Micah's Island, page 3
I had a damned lifeboat in my hands, and I couldn’t get into it. I was beyond pissed. I closed my eyes and lay my head on the plastic rim of the boat, half-drowned, feeling mighty sorry for myself when Calvin popped into my mind.
Fuck you, Gianna. It’s what you deserve!
No way was I giving that bastard the last word. I decided I had one last try in me. Just one. I had to make it count. Swearing and praying, I pushed myself upward on shaking arms, willing my body up and over the side of the boat. And I did it! I scraped the skin off of my boobs, belly, and thighs doing it, but mission accomplished!
I didn’t have much time to bask in my success. I rolled to my knees and vomited ocean all over the inside of the boat. Once, twice, three times my stomach contracted painfully as I emptied myself out. Geez, how much seawater could one person swallow? Gasping, my stomach finally purged, I rolled onto my back in a puddle of salty vomit and blacked out.
~***~
Having a lifelong fear of boats, I never realized how soothing they are when they bob around in the water. When I started to wake up, I think I might have smiled to myself and tried to go back to sleep.
It didn’t take long for the memory of what happened to slam into my head with all the force of a baseball bat. I jerked myself upright, gasping, choking, soaking wet, and more than a little freaked out.
I was naked. Completely, buck, as a jaybird, birthday suit naked. Somehow, my shorts had parted company with me in the water.
But I was alive. Alive! Take that, you fucker!
It turns out getting into the lifeboat only solved part of my problem. I had no water, for one thing. The other thing: During the day, the sun turned the covered lifeboat into a microwave oven. And I felt like bacon.
Every now and again, I stuck a foot and hand out into the water and paddled around, trying to turn the boat so I wouldn’t miss land, if there was any to be found. I should’ve known better. I’m just not that lucky.
Flotsam from the ship drifted around near me. I was hoping to find clothes, but I didn’t. I found some deck chair cushions. I pulled those in to sleep on. I found a plastic margarita shaker and some rope. I pulled those in too. Collecting things kept me from thinking about the fact that my brain was melting in the heat.
It finally got so freaking hot in the boat that I could feel myself going out again. But hey, at least I had deck chair cushions to die on this time.
~***~
Seagulls. The coastal areas consider them flying rats. I’ve heard them called ‘vermin with wings’. They’re weird little birds, eating just about everything from chewing gum to cigarette butts.
I heard them now. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I will never think of them as flying vermin again.
If I could hear seagulls, I was near land. I had to be. I tried to sit up. Too bad I was so fried and dehydrated, the rest of me refused to obey.
I had a ten minute argument with my body about moving. I said it out loud: “UP, Gianna. Get up!” Nothing. I decided to start small and try to move my hands. Check. Arms. Check. Finally, with a herculean effort of both mind and body, I managed to flop myself up, toward the hatch, and out...
...into sand and surf. Yeah, I did a face plant out into sand. It was in my mouth and up my nose, but I didn’t care.
Holy shit and hallelujah, I’d landed somewhere!
It took everything I had to lift my head up out of the sand and water to look. My vision was blurry, but I’ll never forget how beautiful the sight was.
White sand stretched away from me, sloping upward toward what appeared to be a thick jungle of palm trees. I’d washed ashore on a tropical island. Somewhere.
I hung over the edge of the boat and cried like a baby, expending what was probably the last moisture I had in my body.
Chapter Five
I was weak and scared shitless, but I wasn’t really hurt. I knew I was damned lucky to be alive.
Half in, half out of the boat, I crawled the rest of the way out and flopped over onto my back in the sun, sand and surf.
And then I remembered I was completely naked.
I quickly rolled over onto my front and glanced up and down the beach for signs of life. I didn’t see anyone, but there had to be someone on this island besides me. It was just too beautiful to have escaped the notice of a multi-millionaire developer.
I listened, but didn’t hear anything besides crashing waves, seagulls, and a light tropical breeze tossing the palm fronds around. There had to be people here. I’d just landed on the uninhabited side of the island.
I was hoping to find someone who could help me, but I had to find something to wear first. I couldn’t just go sailing into civilization buck-assed naked. Or maybe I could just snatch a towel from around a pool somewhere before I presented myself at the office of the hotel I was sure was somewhere on this island. Yeah, I thought that sounded like a good idea.
In any case, I sure as hell couldn’t stay out here exposed to the sun all day. Fried ta-tas are no fun; fried butt cheeks even less so.
I pushed to my feet, and tried to form a plan. I didn’t want the tide to wash the little boat back out to sea when it came in, so I dragged it up into the middle of the beach, out of the water’s reach. I didn’t know if I’d ever need it again, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
I reached into the boat, found the margarita shaker, and took a few tentative steps toward the jungle in the center of the island. My priorities in order of importance: Water, food, and something to cover myself up.
~***~
There were coconuts, of course, but forget it. Too high, and no way to crack them open. I could see papayas up in the tree, ripe and ready to pick, but I had no way to get those either. They aren’t a very tall tree, but that doesn’t matter when you’re only five and a half feet tall yourself. I thought about throwing rocks, but I didn’t see any. There were no branches or anything else I could use to knock them down.
