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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o This part of my collection offers a very wide variety of stories. o
o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also from o
o alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order to this o
o section of my collection, other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to be typed o
o therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s a lot more fun to o
o browse around and find 'little' surprises, and topics that you might o
o not have even thought of looking for. I hope you enjoy your time among o
o Kristen’s book shelf directories. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o and should not be read by minors. Thank you, Kristen Becker o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Amazonia [ M/F M/f F/F ]
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