called for three cheers, Malinov
modestly waved a hand and stepped away from the
campfire.  A moment later, DG followed him, unnoticed
by the others, who had begun to gleefully throw gold
doubloons at each other.  DG found Mal waiting for him
some distance away from the fire, sitting on a stump,
idly stripping tiny pieces of bark from a branch and
tossing them into the air, watching as they were
carried away by the wind.

     DG leaned against a tree a few feet away, started
aimlessly sketching abstract patterns in the sandy soil
with his toes.  For a few moments, they waited there in
silence, the muted cries of their fellows reaching them
through the clear night air.  When DG finally spoke,
his sudden voice seemed loud, though he spoke in a low
hush.  "So, what do you make of Taria's story?"

     "I'm not sure," Mal replied after a moment.  "But
I _am_ sure, doubly sure, now, that we did the right
thing by not telling the others."

     "Aye," DG agreed, before lapsing once more into
silence.  A short time later, exchanging one last
glance, they parted, each going their own way into the
night, each alone with his thoughts.

     And from that day forward, they never spoke of it
again; never told a living soul of what they had found
next to the chests--two human skeletons, one with a
bullet hole in the skull, the other with the skull
split open, as if by a sword.

     And though Taria may have suspected, she never
asked...

THE END.



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