Authors: Lexi Duval
When I wake the next day, the world seems a brighter,
happier place. And I begin to think that maybe, being stranded here
with Flint Young isn't quite so bad.
Chapter One
The water laps around my breasts, golden with the kiss
of the sun. It tickles my nipples as it rises up and down, warm and
comforting against my hot skin. Beneath the surface of the water, my
body is free of any garments, my skirt, my panties left in the shack
under the treeline.
Beside me, Flint stands naked too, the water not quite
so deep to him, reaching up to the top of his abs. His body shines
and shimmers under the morning sun, and I see the shadow of his penis
swaying beneath the surface of the sea.
He splashes me and I giggle, and we frolic in the waves
like two kids without a care in the world. He pulls me in for a kiss,
his beard scratching against my cheeks, the whiskers now growing
thick and dark.
His hair is longer too, dark waves falling down his
head. They turn dark as he dives under and reappears, his hair matted
down against his forehead. I reach forward and brush it aside, and he
reaches in to kiss me again.
Our kisses soon turn to something more, his hands
touching me in places that sends sparks through my body. I smile and
hold him back with a cheeky grin on my face as his lips venture
toward my nipples.
I swim backward a few feet, teasing him, kicking my feet
out and opening my legs so that he can see between my thighs. He
bites his closed fist and shakes his head with feigned anger, before
coming forward once more.
I hold him back again, and reach down to grasp his
penis. It's already starting to stiffen beneath the waves, growing
longer and wider as my hand clasps around it. I begin tugging gently,
the feel of water rushing over my hand, as our lips come together
again.
He walks me toward the shallows, and slowly our bodies
rise up out of the sea. When it's no higher than our knees, I lean
down and kneel into the sand, the water splashing around my pussy,
and begin gorging myself on his dick.
It tastes salty from the sea, warm and tanned under the
sun. His entire body is tanned, groin and ass included, as is mine.
For weeks now, we've taken to spending much of our time naked,
letting the sun soak into all areas of our body.
All tan lines I once had have faded, my body colored in
bronze all over, just like his. I send his golden cock inside me,
slipping it in and out of my mouth with a smile on my face.
His eyes sparkle as he watches me, and I quickly slide a
finger up between my legs as I work at him. Soon he takes over,
standing me up and kneeling down himself, licking the water from
between my legs, darting his tongue up inside me and rubbing my clit.
The world around us makes it all so perfect, our minds
turning from the hope of escape and rescue and to the carnal needs we
feel toward each other. For weeks now, we've been exploring each
other's bodies, making love under the stars, in the sea, up on the
highest plateau as we look out for passing boats and muse over
whether we'll ever be found.
He lifts me up in his arms, as he did when we first came
here, and drops me into dry sand, hot under my ass. The grains
immediately stick to both of us as he opens my legs and climbs into
me. He penetrates me deep and we laugh and roll around, covering our
bodies from head to toe in the soft sand.
I ride him until he comes, the sun beating down on my
back, shielding his face from the sun. I watch his eyes morph and
change and cloud over inside his skull, a grin of joy on his bearded
face, his teeth shining out from the bristles.
He groans, and I groan louder, and we laugh some more.
And when we're done, we lie side by side, my head against his chest,
and bathe under the sun's warm glow, with nothing better in the world
to do.
Nothing to do but wait, and hope that someone will
eventually come. But it's all out of our hands now. There's nothing
we can do, and we know it. We accepted that long ago now, the night
that we first kissed and realized that, maybe, there was something
else we could live for.
That we could live for each other. That being together
here, in this lonely paradise, would keep us alive and keep us sane.
So we explore and enjoy our carnal needs. We spend our
days building the shelter up more, turning it into something you'd
see in
The Swiss Family Robinson
. We fish and continually
improve our skills, and make sure the fire keeps going.
We begin to settle into a routine that keeps us from
going mad, that keeps us from focusing on the negatives. We talk and
get to know each other's deepest fears and regrets, speaking about
our families and friends and our lives beyond this beach.
Soon I know Flint inside out, and he knows me. And we
share in the grief we feel for our lost worlds, lift each other up so
that it doesn't weigh us down. Help carry each other along, day by
day, enjoying the world we can control while the other continues its
search.
“
They won't stop until they know for sure,” Flint
tells me, but by now I've begun to think that we will never be saved
from here.
And part of me hopes we never are.
We discuss the options we have, and consider building a
raft to take us out to sea. If I was alone, I know I'd do it. Flint
certainly would. But together, here, neither of us make the choice.
We let the idea float around and never settle. We know
such a thing would be to risk our lives out there on the open sea, to
take our chances against the storms and the sharks and the vagaries
of the currents.
Flint tells me that our chances of survival would be
low, that with no implements to build the thing it might not even be
possible. And as he speaks, I accept every possible hurdle he sees,
and say that we should leave such an idea until we're at the end of
our wits.
Because now, together, I see no reason to take such a
gamble. The gamble of losing my own life, and losing his.
So I settle the issue in my mind, and we make love
again, and we realize that, while we might have died in that crash,
we've been granted a chance to truly live.
Here, just the two of us, on this island that's brought
us together.
Chapter Two
“
It's my birthday today you know.”
Flint sits on a rock by the fire pit, staring into the
flames. There's a melancholic tone to his voice, reflective and
solemn.
