Kal, Male, 36

	- Narrator, disaster survivor and castaway

	- 6'1, 190lbs, short dark-brown hair

Bailey, Female, 12

	- Disaster survivor and castaway

	- 4'9, 80lbs, shoulder-length brown hair

I started my count of days the next morning. Five vertical lines and one slash marked the six days I'd been on the island. Six days and five nights of an experience I expected would turn out to be a delirious hallucination at any moment when I woke from my daze.

If felt like a lifetime. How could I have only spent five nights with Bailey? I couldn't understand how quickly we'd bonded. I felt deep shame for long moments, the thought that I'd been so in need, so desperate for companionship and affection that I'd had sex with a twelve-year old girl. Shamed that I'd given in to that impulse. Scared that she'd come to believe I'd taken advantage of her. Scared that she'd come to hate me one day. Irrational, perhaps, but so was a sexual relationship with a pre-pubescent twelve-year old girl.

Bailey stirred against me, her smooth ass warm against my thighs. She reached a hand back to my head and pulled me tighter against her. My shame melted, my doubts drifted away in her touch. Whether a twelve-year old knew enough of the world to make the decision or not, Bailey wanted me as much as I wanted her.

We snuggled, the air chilly but bearable. After I stirred, I started my calendar marking. It was roughly September 6, 2013 by my count, though I had no idea how long I was unconscious in the life boat. I could have drifted for days for all I know. When Bailey rose and walked down to urinate, I noted that her skin was not much pink any more. She was tanning, the darker tone beautiful on her naked flesh. I couldn't help but stare as she padded by, squatted, and pissed into the surf.

I completed my calendar by marking the start date so that I had a reference, and took a moment to reevaluate our situation.

Food was becoming an issue. We'd gotten lucky with the fish, but the storms had prevented me from gathering more clams, or trying to catch lizards or scuttling red crabs. We still had several weeks worth of drink mix if we were careful, and Bailey said there was a ton of the wild onions around.

The morning was clear, the sun already heating the sand. I made a quick basket by cutting open a couple of the plastic rose containers and using a hot coal to melt together the seams. I figured we could gather clams more effectively that way, so I waded out and started hunting while Bailey held the basket and dug around with her toes.

My eyes were often close to Bailey's sex, and I got caught up staring between her thighs as she walked, or gazing between her legs when she bent over to pick something up. Her little slit was so adorable, pink and just a bit puffy, her tight little anus just a hint of a pucker above. I shuddered and tried to find food before my cock got harder.

We found a couple dozen of the small clams, five oysters, two more of the unknown mussel-like ones, and three huge scallops. We only searched a small section, and so far, we'd found plenty for a meal in just an hour or so. I got the cook pan going, forming a lid of sorts out of the last piece of drift metal I'd recovered. I washed the shellfish, filled the pan with water, and set our breakfast over the fire. Bailey brought bundles of onion along with a handful of small, blueish berries.

“Did you eat one?” I asked, concerned.

“Not yet. I wanted you to see them first.”

“Don't. I don't know what they are, but there are lots of poisonous berries, even ones that look edible. If we get desperate, we'll give them a try, but otherwise, let's skip it for now.”

“Ok. I figured.” Bailey tossed the berries across the sand, scattering them halfway to the surf. The onions were soon boiling with the shellfish, the wonderful smells of fresh food filling my mind with desire for more than just Bailey's wonderful body.

I was really proud of my teen lover. She'd mostly been a rock, breaking down no more often than I had, sticking to the work at hand and being an all-around great companion. Even if we'd not had sex, if I'd not started things by accidently cumming on her little butt, she and I would have been mostly alright. She was a good one. Thoughtful. Careful when she spoke. Reserved, curious, and able to handle stress that should have broken us both already. The way she smiled drove me forward, helped me keep my balance, my purpose.

She was my rock, and I tried every minute to be hers.

While she had gathered onions, I had ducked into the trees from the stream. I made it maybe ten feet before a buzzing wall forced me away. No going back upstream until the next storm, it seemed.

So I fell back on exploring West again, see if we could find help or find something useful. We sucked down our shellfish and onions, grabbed our plastic containers full of water, and set out on the life raft, just off the beach.

