Message-ID: <620eli$9704241357@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: Subject: BOMBADIL: "Amazonia" (Part 2) (NEW!) From: S THOMAS BUSH Amazonia [ M/F M/f F/F ] - 2 of 2 Story #5 by Tom Bombadil (c) Apr 1997 Disclaimer: All the standard rules apply. If you are offended by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this text from your computer. This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions described by me coming straight out of my imagination. As a work of fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or actions described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in my life, or known to me in the lives of any of my friends or relatives. You've been warned. I give permission for anyone to archive or share this story. ******************************************************************** The next morning started with what he assumed was becoming normal for the women - Raquel was working on inserting his member into herself. For the first time since the crash, he was able to think with a clear mind. He stopped the young lady, avoiding a repeat of the rape performed a few days prior by laying her down beside him and engaging in some caressing foreplay. Only with difficulty could he recall specific events from the past few days. The sex, while nice, had seemed dreamlike, unreal, as though it weren't really happening to him. The rest was a blur of images. It was with a newfound sense of self, some determination, and not a little regret, that Tom decided he had to see if there were any civilized folk on the island. "People will be missing me, people will be worrying. I have to make the attempt." He justified in his own mind his reasons for escaping from what he saw as gentle captivity. Tom decided that something they'd been feeding him had to be drugged. It was the only possibly reason, he thought, for his several days of mental fog. He looked around to see what was happening, and to see if there was any possibility of escape. Elizabet was preparing breakfast - the usual - and was ignoring the activities at his end of the hut. Marilyn was laying there, just watching, with half-lidded eyes, as though she were still mostly asleep. Getting up, he made the motions for having to visit the latrine. Raquel tipped her head, Marilyn made no overt gestures or noises, and the older woman simply ignored him. After climbing into his jeans, he went to where he'd indicated, did his morning business, then, with a final look around to see if he was being watched, he simply walked off into the trees. Heading south at what he considered a fairly rapid pace, he followed the beach line. There, the foliage was more open, the ground was firmer than beach sand, and there was some cover from spying eyes. He also liked the fact that the jungle was no more than a few steps away. "Distance", he thought, "then invisibility, then think about everything else." Tom had never in his life been in what could be called prime physical shape. He had been gifted with a firm, decently muscled body by the genetic lottery, so he'd never had to work at staying good looking. It now showed. After surviving a near-fatal spill in the ocean, after doing very little for more than a week, after suddenly getting up and exerting himself with no breakfast and no supper the previous night, he exhausted himself within the hour. He had to stop and lean against a tree for a few minutes to catch his breath before he could force himself to continue. Ten more minutes stumbling walk found him a small, clear, sweet stream. A long drink refreshed him somewhat, bringing back a little of his flagging energy. It also reminded him that he was hungry. There were no banana trees right there waiting for him, no date trees, and no ripe berries or other fruit to be found. Only the ubiquitous coconut could be seen, and he had neither the strength nor the skill to harvest those. Walking upstream a few dozen yards, he found a pool. In it were fish. He knew that because he saw their shadowy forms darting away from him under the water. All the want in the world didn't help. He couldn't catch them with his bare hands, and they didn't oblige him by jumping out of the water and landing at his feet. An hour later, with his stomach complaining loudly, he slowly came to realize that running away before breakfast might not have been such a good idea, even though the food might have been laced with something. Three hours later, two of them spent stumbling farther south along the beach line, he came to realize that finding lunch could be even more difficult than finding breakfast. He was at another of those small streams, trying to catch a fish in what turned out to be a rather large and deep pond. They weren't cooperating any better than their brethren had in the first pond. Tom gave up after doing a face plant in the water. The fish he'd been after, small even by his standards, was somewhere behind him, back in the deeper water, and he could almost hear it laughing its finny little head off. During his trek, he'd seen plenty of birds - way up in the trees. He'd seen a few bird's nests - way up in the trees. He'd seen what could have been edible fruit. It was - you guessed it - way up in the trees. He'd ignored the few lizards that had crossed his trail. Nothing else edible, other than seaweed, seemed to be in evidence. Frustration, and an increasing sense of helplessness, started eating away at his resolve. It was the sound of giggling voices which broke him out of his misery. Whoever was making that noise was getting closer, so he hid in the bushes. A dozen or so of the teenage girls walked into view. Most of them were carrying bamboo sticks with something wrapped around their lengths, but three of the youngsters were carrying strings of fish hanging from the ends of poles. His mouth watered. After twenty years of enjoying sushi, he figured he'd have no trouble handling another variety of raw fish. None of the girls looked in his direction, and none of them seemed to take any notice of his footprints around the pond. He started to relax a little. They set about their task, which seemed to be catching dinner. Most of the girls unfurled their poles, which turned out to be short nets strung in between