“
How do you know?”
In any other place, such a question might seem out of
place. We all know when our birthdays are, and we usually plan for
them and celebrate. For many, the date is something to look forward
to for weeks or months. Not the sort of date you'd forget.
But here, I could hardly tell you what month it is, let
alone what day. By now we must have been here for several months, and
the days are starting to merge together into one. There's no
distinction from one to the next, no events to look forward to, no
markers in the calender.
No birthdays. No holidays. No weekends and sick days.
Every day is the same. Time is now marked only by the
turning off of the sun at night and the lighting of the moon. The
days of the week have no significance beyond that.
So when Flint tells me it's his birthday, my question of
how he knows is perfectly valid.
To answer, he leads me along the beach and to the edge
of the jungle. There, I see markings cut into a tree. There are
almost too many to count.
“
Here was the day we arrived here,” says Flint,
pointing at the first mark. “That was March 16, and every mark
after is the next day in March.”
He drops his fingers to the next line.
“
This is the start of April. That month has 30 days.”
I quickly count the full thirty as Flint's fingers drop
another level.
“
And here's May, with 31 days.”
He keeps on going down to June, and then July, where he
picks up a small stone from the ground and starts cutting the next
mark into the tree.
“
It's July 10 today, my birthday,” he says. “We've
been here nearly 5 months now.”
The revelation shocks me.
Five months? I thought it
was more like three...
“
That long huh?”
He nods, and takes my hand, and we walk back down the
beach together.
“
So, if it's your birthday we should celebrate.”
A faint smile rises on his face, but nothing more.
“
I'm turning 31, Lib. There's not much to celebrate.”
He seems more downcast than I've seen him in months.
During the early days and weeks we both had our fair share of low
days, particularly me. But since then, since we both began to accept
that, perhaps, we'd be here a long time, his mood had been stable.
But not today. Today his face looks more haggard than
I've seen him, his body suddenly looking slimmer and leaner. He still
looks strong, but he's lost some of the muscle he first had. His eyes
look darker, too, framed by dark patches, and I suspect that he
hasn't been sleeping too well lately.
But if he starts to lose it, then what hope do I have?
He's been my rock, my support, and I need him.
“
That's not the attitude Flin,” I say, trying to
inject some enthusiasm into my voice. “How about I do some hunting
and try to catch you something nice for dinner?”
He looks at me and nods, half vacantly, and I know that
today, of all days, the reality of our situation is taking hold in
his mind.
He's probably thinking about his friends and family,
about the party that they'd probably be throwing for him. Maybe he'd
be going to some celebrity bash, hanging out with all his famous
friends. And yet he's stuck here, on this lonely island, with no one
but me as company.
He returns to the fire, and I go and gather my spear,
preparing to go and fish in the ocean. As I step down the beach, he
stops me and pulls me in for a long hug, our warm flesh melting
together under his tight embrace.
He doesn't say anything. He just hugs me tight for a few
long moments before letting me go. When he does, he drops back in
front of the fire and I turn my eyes to the sea.
For the next few hours I hunt in the water, doing
something that's now become second nature to me. Time seems to pass
differently here, with only the sun above our heads indicating the
changing of the day.
An hour might pass without you even noticing, the sun
suddenly half way across the sky before you realize. Not like in the
real world, where clocks and watches are everywhere, where your world
is so determined by time. Getting up at the right time for work,
going to meetings, seeing friends, having lunch, dinner, going to
bed. Everything is scheduled into the day, but not here.
Here, time flows like the ocean, wide and expansive and
without any boundaries. When the sun goes down and the night turns
dark, we sleep. When the first light of dawn begins creeping in
through the opening to our shack, we wake.
And so the day's go, one after another, fusing together
as they lose their value. And that's just how I thought only 3 months
had passed, when in actual fact we've been here for nearly 5.
So I fish for hours, standing motionless in the water
like a statue, waiting for the fish to grow accustomed to my presence
and then striking with a sudden throw of my spear. I catch two fish
that way, but consider them only a starter. I place them in a bucket
formed of palm trees, and strike out deeper for a better prize.
I swim out a bit, reaching the rocks that once caught
the piece of the plane that carried us here on the currents. The
jagged edges jut above the surface of the water, our metal raft now
safely ashore in case we ever want to use it.
I climb onto the rocks and out of the world of the fish.
Soon, large ones have begun to swim around the stones, drawn by
seaweed and other nautical plants. My first few attacks fall wide of
the mark, but soon I've got another kill.
This time, the fish is larger and more meaty. It will
make a substantial main course for Flint's birthday dinner.
I return to shore, carrying the palm leaf bucket with
our food, and set about sticking them through with pieces of wood. I
do the best I can to gut them, too, something I've got used to doing
during my time here, and prepare the fish as well as possible.
The day drags on, and I leave Flint to his wistfulness.
He sits by the fire and takes walks along the beach and into the
jungle, choosing to spend the day alone.
A small flutter of concern rises inside me the longer
he's gone, wondering whether he's beginning to lose all hope. Whether
this mind is betraying him, betraying us, and torturing him on the
inside.
He returns at dusk, just as I begin to cook the fish on
the fire, their flesh blackening under the flames. I prepare coconut
for dessert, with nothing else available, and even manage to find
some sticky, sugary tree sap to go with it.