I paddled with the sun at our backs, moved quickly to the bend and we soon arrived at the point where I'd found the metal and wood debris. We stopped, found nothing else in the surf or on the sand. There was still a body lingering, rotting, and we silently ignored it as best we could. We stayed ashore, deciding to beach the raft and explore beyond my furthest reach from days earlier. Bailey walked the surf while I walked the treeline.

The beach was a bit wider here, less sloped than where our camp sat. Heron-like birds honked angrily at us, while little sandpiper-looking racers skittered up and down the foaming surf. I caught site of something dark and fast scurry across the beach a hundred meters North, but it was long gone before I could identify it.

Bailey poked around in the water, called out that she'd found shellfish everywhere. We left those, a good supply available back 'home.' I found two long tangles of netting and heavy-gauge fishing line with metal leaders and weights still attached. No hooks, but the line and metal would certainly be useful. Two liter-sized soda bottles, caps attached, rolled in the surf and Bailey claimed them and tossed them up the sand to retrieve on our way back.

I loved watching her glide through the surf. Her shiny, tanning skin glowed and sparkled as the spray hit her flesh, her sweat dripping as the day grew hot. I worried she'd burn so I switched with her for a bit, letting her catch the shade along the trees.

We walked for an hour so, the last half spent knowing we were running out of beach. This end of the island met a ridge much like the one around the East side, high and unclimbable. The sun was high overhead and my skin felt a bit raw. We tucked into the shade of a cozy nook where three trees grew close together and rested for a couple of hours.

It was about then that I realized I'd lost weight. Skin looked a touch baggy, my familiar arms looked thinner. We definitely weren't eating enough. Surviving takes a ton of energy... and so does fucking. We had to do better about gathering edibles and trying to keep our bodies from wasting away.

“So now what?” Bailey rested her head on my chest, her naked flesh sandy and grimy from the salt spray.

“Well... we should reserve our water as best we can if we want to try a trip around the bend, see what's around the other side.”

“I want to do that. I want to know,” Bailey echoed my thoughts. I needed to know at this point. We'd both been holding on to some hope that just on the other side of the island was a resort hotel and a stiff drink. Well, I'd been holding on to that one, at least. Until we got around the island once, we'd never know whether to abandon that last reasonable chance for a shortcut home.

We sipped water, parched but more than ready to move on. I'd thrown the small packet of sun block in the raft and figured this was the best time to utilize it. I had no way of knowing how long it might take to go around. We might be exposed to several hours of direct sunlight.

I took my time spreading the lotion on her skin, savoring the way her small breasts danced softly across my fingers, how the dimple in her back flexed and relaxed at my touch. I finished her and she covered me as well. We had about a quarter of the packet left, and I expected we'd need that before the day was out.

We returned to the boat. While I paddled, Bailey held on to our remaining water. Toward the bend, I met waves pushing against me. It was a struggle to finally get around and move to where we could see the West side of the island, looking North. The ridge ran a mile or so, and appeared to round to the East, out of site. With the heights unapproachable, I paddled as quickly as I could, the flow of water changing and shifting as I pulled us North toward the Northwest portion of the island.

The boat shot around the Northwest corner, almost on it's own. The water moved swiftly, and for about 15 minutes, I was seriously worried we were being swept out to sea.

I paddled hard, straining, felt muscles tightening and burning. I tried my best to hide my worry from Bailey, but I was pretty sure she felt the danger as we were pulled farther from the cliffs and toward open water.

I finally got us out of the flow and into waters close to the island that slowly washed East. At this point, I finally got a view of the North side of the land.

The ridge ran a mile or so before it receded. Beyond that, I saw a margin of light-brown sand before the shimmering humid heat fuzzed the details beyond recognition. Pelicans, or something like pelicans, flew in a group of six or seven, headed Southeast over where I imagined our camp must be.

We sipped water and sweated, I had to relax a bit. Bailey took up the paddle and I gladly took a break and observed. The twelve-year old kept us moving, and I watched the sandy area become more focused. It looked to be a small beach but as we drew closer, I saw it was actually two. A good sized stream broke the two, dense mosses and fern-like plants covered it from view, but the way it played into the surf was unmistakable.