two bamboo rods. They entered the pond from one side, walked across in a line, made as much noise as possible while holding the nets underwater as a sort of moving fence, and stopped in the shallows of the far end, forming a semi-circle. The remaining three teens then used their nets, shortened for ease of handling, to scoop a number of fish out of the water. When they had, by Tom's estimate, a couple dozen of the silvery skinned creatures, the girls broke ranks and let the rest escape back into deeper water. They strung their catch onto a couple of new lines, packed everything up, and left. All Tom could do was stare, and marvel at their efficiency. The entire operation had taken less that ten minutes. Shaking off his lethargy once the voices faded away, he rushed over to see if they had left any fish on the bank. They hadn't. His stomach growled loudly, as if disappointed. Sleeping through the heat of the day, he woke again in the late afternoon. Something was chewing on his arm. He slapped at it, then realized something was chewing on his other arm as well. His slaps didn't do much good. Then the pains started on his shoulders and his back. Finally he took a good look. Ants were swarming all over his bare skin. A quick dash, a quick splash, and some quickly suppressed bellows of pain later, the ants were gone. Their legacy, a number of painful bites, stung sharply from the salt water. Tom quietly cursed some more, then quickly ran and hid himself in the jungle. He'd heard voices. A group of six older women walked by. One of them stopped and pointed at his footprints, saying something. The others looked like they were unimpressed and resumed walking. Tom figured it had to be a hunting party, since all six carried spears, and he had a nasty suspicion that it was him they were hunting. Ten minutes after they passed, he started walking again. His feet hurt. Having no shoes to wear, they were being punished far beyond what they were used to. He figured that if he didn't get some protection for them soon, they'd start blistering. No ideas for help came to his mind. Nightfall found him near another stream. Thirst was not a problem, but hunger was a gnawing pain. Crabs were easy to catch, but with no fire to cook them with, he couldn't bring himself to try eating any. One small fish fell prey to his skills. That, and a half-dozen clams broken open with a rock and eaten raw, finished off his meal. Twenty minutes later he lost it all. Water did little to remove the acrid taste. Fallen leaves, gathered into a relatively soft, sandy spot, was his bed. He figured it was better than nothing. Sleep came quickly, despite his discomforts. ********** He thought he was dreaming, hearing the girls giggling in his sleep. When their voices grew louder, and he noticed that it was daytime, Tom suddenly realized he was awake, he wasn't very well hidden, and that some girls were coming down the beach. Staying completely still, he tried to become invisible. The spot he'd chosen to sleep on, while good from a comfort point of view, was right near the edge of the beach. He could tell by the sounds that it was too late to try and hide. Nine or ten teenagers came trotting into view along the beach line, accompanied by half a dozen of the pre-teens, talking and laughing among themselves. Staying as still as his hammering heart would allow, he watched them pass. All but the last two. A shout from a tiny brunette brought the whole group to an immediate halt. They stared at him. He stared back. They started whispering to each other. Among the quiet words and occasional nervous giggles, he heard his name, and that of Raquel and Elizabet. Another name, Sam, was also mentioned frequently. He did nothing, absolutely nothing, for a little while. Three of them went running back in the direction they came from. The rest stood or sat in the shade of the trees, watching, but otherwise not interfering with him in any way. Tom thought he should run, should hide, should do something. He felt far too miserable. Then something wonderful happened. One of the girls, under the watchful eyes of himself and the others, passed him a satchel. The odours told him what it contained. Dried fish, flat bread, and dried fruit. It was hard for him not to bolt his food, he was so hungry. The food tasted wonderful. That, and water, was breakfast. An hour later he started walking back towards the village. He was moving rather slowly as his feet were blistered, swollen and tender. The decision to return hadn't been difficult for him to make. It was return, or starve. He'd seen no sign of civilization - no boats, no planes, no smoke, no noise, and, most telling of all, no litter of any kind. If modern people were there, they weren't there in numbers, or in any really obvious fashion. He knew it was also possible modern people were infrequent visitors to the island, with no permanent settlement. He just couldn't figure out where the blondes and redheads had come from. A few hours later he was met by his usual retinue. Elizabet and Marilyn looked mad. They scowled and gave him dirty looks. Raquel, however, stood in front of him, also scowling, and gave him a piece of her mind. He didn't understand the words, but the meaning was clear. She was upset. Tom kept his eyes downcast and tried to look properly abject and chastened. It wasn't hard, the way he was feeling. They escorted him back to the village, back to the hut, fed him, and put him to bed. He slept the sleep of the dead. ********** Three days and seven women later, he was again allowed some freedom. They let him wander around unescorted, but someone was always watching. He thought that better than being practically tied to one or the other of them. The next morning, he woke up with one of the older girls in his bed, one that appeared to be around sixteen. She was one of the many that looked more native than not. She wanted the same as all the others, and with his three keepers hovering over him to make sure he did what they wanted, he complied. It wasn't something he found particularly onerous. On the contrary, he enjoyed himself thoroughly, since the young lady was shapely, nice looking, and very much enjoyed herself as well. It just seemed very strange to him that they would