I finally found a shorter papaya tree that was bearing fruit. I shook it as hard as I could and succeeded in knocking down four of the little orange beauties. Needless to say, I was starving. I fell on them like a slavering fiend, literally on my knees and elbows eating them as fast as I could. I’m surprised I didn’t puke.
I actually felt quite a bit better after eating them. The brain fog I was experiencing from being dehydrated lifted a little, though I knew the moisture in the papayas wasn’t going to be enough. I had to find fresh water quickly, if I could.
My stomach full, I picked up the margarita shaker and started to explore my surroundings.
It was the weirdest feeling walking around outside naked. I’ve skinny dipped before, but this felt different. A little scary and quite liberating. I liked it, but I made a mental note to keep checking the beach for any kind of fabric or garments. I could put any fabric that washed up on shore to good use as clothing.
It was a beautiful island. The air was warm, but not oppressively so. Birds chattered back and forth in the trees. Once in a while, a gigantic blue butterfly would flitter across in front of me. I didn’t have to fight my way through too much undergrowth; in fact, there seemed to be a well-worn path through the jungle. I don’t know why that didn’t trigger some clue in my brain, as in: There wouldn’t be a path here if someone wasn’t using it.
After what felt like several hours (and after a few more papayas), I heard it. The sound of rushing water. I ran toward it as fast as I could.
The water was gushing up and out into a jumble of sharp, volcanic rocks. It came out of the rock with quite a bit of force, arced high into the air, and finally fell in a thousand rivulets down through the craggy red stones. I climbed the pile of rocks in front of the waterfall and gasped.
The falls culminated in a gorgeous blue-green pool at the base of the rocks. I tentatively knelt down, dipped a finger in the water, and put it to my lips. I nearly collapsed from relief—it was fresh water!
I scooped up a shaker full of water and drank deeply, laughing and crying at the same time. Fresh water and papayas. What else did I freaking need?
When I was done drinking, I dove into the pool and splashed around. I hadn’t been able to bath for several days, and I was anxious to knock the stink off me. I dipped my hair and ran my fingers through it. I was beginning to feel much better, both physically and mentally.
It’s funny now. Things I’d always taken for granted—food and water, just being clean—now seemed like precious gifts. I will never take them for granted again.
~***~
I walked all over the island but didn’t find any hotels, pools, or people. I was starting to get a bad feeling that I might be the only person on this island.
My legs and feet hurt. I was exhausted. I didn’t know if I was glad to finally see the sun go down, but I sure was looking forward to getting some sleep. I’d make sense out of the deserted island thing tomorrow.
I found my way back to the waterfall and found a spot to sleep, nestled in and amongst some low foliage. I had to sleep on the bare sand, and I had nothing to cover me, but it didn’t matter. I fell into a deep, catatonic sleep almost immediately.
I dreamed strange things that night: purple and blue lightning again, driving rain, then hands and warmth and me moving, carried into the darkness.
~***~
You know how it is when you wake up in a panic, knowing something is wrong, but you’re not quite sure what?
That was me the next morning. I woke up on my back, and as I opened my eyes, I could see the interior of a palm-thatched roof over me.
I cut my eyes over my surroundings, almost afraid to breathe. I was clearly not in the same place as when I’d gone to sleep. How did I get here? Or maybe more importantly, who had brought me here?
I didn’t see anything, nor did I hear anything, so I cautiously rose to one elbow.
I was in a hut of sorts, definitely man-made. It was somewhat dark; I was lying on a palm frond mat. Someone had covered me with something that looked like sheer curtain. My heart was pounding hard; I was trying to breath but the air seemed to get stuck way short of where it needed to go.
I was not alone on this island!
I got up and wrapped the gauzy sheet around me—thank you, whoever you are, I thought—and tip-toed toward the door. I peeked out around the edge, left then right, but saw nothing. There was a path that led away from the hut into the foliage. I took several tentative steps out and looked around again. Nothing.
I had it in my mind to get as far away from the hut as I could, at least until I could figure out who else might be on the island with me. I took several long strides, turning back one last time to make sure no one was following me. When I turned around and picked up the pace, I ran right into him.
We collided rather hard. My nose bounced off of his sternum, and I jerked my head up to look into his face.
Impressions again: large, brown eyes, long, dark hair, beyond gorgeous, freaking cheekbones a model would envy, tall and solid as a mountain, so many muscles it was indecent. He was the star of every Tarzan movie I’d ever seen. His expression as he peered down at me was blank, curious, not threatening at all. I was majorly freaked out anyway.
I screamed, broke, and ran.
It didn’t take him long to run me down and flatten me in the path. He ripped off the cover I’d wrapped around myself, flipped me onto my back, and dropped to his hands and knees over me, straddling my body as he stared down at me.
Did I mention he was naked too?
Shit, shit, and double shit.
I was flat on my back, buck naked under an equally naked man. I sure do get myself into some predicaments, don’t I?
I lay completely still, very quiet, though a scream was lodged in my throat. The only sounds I could hear were the blood squishing in my ears and both of us breathing. I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t want to see what was in his eyes.