Bailey steered us in and we beached on the far side of the stream, looking inland as we dragged the boat a safe distance. This part of the island was thinner of trees and foliage. We could see upstream several hundred meters before it was twisting away and disappearing in the grasses and low bushes. Both sides of the stream looked similar, sand on the oceanside diminishing to nothing where a high ridge formed cliffs at the water's edge.

Certainly didn't look very promising for finding help. That realization didn't strike me as hard as it should have. I had already given up that hope as the day wore on, and seeing no sign of hotels or stiff drinks was not much of a let down, really. Still, I knew Bailey realized what we'd discovered wasn't encouraging, and I hugged her tight before putting on a business smile and leading us upstream.

We lost sight of the boat as we made our way inland. There were a few, tall thin palm-like trees, large wide fronds clacking in the breeze. Colorful birds of red and bright green chirped and squeaked on the branches of shorter, dark green leafy ones. The low ferns ticked our ankles and calves, and were it not for the slick, mossy rocks, we'd have certainly preferred walking in the cool stream.

The trees grew a bit thicker and provided consistent shade for the first time after we'd walked for thirty minutes or so. The stream passed by a huge, shattered trunk, the old tree base easily six, seven feet across. No trees I'd seen on the island had been anywhere close, most of them no wider than I was. I nearly moved past when a glint caught my eye. The trunk had been hollowed, by time, bugs, or something else, I had no clue. Inside was a rusted, deteriorating suitcase, metal and plastic and mostly intact.

I poked around it to ensure there weren't snakes or spiders hunkering down in the trunk. Nothing threatening stuck a head out, so I gently pulled the suitcase out and sat it at my feet. Bailey looked at me with wonder, I shrugged.

Opening it took a second as the latches sprang open when I touched them. We held our breath as we peered inside.

Notebooks. Three of them. Two pens. Nothing else. Not the payoff I was hoping for. Things that are normally in suitcases would have been great. Clothes. Shoes. Food. Anything but notebooks. I picked one up and opened it.

It was a journal.

I read the first page aloud.

Date: July 25, 2011 (or thereabouts)

My name is Gale Mattocks. Other than that, I don't know anything.

I don't know where I am. I don't remember anything about how I got here. I think I was American, think I had a husband, but I am having a hard time telling dreams from reality. The first thing I'm fairly sure of was waking on the beach yesterday afternoon and screaming for a long time, crying.

I feel so alone, scared. After a night of no clothes, no food, no water, I decided to keep this journal in hopes that it will keep me sane. I'm close to losing it already.

“Jesus, Bailey, this woman was stranded on this island over two years ago.” I flipped through the pages, opened the second notebook and did the same. “There are tons of entries here. She must have lived here a long time.”

Bailey thumbed through the third notebook, found that most of it was blank. She searched for the last entry.

“Kal...” She looked up, mouth open. “It's dated two weeks ago.”

“What!? Read it to me!”

Bailey dictated.

Date: August 22, 2013 (or thereabouts)

No success with the fat tubers so far, they just refuse to grow. The orchids are turning nice, damn birds nearly killed them, though. Imagine! I might have vanilla beans ready for harvest in a month or two!

No sign again of the lights that hovered just over the horizon on the 21st and 22nd. They never came any closer.

I saw the face again today, and I'm becoming convinced it is a child. I called out to her (I think it is a her) but she was gone in a flash. That's the third time in the last few weeks. I don't think I'm going crazy, but after so long alone on Isla Gale, I've got no one to ask.

“Holy shit! She's alive and on the island. Bailey, we have to find her!” We put the journals back in the suitcase. We looked around for a path other than the one we were on, but the stream was the likeliest candidate, so we continued inland, the sun drifting overhead and moving to the west.

The wind had stilled, the air almost stale as the trees thickened. The brine smelled musty. Our bodies grew sticky fast and we stopped frequently to wash in the stream.

To our horror, we came upon a high ridge cliff face that blocked our path. The stream continued upstream through the cliff, trickling and splashing free around a small passage no bigger than a recliner. Rocks jutted and partially blocked the stream, and there was no chance either of us was going up it. I doubted Gale used that way. My hope sunk a bit as I realized that the day was growing late enough that we had to decide whether we were going back to camp or risk a night on the North side of the island to try to find Gale.

