calm.
He really thought he would be alone, and it surprised him to see that there was another person already on the beach, one who had arrived even earlier than he. That person was a gorgeous raven-haired creature wearing the briefest, brightest yellow bikini Hank ever recollected seeing. Her long and lean body was already beautifully tanned. She seemed to be asleep.
'Maybe she'll be the one,' Hank mused to himself as he drank in her taut tits and smooth hips. 'It's so deserted here, I'd like to walk right over and stick it in her. Right here. Right now. It's like a desert island. Yeah,' said Hank, licking his lips with lust, 'just imagine being marooned on a desert island with that!'
Hank lay back on his beach towel, closed his eyes, and began to let his mind wander. 'Just her and me. All alone. On a desert island…'
… Seaman Fisher became aware of several strange sensations at the same time. There was a grittiness under the right side of his face and under his palms, a feeling of heat on his head and back, the soft sound of lapping water, and the feeling that his feet and legs were totally immersed in water.
Slowly he tried to piece it all together in his mind. As the fog in his head began to clear, he remembered the ship, the storm, the rocks. He remembered the sound of the cracking and crushing timber as the ship was torn apart on the rocky reef, smashed against it time and time again, driven by the ferocious wind and waves, relentless in their fury in the midst of the storm.
He heard the screams of the men as they were killed or maimed by the flying splinters of wood, metal and everything else that went into the construction of the ship. And he remembered leaping into the churning waters, a small empty wooden keg under each arm. The rest was a blur of screams, choking on salt water, blazing sun drilling holes in his head, and an endless horizon of angry water.
Now it was all over and quiet. Very quiet. Seaman Fisher concentrated. All he could hear was the soft lapping sound of water, and far off in the distance the shrill screech of a bird.
Lapping water… a shore! seaman Fisher thought. The bird… a jungle? He flexed his fingers. Sand! And for the first time, he opened his eyes, lifted his head, and looked around.
The sun sparkled off of the sand rimming the cove. About a hundred yards back was a fringe of tropical trees. Suddenly, out of the comer of his eye, he caught a flash of movement. Tanned, naked legs. Jerking his head to the right, Hank saw a tanned girl in a scanty dress, whipping across the sand and disappearing into the trees, long black hair rippling in time to her fleet movements.
'Wait,' he croaked hoarsely. 'Wait!' he cried out again, dragging himself up onto his knees. The girl didn't wait, though; she had disappeared into the trees. Hank tried to struggle to his feet, but only managed to drag himself out of the water and further up on the beach before he collapsed into unconsciousness again.
When he regained consciousness he was aware of a coolness in the air and a sweet breeze which seemed to be caressing his forehead. As he focused in on it in his mind, he realized that it was a soft hand that seemed to be caressing him. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into two enormous, almond-shaped, coal black eyes, set in a fragile, beautifully tanned, oval face. The girl jumped like a startled doe and again ran off like a wild creature.
This time Hank didn't call out after her, he just watched as she disappeared into the evening shadows. When he could see her no longer, he hunched up into a sitting position and took stock of himself and his surroundings.
His red and white striped T-shirt had one of the short sleeves ripped and his black seaman's trousers were ragged at the cuffs. The right leg was ripped up to his knee. His shoes were missing. He examined his tough, lean body and found only a few minor cuts and bruises, no broken bones, no deep gashes.
Well, he thought to himself. I came through that one in luck condition. Better than most, I'll wager.
For the first time he noticed two gourds sitting in the sand next to rum. The larger one was filled with an assortment of tropical fruits. The smaller one held water. Hank tasted it. The water was fresh.
Hank ate the fruit greedily and drank the water. Then he got up and shakily walked closer to the fringe of trees. By now the sun had dipped below the horizon. Hank gathered a few branches, making himself a make-shift bed, and lay down for the night.
The next morning, the sun's rays awakened Hank. He stretched and realized his strength was back. He was feeling a little muscle sore, but otherwise all was back to normal. Sitting up, he noticed that the two gourds were once again neatly placed next to him, filled with fruit and water. Again Hank ate and drank his fill. Then he began an exploration of the cove.
By noon Hank had circled the island, arriving back at the little cove. The whole rim of the island was composed of sandy beaches. The interior, which he had not explored to any depth, was a tangle of trees and under growth. At one point he found a little stream that bubbled fresh, cool water.
Not too far from the cove where he had washed ashore, he found some driftwood, splinters of planks from his ship, and a couple of boxes. He whooped with delight when he discovered that both of them contained a full compliment of Jamaican rum. Miraculously unscathed by the storm and their journey to shore, the bottles now warmed themselves in the sun.
Here and there along the beach, and especially near the fresh water stream, he found delicate little footprints in the sand. However, he found no other prints that would indicate that anyone else was inhabiting the island except the girl who brought him food. From time to time he felt as though someone was watching him from the darkness of the forest, but despite his looking up as quickly as he could, he didn't catch sight of the wild little creature.
He lugged the boxes of rum back to his cove and the campsite he had prepared near the edge of the forest. He wasn't too surprised to see the gourds of fruit and water. He ate and then crawled into the lean-to he had improvised, and slept out of the way of the mid day tropical sun. When he awoke in the early afternoon, he felt eyes on him again. A little way off, the dark-haired girl sat cross-legged in the sand, studying him intently.
When she realized his eyes were open, she got that startled doe look again and her muscles tensed. Slowly Hank raised up on his elbows. The girl began to rise.
'Shhhh, honey,' seaman Hank cooed to her. 'No need to run off. I ain't going to hurt you none.'
The girl had half risen from her cross-legged pose, not sure whether she should run or not and looking as though she wanted to stay, but at the same time was afraid of this strange person lying under the lean-to before her. There was about twenty feet between them.
She knew she was out of range if he should lunge. And, she was a swift runner. Many a time she had outdistanced wild animals in the forest. But she didn't understand what this creature before her was saying, and she didn't even understand what kind of an animal he might be. She had never seen a man before. All she knew was that he seemed like her, yet different. And when he had been washed up on the shore like a God out of the sea, she had brought him a token of food and water as if in some dim remembrance of what was proper to do.
She decided to wait a bit longer and see what he would do. But she was ready to spring away at the first sign of hostility.
'Do you understand English, child?' Hank asked sweetly. The girl, obviously only a teen-ager, just looked at him uncomprehendingly.
'I guess not,' Hank said more to himself than to her. 'Well, I ain't about to hurt you, you pretty little wild thing. I sure intend to fuck you, but I don't intend to hurt you,' Hank told her, still in a sweet, reassuring voice, knowing she didn't understand. For with all wild creatures, it was not the words you said, but the tone of voice you used that gentled them and made them your friends.
When he felt she wouldn't bolt, Hank raised himself slowly to a sitting position. And the two of them sat cross-legged, looking at each other, she watching for any sudden, hostile move, he hoping she didn't read too much lust in his face.
He kept cooing at her until she began to relax. Then he began trying to teach her a word to see if she could make any sounds at all.
'Me,' he said, pointing at himself. 'boy. You,' he said pointing at her, 'girl.' He repeated the phrases several times, patiently, over and over again. He felt if he could make verbal contact with her, get her to attempt some type of verbal communication, he would be on his way to a complete seduction of this most desirable wild bitch.
Finally she caught on. 'B-b-boyd,' she tried to mimic. 'Girld.'
'Yeah,' Hank laughed, 'that's getting it.'
She repeated the two words and then began to laugh also. For a few seconds they found an intimacy in the