After a few moments, he leaned down over me and began to sniff my neck. Yes, I said sniff. He rooted me with his nose, ran it up and down my neck, into my hair, and over my ears, sniffing like a dog. He was smelling me, trying to get my scent.
Scared shitless or not, it tickled. I started to giggle. He drew back, startled, and looked down at me. I used the moment to surreptitiously roll the lower half of me to the side, knees together. I inched my hands downward and covered my privates. I didn’t know what his intentions were, but judging from the size of the erection I could see as I peered down between our bodies, I was about to find out.
He lifted a hand and began to touch me softly. I thought my heart was going to explode out of my chest. He started with my hair, brushed my lips with a thumb. Moved on to my bare shoulders, then down over my breasts and nipples, which traitorously sprang to life under his fingertips. I shivered.
He was a typical boob man. Fascinated, he cupped them, sniffed them, ran his tongue down the sides, and rubbed his chin over my nipples, which by this time were so perky they were ready to jump off. It’d been a long time since a man touched me like that. With no small amount of chagrin, I realized he was turning me on. I slipped my finger into my pussy; I was so fucking wet I could barely stand it.
Finished with my breasts, he moved his way down to my waist, running his hand lightly over the curve. He found and gripped my hip bone, then tried to pull my hands away from my mons.
“Nuh uh, buster, no way! This is the part where you get lost!” I said firmly, struggling to roll over, determined to keep a good grip on myself. He sat up, eyes wide. He ran his fingertips over my lips and throat, as if he couldn’t believe I’d made that noise.
I began to get the feeling that all was not as it seemed.
He had his hands wrapped rather tightly around my throat, waiting for me to talk again. I decided it would be wise to stay silent. He soon turned his attention back to my other end.
He was strong, and I couldn’t stop him. Prying my hands away from my mons, he held both of my wrists in one hand and flattened my hips back down on the path with the other.
He was oh-so gentle as he traced across the curls between my legs, fingering the softness of my labia. He probed between them, lightly caressing, using my wetness to explore me deeply and thoroughly. I stopped breathing, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his face.
He sat back again. His nostrils flared as he raised the finger he’d used to probe me to his nose, catching the scent of me. Then he shocked the hell out of me by flicking his tongue out and running it over the tip of his finger. I just about had an orgasm right there on the path.
He seemed confused. He put both hands on the mounds of my breasts, then flattened his hands to his own chest. He fingered me lightly again, then wrapped a strong hand around his own considerable, very hard cock, as though measuring our differences. His eyes caught mine, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.
He had no idea what I was. He didn’t seem to know that his boy parts would fit very snuggly into my girl parts. Judging from the look on his face, he’d never—not once in his life—seen a grown woman. His body had instinctively reacted to me (Don’t they say a cock has a mind of its own?), but he had no clue what to do with me otherwise.
It was a hard notion to swallow, but it gave me a measure of courage. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was just curious. I relaxed on the path and let him continue his examination. He even rolled me over and, without intent, gave me what I considered to be a very good back and butt massage.
He finally stood up, reached down for my hand, and pulled me to my feet. He held me tightly by one wrist; I think he was afraid I’d try to run again, and he didn’t want to lose me. To be honest, I didn’t want to lose him either. Maybe we could collaborate on the food issue. I was already tired of papayas.
Tugging on my wrist, he dragged me off down the path back to the hut.
Chapter Six
Without someone to tell me what had actually happened, I pieced the events together as best I could.
As near as I could tell, we’d had another one of those weird storms with heavy rain, but I’d been sleeping so soundly that none of it registered.
Jungle Man must have seen me touring the island. I didn’t see him. I’d been looking for buildings, people, roads, signs of civilization. I would’ve totally missed a footprint in the sand.
He’d evidently watched me bed down for the night. When the storm blew up, I think he must have snatched me out from under the foliage and carried me to the covered hut for shelter. That would certainly explain the strange dream I had, which hadn’t been a dream at all.
Anyway, I thought it was awfully sweet of him to do that for me.
The hut he’d put me in was the entrance to a very elaborate series of decks, built out over a jumble of rocks like the ones by the falls. There were several levels, made of various types of wood and some palm tree trunks, bound together with braided palm fronds and an occasional length of rope. In one corner of the lowest deck, he’d built a palm-covered arbor. A braided hammock hung between the supports.
“Did you build this?” I asked. I was impressed.
He turned to me and put his hands on my throat and mouth again, a look of absolute bewilderment on his face.
“Can’t you speak?”
He just pressed his hand tighter against my throat, his eyes wide as they searched mine. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.
I wondered if he could speak. He really didn’t need to; there didn’t seem to be anyone else on this island to talk to. We’d have to work on that. I gently removed the hand from my neck and made my way down onto the lower deck.
It was clear that he used debris that washed up on shore to build a lot of the decking. There were large and small planks in various stages of rot, bare wood, some painted and varnished boards. There were quite a few wrecked boats represented in the home he’d built for himself.
I knew he wouldn’t answer me, but I turned to him and asked: “How did you get here?”
The poor thing still looked stunned, even a little traumatized. I went to him and took his hand. He jumped a foot at my touch.