We called out, shouted for some time, never heard an answer. We backtracked, checked everywhere for footprints. Looked anywhere two leaves parted just slightly. We found nothing that resembled a trail. The sun was tilting over to the West, the shadows growing long.

We agreed we had to head back to camp and try again another day. We had plenty of water with the stream, but we were both starving and beginning to feel the effects of exertion and heat.

Still, as we put out the life boat, Bailey hanging on to our water as I paddled, we took away a strong spark of modest hope. Gale hadn't gotten off the island, but she was growing vanilla! She might have something, some experience that might help us to survive.

- - -

It took until sundown to pull into our camp. The rest of the Northeast side of the island looked much like the Northwest side. The flow across the island made it difficult to round the bend and head West toward home. Bailey took over while my muscles cried out. I finished our water and wished I had more. I took the last leg and as we lost the light, we pulled the boat up the shore and collapsed. I willed myself to grab a jug of water and filled our cups over and over from it, drinking greedily, splashing our heads and cooling our overheated bodies.

We downed juice slurry and gulps of water until we were actually able to pee late after sunset. I was so proud of Bailey. We'd had a tough day, long, tiring, in some ways very frustrating, disappointing. Not once did she complain, or quit and give up. She made the day feel much easier than it really ways. I always thought a good partner was there to pick up your slack, help you when you can't help yourself, to always have your back. Bailey had been that for me for several days, and really showed her spirit as we dragged ourselves home in the twilight.

I didn't believe I could hold back my feelings for her any longer, no matter what was to come.

I loved Bailey.

We rinsed up, dried with the towel, and piled in to the shelter.

I was exhausted, and yet, hearing Bailey panting lightly beside me, I wanted suddenly to share something with her.

“Hey Bailey, I'm beat. Sore and tired, but... You feel like touching yourself? Wanna masturbate with me? I'm sore, like I said, but I really need to let one go after this long day.”

She giggled. “Sure, I think I'm ok for it.”

I took my cock in hand and started stroking it while Bailey watched, eyes staring at my erect length. She wet her fingers, slid a hand between her thin thighs, and lightly stroked her hairless pussy. From my angle, I could see the top of her slit as it trailed away between her legs, her fingers dancing up and down, circling her little nub and dipping lower to part her small, swollen labia.

Bailey moaned, closed her eyes, sank into her masturbation. Her hips began to rock, she let out a sigh. I shuddered and stroked myself faster, watching the twelve-year old touching herself for the first time. She brought her hand to her lips and licked, tasting her pussy and rewetting her fingers. She opened her eyes, Bailey's puffy nipples becoming tighter, more defined.

The preteen watched my hand move along my shaft, her mouth open and gasping, rocking, trembling against her fingers. She played with herself in a way that can only be described as carefree, innocent, simple movement bringing the most delicate of tremors. Not like when I ate her or fucked her, where she shuddered and writhed with me. Bailey was quieter, focused, lost in playing with herself and watching me jerk off.

Her head tossed slowly, she sighed, sighed again, hips rolled gently, she gasped, rocked twice, and had the softest orgasm I've ever seen. “nuuuun... nuuunnunn... aaaaa... aaa... aaaaa... aaa...” It rolled through her small body like a still lake, little shivers, small quakes. It was so fucking sweet I started blowing my load.

I turned at the last minute, brought my cock over her slick genitals and stroking fingers, and shot my load between her legs. “ooh Bailey... oooh... ooohh... ohhh... ohhhhhh...” Cum splashed out against her fingers and inner thighs, the second splattering on her slit and sliding down. A third splashed her thin stomach, the fourth and fifth following the second into her crotch and covering her hand.

I spasmed, almost mirroring the gentle orgasm Bailey had shivered through. My body became warm with euphoria, my penis dribbling sperm onto the twelve-year old's thigh. Bailey looked at me with love in her eyes, and I rose to her, driving my lips to hers. She drew into me and I held her body to mine, feeling the heat from her genitals against my leg.

She brought her lips to my ears, whispered, “I love you , Kal... I love you so much...” She held tight to me, pressing her body into mine, covering my skin with hers, both of us still shivering from orgasms.

I couldn't stop myself. I gave in and told her the truth.

“I love you, Bailey. I love you, Sweetheart.”