want such a young woman to do what she did. Something else he wondered about was where all the men were at. Did they all sail off someplace? Or were they all in another village somewhere else on the island. Without any information, his imagination ran wild. Nothing he came up with, though, explained all the details, such as blonde-haired blue-eyed Marilyn. Another of the details that bothered him was that most of the women lived in groups. Not family groups, but sexual groups. Even the older girls lived in pairs, threesomes, foursomes, and more. Of his keepers, he suspected that Elizabet and Raquel belonged to a foursome, and Marilyn belonged to a fivesome. Why they all shared a hut with him was yet another unsolved mystery. ********** A week later, after he had enjoyed the attentions of another dozen women and girls, something different happened. They packed him up for a trip. There wasn't much to that - his three keepers simply got him up, let him put his pants on, got handed some satchels of food, and he, the three women, and a half-dozen others headed up the beach. That was all before breakfast. They went in the opposite direction to the one he had travelled in. He still didn't understand much of what they said, but a few words had become familiar. The names of the various foods and liquids, bodily functions, and sexual parts and acts - the things surrounding him all day - he'd memorized. One word they used that he didn't know, but recognized, was the name Sam. He remembered it from when the young girls found him. It wasn't the name of any of the women in the village that he had met or seen, that he was sure of, yet they used that name and his quite frequently in the same pieces of conversation. It was while they were walking along the tide line, after lunch, that he spotted some wreckage. They left him alone while he checked out his find, but watched carefully. Tom finally broke down, dropping to his knees, when he turned over one particularly large piece of metal. Despite knowing intellectually that his plane could never have survived the crash, having proof of its destruction in his hands was a different matter. He sobbed, staring at the markings on that piece of wing, finally realizing that he was, indeed, trapped on that island. For the rest of the afternoon, he combed the beach and the surf for anything that might be useful. The body of the aircraft was sitting under fifteen feet of water about two hundred yards from shore. "A couple hundred yards," he cursed silently to himself. "A fuckin' few seconds of air time. You fuckin' bastards up there couldn't give me that little bit extra, could you. Well fuck you all. Tom Largent is gonna fuckin' survive and get off this fuckin' postage stamp without your fuckin' help!" Not much survived, he found out as he swam through the wreckage and searched the beach. The black box, one of the tiny threads of hope he still held, seemed totally dead. That wasn't unexpected, since it was several years overdue for replacement. Not surprisingly, the radio was smashed - broken, he thought, by some flying debris. Three weeks under water rendered almost everything else useless too, including his emergency supplies. Only two things either worked or were still of use. One was the knife in his emergency kit. Despite some corrosion, it was still sharp. The second was that satellite navigation thing. Tom groaned and shook his head at the injustice of it all. Now he could tell anyone his exact latitude, longitude, altitude, speed, and just about anything else they would care to know. There was only one small problem - he had no way of communicating with anybody. "They can make one of these fuckin' things survive forever. Why can't they do the same thing with a fuckin' radio." When he finally gave up swimming through what used to be his plane, more because of exhaustion than because he really wanted to, he stripped off his jeans and washed them, and himself, clean of salt in a nearby stream. The women set up camp at that point, feeding him the usual for dinner. There was a different Tom bedding down that night. Gone was the easy-going attitude. Gone was the sense of unreality. It was with new eyes that he looked around the fire at an alien people. He tried to forget about how familiar they looked, and how they treated him, and instead thought of them as an undiscovered native tribe. Tom believed that his survival depended on learning about them and somehow coming to understand their culture. Nobody tried to share his bed that night or the next morning. ********** Two days later, they arrived at another village. He had serviced three more women and one more teenager en route, but he was no longer enjoying himself doing so. The physical sensations were there, and he did perform to their expectations, but mentally, it was now a chore, not a pleasure. They either didn't notice the difference or didn't care. The new village was nearly identical to the one they had come from. A welcoming committee of half-naked women and teenagers and totally naked girls greeted them. Again, no men were around. An hour later, all the excitement over and done with, he was led to another shaded mat in the centre of the village and was again expected to sit there on display. Why they bothered moving him, he couldn't even begin to imagine. That's when it happened. "Halloo! Do you speak English?" Tom's head snapped around so fast, he almost got whiplash. Approaching was a white woman with a deep brown tan and blonde hair, about six foot two, stout, with very little figure, smallish breasts, and wearing the traditional grass skirt. He thought she was quite ugly, but didn't care in the least. There was a huge smile on his face as he stood up. "Mhhh! " 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 answered our prayers and delivered you to us. It has been too many seasons since our last . Our need is great, so we are more to you than the others. If you refuse our need, we will not force you any longer. But no longer will you be a .' 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." ******************************************************************** 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 -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /