"Alone ... Together" (closed)

[Tony2015]

"Alone ... Together"

(closed to LoriDean12345)​

Carlton "Carl" Lee had successfully ridden out the unexpected typhoon, saving his 50 foot ketch from capsizing or cracking up, only to then run her onto an reef in the dark. As he listened to the hull being ripped further open with each new wave, the skilled sailor hurried to salvage all he could, filling two emergency rafts with food, clothing, emergency electronics, and other gear.

He'd seen the silhouette of a volcanic island behind the distant, lowering moon, so after roping the rafts together, he pushed them overboard and paddled for his life, quite literally. He thought he was going to make it with all he'd salvaged until a big wave lifted the inflatables high, pushed them forward, and ran them across sharp rocks reaching up from the sea floor. Both boats ripped open and snagged, sending Carl and all he now owned into the waters of the South Pacific...



He awoke under the midday sun, splayed out upon a wide, sandy beach. He stood, body beaten, flesh scraped and cut, to find himself on the tiny island he'd seen in the dark...

https://tubarks.files.wordpress.com/2011/12/shutterstock_8981026.jpg​

He was both grateful and dismayed: grateful because he was alive, but dismayed because he knew that while rocks like this looked good in travel brochures for vacationers seeking an adventure, they were of no use to a marooned sailor. The small isles rarely provided the resources necessary to sustain human life long term, and -- because there was no safe harbor for visiting boats or float planes -- they were rarely if ever visiting by those who wanted to get away from it all. Carl knew that unless he was able to find his now-missing electronics -- emergency beacon, sat' phone, and more -- there was a likely chance he was going to be stuck here until his death. He also knew that that death was likely to be sooner than later, as water and food were going to be in short supply.

He searched the shoreline for items from the rubber rafts and found a few that had been carried to shore or were bobbing in the gentle waters of the inner water: some clothes, some sealed containers of food, and what not. It wasn't much, and while he knew there was a possibility that more would wash up in the days to come, he suspected that the emergency electronics were never to be seen again.

He looked out at the vast ocean and sighed, thinking, "I'm going to die here ... alone."

That thought might have been half true only. He might, of course, die here. But he wouldn't die alone...

 

[LoriDean12345]

"Polly" knew every sound her home had to offer. The surf crashing upon the sandy beaches and basalt cliffs. The fronds of the tall trees and leaves of the thick jungle underbrush rustling in the often forceful breeze. The calls and chatter of birds and ground dwelling creatures, both indigenous and introduced. These sounds had become familiar music to the ears of the 22 year old.

But tonight, she awoke to a sound on the wind that was entirely unfamiliar to her. It was a destructive sound, but other than that Polly couldn't describe it. But even more than that, it was the origin of the unknown sound. It was coming from far out in the sea beyond the land upon which she had lived for what amounted to all of her remembered life.

When she was but a little girl, "Skipper" had loved telling Polly scary stories. The ones that had caused her skin to crawl had been of giant, ferocious sea monsters that could wrap their arms around an entire ship, pulling it and all aboard to the depths of the sea. Was a giant octopus out there in the dark ripping apart a ship, devouring its screaming sailors?

Polly returned to her hammock, but sleep eluded her. She made her way down the very familiar trail to the beach where she sat at the jungle's edge with a spear, waiting to kill the monster if it dared come to her home!



The monster Polly found as the sun rose, though, was less like a giant octopus and more like her. Or more like Skipper. It was a boy, not a girl. Polly had moved back into the shadows at first sight of him. She hadn't seen another girl since the death of her friend "Sunrise" a decade ago; and she hadn't seen a boy since Skipper's death half a decade before that. And while an outsider might have thought Polly would be overjoyed at the sight of another human being -- boy or girl -- she was frightened. She had good memories of the others who had been marooned with her. But she also had some bad ones. Some violent ones.

She watched from the thick undergrowth as the man walked up and down the beach, gathering things that had washed upon the beach like him. He piled them all near the jungle edge, barely twenty yards from Polly without ever noticing her there. She got a good, clear look at the man.

https://tse4.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIP.M07fa50377a151256fb0ee9c14717b760H0&pid=15.1​

He was so different than Skipper, who had been old, fat, and gray haired. Was this how a boy was supposed to look? Or was there something wrong with him. He was so skinny Polly could see the muscles of his belly. How did he keep warm at night without, what did Skipper call it, winter fat?

For several hours, she simply studied him, often moving through the jungle parallel to his movements on the beach. Then, midday, he moved farther down the beach and suddenly stopped to study the sand. He looked left down the beach, then right into the jungle. And suddenly Polly's heart leaped in her chest.

She had fished at the west end of the island yesterday. And he had found her foot prints. He knew he was not alone!

 

[Tony2015]

Carl had spent the morning scavenging anything and everything he found washed up on the beach or bobbing in the surf. Often, he swam out into the shallower, calmer water that existed like a large pond behind the protection of zigzagging reef of rock and coral. By the afternoon he was exhausted and starving. Much of the food on the boat had been stored in plastic to protect it from the ever present humidity and salt of being at sea, so he'd managed to find a few sealed containers floating in on the waves. But he only nibbled, unsure of whether the island would provide him with a sustainable diet until rescue arrived.

Would rescue arrive? He'd come to that morning believing that he was likely doomed to die here alone. And he hadn't see a single ship on the horizon or plane in the air in the seven or eight hours that he'd been gathering debris. There seemed to be a lot of wildlife on the island from which he could find nutrition while he waited to be saved. But food wasn't his only concern: fresh water was vital, secure shelter, prevention of injury and possible life-ending infection from any number of causes. There was so much that could kill Carl here.

That was when he found the food prints in the sand. He'd been expanding his search and rescue area of debris when he came across them. He'd stopped suddenly and just stared at them, wondering Are these mine? Have I been down this far? But looking left and right at their origin and destination, the jungle and a distant pool of water protected from the surf on most sides ... and then realizing that there was a path of prints coming and going ... and then realizing that they were tiny in comparison to his size 11's.

He looked up and all about, suddenly both excited and concerned. He wasn't alone! Was that a good thing? Am I saved? Or was that a bad thing? Are they gonna eat me? Just as the woman he hadn't yet met had heard her share of stories about people eating sea monsters, Carl had heard his share of people eating people ... cannibals! It didn't help that his brain had already been filled with thoughts about how there would be so little food here. Would native islanders eat him simply because of need?

Carl shook his head and laughed. Fuck! You little sissy! He hollered out, "Hello...? Is there someone here...? Hello-o-o-o-o...!"

There were no cannibals, and he wasn't going to end up on a skewer over a fire with an apple in his mouth. There was just someone here ... natives ... maybe marooned seafarers like himself? He laughed again, realizing that he hadn't fully encircled the island yet. There was probably a Four Star hotel with Olympic sized pool and chilled sea food buffet just on the other side of the mountain...

(OOC: Lori, we haven't written together before, so let me tell you something. I very often send a PM shortly after posting a reply to tell you something important about that reply. Make sure you look for it before you respond. It should come to you within a couple of minutes if it's coming at all. )

 

[LoriDean12345]

(Thank you, Tony. That was very helpful. )

Polly shrunk back as she watched the Boy move closer to the jungle's edge. He was calling out for the unseen person or persons he knew was somewhere near. She cursed herself for having left tracks for him to spot. But, of course, she hadn't had to hide her presence from another human being since she'd last played Hidie-Seekie with Sunrise when they were 12 and 16 respectively.



For the next couple of hours, Polly shadowed the Boy as he searched for her. He circled counter-clockwise around to the backside of the island. The sandy beach gave away to cliffs rising straight up from the crashing surf. A couple of times he had entered the jungle, sometimes a step, sometimes several yards. But the trails were either farther back or not conspicuous. Polly knew he hadn't seen them, or maybe he simply hadn't been interested in following them?

Once, he was standing so close to Polly that she could have reached out and touched him. She was hidden under the huge frond of a low lying Water Pitcher plant. She could smell him. She quietly and deeply drew in his scent. There was something about the Boy that excited her. It was an unfamiliar yet enjoyable feeling.

He withdrew without ever having known she was there. He backtracked in a clockwise circle. He was farther back from the jungle this time. As she shadowed him, Polly thought he might have been looking for signs of life beyond just a human form. He stopped often and shaded his eyes.

Polly thought he'd given up at one point, when suddenly he entered the jungle. He found and began climbing the trail on which she'd descended in the dark. She knew where he was going: Home. She took the High Road, just another of the trails crisscrossing the island's interior. She hurried up sandy or rocky portions of the narrow trail with the ease of another person walking the wet sands of the beach below. And despite traveling three times as far as he did and on harder terrain, Polly reached the camp in time to snatch up an eight foot long, narrow, three pronged fishing spear. She took a throwing stance and hollered, "Monster! Stay back!"

https://40.media.tumblr.com/2de00e4f40183cabab52367599f14d51/tumblr_o29xy4AZPr1v2iza2o1_500.jpg​

 

[Tony2015]

Carl had seen a color high in a cleft of the island mountain that didn't seem right. Too yellow, too bright, almost like a life jacket. He entered the jungle again, and after a short amount of time he found what was obviously a trail. And there, again, were those foot prints. They were clearly a woman's or perhaps a child's. They had come down the trail last, which gave him pause. Was this person behind him...? Down the trail, ready to strike from the thick forest? Maybe out on the beach stealing his stuff?

Carl went to the sand's edge again and looked, but when he saw no sign of any threat to his meager supplies, he started up the trail toward the unexplained color. Along the way, the trail divided several times. He decided to keep with which ever one took him toward his destination. Several timed Carl had to stop and rest. He couldn't believe this trail! He'd been on others like this before, but he was still hungry, having eaten only an energy bar earlier and drank a few ounces of distilled water.

He knew he was getting close then several of the trails merged over a short period of time. He broke out of the bushes to see signs of civilization ... which he only got a moment to review before movement caught his attention. He turned to find a woman surging at him with a spear reared back over one shoulder.

"Monster!" she hollered at Carl, causing his heart to leap in his throat. "Stay back!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa...!" he hollered, his hands up before him in a protective stop gesture. "I'm not going to hurt you! Stop! I'm not going-- I'm not a monster!"

The woman threatened with the spear several times but didn't attack. And as he looked at her, his heart pounding in his chest with fear and shock, he got a moment to glance down at her body and realize...

"Holy fuck..." he murmured. She was the most incredible thing he'd ever seen in his entire life!

 

[LoriDean12345]

"Bad word!" Polly chastised quickly, jabbing the spear toward the Boy. "Bad word!"

The island beauty's mother had been a stickler concerning language. She had constantly been chastising Skipper for his salty language. Polly's reaction to the Boy's foul word had been instinctive. Out of place, of course: she was chastising a monster for his profanity, after all.

She was shifting her feet in small defensive moves as she almost danced about the Boy. She moved to her left and jabbed the fishing spear out at him, making him move backward. He looked back and saw the 30 foot sheer drop, then looked back to her with an obvious expression.

Polly suddenly realized that her entire body was trembling with fear. Standing as she was, half turned to hold the spear toward him, her right wrist was pressed against one of her large breasts. She realized that the nipple below it was swollen like it never had been before. What was happening to her? What was this man doing to her? What were these changes happening to her? She was scared, but she was something else, too. Excited. In a way she'd never felt and certainly didn't understand.

She thrust the spear again, moving him right to the edge of the cliff. Then she just stared at him for a long moment.

 

[Tony2015]

Carl might have found the blonde Goddess's chastising of his use of language comical ... if his full attention hadn't been on not becoming a skewered barbeque treat. The spear she was holding was less than a foot from his bare chest, and Carl knew that if she thrust it forward, the sharp metal barbs would easily penetrate him but not so easily be removed.

He again gave her a one part stop, one part surrender gesture, saying, "I'm not going to hurt you! I promise! I was just looking for help."

She was listening to him and not trying to kill him, so Carl went on. "My boat sank. I washed up here. Understand...?" He carefully pointed a hand over the cliff behind him, toward the distant beach. "I washed up here. Marooned. Do you understand marooned...?" When she didn't respond, other than to simply continue studying him, Carl searched for a synonym to marooned and all he came up with was, "I'm lost here. I don't know where I am." He changed his tone a bit, softening it even more as he inquired, "Do you know where I am...? What is this place called...?"

Still she didn't speak, but the fierceness in her grip of the spear seemed to be lessen. Was he getting to her? He looked about the camp for a moment, then looked back to ask, "Do you live here? Are you marooned, too ... lost?"

 

[LoriDean12345]

The Boy continued to show what Polly took as concern for his life as he promised no harm or ill intent. She believed him. Yet, she held the spear steadily upon him. She could still remember Skipper's last act before being killed. Polly didn't know whether or not all boys hurt girls, as Skipper had her mother that night so long ago. But she certainly wasn't going to simply let it happen without doing some hurt of her own first.

"Do you know where I am...?"
"What is this place called...?"
"Do you live here?"
"Are you marooned, too ... lost?"

Polly considered the Boy's questioned. She had no reason to think that answering him would make him anymore harmful to her. She answered almost childlike, "You are here. You are Home. My home."

She backed half a step, then another. She kept the spear on him, but wasn't threatening him with a choice between getting skewered or going over the cliff. She carefully glanced about her, quickly returning her eyes to him. She continued, "This is my home. I live here."

There wasn't much to the camp, of course. But to Polly it was everything. To Polly, it was her entire world. Once upon a time, half a dozen people had lived here. There had been two separate huts, as well as two lean-tos in which the islanders lived. But after the others died in their various ways, Polly had scavenged pieces of the other structures to repair her own. This normally came after fierce typhoons. But there had also been times when the desperation of living alone had driven her to rip her home apart.

Today, there was only the one hut. It was barely eight feet in diameter with a roof less than five feet high. She only used it to sleep and store some things, so she didn't need much. It was made entirely of natural items from the jungle except for an ancient section of rope helping to hold it together, part of the salvage from the long gone sailing ship that had brought Polly and the others here so long ago.

There was a fire pit, of course, a simple ring of rocks inside of which a smoking fire burned. A tarnished stainless steel cable, also from the dead ship, stretched between two trees. A pair of large fish, sliced in parallel groves to expose more of their meat, hung in the thick smoke.

All around the camp were dozens of items from the ship wreck. Some had survived the past two decades fairly well. Others had not. There were also tools and other items that had obviously been created from what the island and ocean surrounding it had to offer. It wasn't the Sears hardware department, but Polly wasn't entirely deprived of the things she needed to survive.

The thing the Boy might have found most interesting, though, was the garden. A dozen large trees had been fallen, cut into approximately ten foot lengths, split, then hollowed out to create planting beds. Various plants not native to the South Pacific were growing in rich, brown earth: tomatoes, potatoes, turnips, and more were in various stages of maturity. The entire garden was surrounded by an arrangement of sharpened spikes designed to keep the local critters at bay. And over the top of it all was a roof of hand weaves grasses and limbs to both keep the birds out and diffuse the sometimes harsh sunshine.

Polly backed another step while keeping the spear pointed at the Boy's chest. She repeated with conspicuous emphasis on the first word, "My home!"

 

[Tony2015]

"My home!" the beauty stressed, again jabbing the spear with emphasis.

"Your home!" Carl agreed quickly, stressing his stop-surrender gesture back to her. He repeated with a softer tone, "Your home. I understand. It's your home. I'm not here to ... to take it from you. It's yours!"

He glanced about the camp for a long moment, getting his first real look at some of what was hear. It didn't take long to understand that she had gotten to this island in very much the same way he had: ship wreck. There were life jackets, buoyant sitting pads, and inflatable life boats, just as there had been on his own boat. Of course, hers seemed ancient and were, for the most part, in varying stages of decay; and some had even been disassembled in one way or another and were now being used in ways no one but a marooned sea goer would have needed.

That was when Carl's eyes set on the fish over the fire. His stomach turned with emptiness and want. He gestured toward the drying meat. "I'm hungry. Can I have some of your food? Food and water?"

He looked back to the woman, hoping his politeness would get him fed. He also let his gaze drop again for a moment to her body. It was ... simply incredible, and unconsciously he began to wonder whether his politeness would get him some of that, too. Carl couldn't believe that he was alone on a desert island with a woman who--

Suddenly, his eyes opened a bit wider and his stomach turned over. He looked about for evidence of the question he was about to ask, and seeing nothing one way or another, asked, "You are here alone ... right? Or ... is there someone else here with you?"

Suddenly, Carl was beginning to panic. A voice deep in his brain was screaming at him Watch your back, Jack! He looked to the woman -- to her body -- yet again, and his horny-side was telling him that if he were alone on a desert isle with a woman who looked like this, he'd be more than happy to gut a suddenly arriving man with a dull edged sea shell and cook him on a spit to keep the beauty to himself. Of course, if he'd been in the right state of mind, Carl would have realized that if he'd been here with any one-and-only-one woman, regardless of her looks, he would have felt the same. The ancient instinctive need to breed deep within him was part of that desire. But coupled with the modern, mass marketing pressure of media that defined what a real woman looked like and what a man -- or even another woman -- should do to keep such a woman was leading that little voice in Carl's brain toward the thought that he'd sail to every island within a thousand miles and kill over other human with a cock just to ensure that none ever came here in the future to take this Goddess from him.

 

[LoriDean12345]

"Your home!"
"Your home. I understand. It's your home. I'm not here to ... to take it from you. It's yours!"

Polly didn't know whether the Boy was being honest or trying to trick her. When she was little, the others sometimes played tricks on her. Sometimes it was in play. Sometimes it was to be mean. She didn't know this Boy enough to know whether he was playing or being mean.

"I'm hungry. Can I have some of your food? Food and water?"

Polly would have had no problem sharing her food. But she was still leery of the Boy. Then suddenly his demeanor changed and he looked worried, scared even, like Polly herself. He asked if she was alone here, and that worried Polly. Why did he want to know if she was alone? Was he hoping that she was alone?

"Not alone!" she almost spat back at the Boy.

She jabbed the spear his way again, suddenly scared again. He did want her to be alone! She was sure of that. But why? To steal her food? She would have shared her food willingly had he only asked. Wait. He did ask.

"You can have fish," she told him, her tone still hard. "One fish!"

She began backing away in tiny stutter steps, moving to the side to allow him closer to the fire. The spear remained pointed at him.

 

[Tony2015]

"Not alone!" the armed beauty said, returning to her threatening stance.

That was a bit disappointing to Carl, as well as very scary. If there was a man here, he was going to be jealous. He'd kill Carl, or -- at least -- Carl would kill the new male stranger if he was in the guy's place. What if it was a woman? Would she be just as likely to simply eliminate Carl from the equation? Would she do it if she was the Goddess's lover? What if she was just a caring relative?

Wait! Carl suddenly thought. There might be a dozen others here for all he knew. He kind of doubted it. It was a small island, and it had taken him a full tour of it just to find this woman. Carl needed more information before he would feel entirely comfortable. As he glanced to her extreme womanly curves again, he thought with s sly smile, I'll need some of that to be entirely comfortable.

"You can have fish," she told him. "One fish!"

She began backing away, giving Carl the indication that she was giving him room to get a fish now. He nodded to her and very slowly made his way toward the fire pit, saying, "Thank you." The nearest fish was obviously recently caught, probably after she'd made all the foot prints that had brought him here. But the farthest away fish had obviously been hanging for a while. He was trying to figure out how to take part of it off when she reminded him, "One fish."

He looked to her with a surprised expression. "A whole fish?" When she nodded, Carl took hold of the forked limb sticking through its gills and lifted the entire fish from the cable. It was heavy, at least eight pounds. He looked to her again, repeating, "Thanks."

Carl pulled a chunk off and stuck it into his mouth. It was delicious, more so than he would have expected considering it was without garnishments. He studied her as he chewed, then was hit by a thought. He looked toward the gap in the tall, basalt cliffs toward the beach beyond the jungle. "You gave me food. I should give you something in return."

He moved toward the trail, saw her reaction, and slowed. He pointed his free hand to the trail. "Come with me ... to the beach. I have things there." He lifted the fish as if to remind her of it, continuing, "You gave me food. I should give you something in trade ... okay?"

He moved slowly toward the trail, unsure of how she would react...

 

[LoriDean12345]

"You gave me food. I should give you something in return."

When the Boy started to head for the trail, Polly shoved the spear out threateningly again. That stopped him for a moment.

"Come with me ... to the beach. I have things there."
"You gave me food. I should give you something in trade ... okay?"

As he moved slowly toward the trail, Polly kept her feet moving in little steps, watching him. He continued explaining what he was doing, presumably not to frighten her. Polly understood that the Boy was trying to do the right thing. She understood that he was probably no threat. And she understood that she should just go along with what he was suggesting.

What she didn't understand was why she felt the way she did. She was a bit frightened, of course. She'd never seen a boy like this Boy.

https://tse4.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIP.M07fa50377a151256fb0ee9c14717b760H0&pid=15.1​

He was young and obviously strong, unlike Skipper, the only boy she'd ever known. Polly suspected that if he suddenly attacked her, the Boy would be a serious threat. Of course, she was the armed one. And Polly knew how to use her fishing spear. She had once put it deep into a shark that had wandered into the Pond. And she impale a fish like the one the Boy was carrying after throwing it ten times its length of 8 feet.

But it wasn't fear that was disturbing Polly. It was something else. A new feeling was welling within her. Something she didn't recognize. Something she couldn't describe. She knew it had something to do with the fact that the Boy was a boy and that she herself was a girl. But the reality eluded her.

Before she followed him down the trail, Polly snatched up a machete. It wasn't a real machete, or course. It had once been a piece of the boat that had brought them here. Skipper had used rocks to sharpen it before using it to cut trails through the jungle so long ago. She lowered the spear and followed the Boy down the trail. She stayed far enough back to defend herself if needed but close enough to keep him always in view.

At the bottom of the trail, they emerged onto the beach practically on top of his collection of scavenged debris. Polly stopped short, smiling. Even though she'd watched him collecting up and down the beach, she hadn't seen most of the items up close. Now that she did, she smiled broadly. Some of the things were familiar. But others were not.

 

[Tony2015]

As he descended the trail, Carl was often glancing back over his shoulder at the curvaceous woman following behind him. He'd noticed the additional weapon -- a seemingly homemade machete -- in her hands, but he didn't comment or show any more concern than he already had. He did, however, find himself intrigued by how well the woman navigated the steep, uneven trail. The sun was high above them, but the thick foliage of the jungle left much of the path in partial darkness. Carl was constantly loosing his footing on the loose gravel, unexpected tree roots, and other hazards.

He was thankful when they emerged out onto the sand, so much so that he murmured, "Thank, God." He glanced back quickly, wondering whether he was again going to be chastised. But it seemed as though she hadn't heard him this time. Carl couldn't help but notice her widening eyes at his stash, making him smile. He couldn't help but be intrigued by the idea that what he saw as so little she seemed to see as so much. To Carl, who yesterday had had a large sailing ketch filled with modern technology and ample supplies, the pile was insufficient and, in for the most part, trash. But to the woman, who he was beginning to realize had been on this island for a long, long time with no modern technologies or supplies, the pile may have seemed like hitting the lottery.

"Take something," he told her, raising her gift and adding, "for the fish."

As he watched her, Carl had a realization. He told her with a smile, "You can have one more thing ... if you will tell me your name." When she looked to him, Carl patted an open hand to his bare chest and said, "Carl. My name is Carl."

 

[LoriDean12345]

"Carl. My name is Carl."

Her attention was fully on the pile of salvaged items as she responded without hesitation, "Polly."

She had no reason not to introduce herself. It wasn't like she'd been raised with the concept of not telling her name to strangers. Until today, she'd never meant one.

"Polly," he repeated.

She looked up to him. Her smiled widened and she said playfully, "Polly want a cracker." She looked up into the trees and after just a second, pointed to a colorful bird. "Polly."

She returned to the pile of debris. She set her spear and machete nearby only after giving Carl a stern look, as if to say I'm still watching you. Her expressions and sounds left no doubt that she felt as though she was digging through a pile of treasure.

She moved several things this way and that, intrigued but not interested. She shook things, tapped others, and opened containers. Occasionally she gave Carl a confused expression and he explained what the item was.

The first thing she really examined was an ordinary tee shirt. She lifted it before her for an inspection, then layered it over her bountiful chest. Her bosom arced the tee outward before Carl's closely watching eyes.

She tilted her head, not at his ogle of her huge tits but at what seemed to be embarrassment for having been looking at them. Had he done something he wasn't supposed to do? Polly knew that boys' No-No's were different than those of girls. Boys didn't have boobies, just like girls didn't have a ding-a-ling or marbles. But she didn't understand why Carl would be embarrassed by looking at her No-No's, just because they were different. Polly knew that boys weren't supposed to touch girls in their different places without their parents' permission, just like girls weren't supposed to touch boys in theirs. That was why they were called No-No's in the first place.

Polly shrugged it off and returned to examining the shirt. She could have used a new shirt. Her current clothes had once belonged to either Sunrise and before that her mother. They barely existed anymore, as Carl had noticed and continued to notice with frequent ogles. The only reason they weren't in even worse shape than they were was that Polly rarely went an entire day dressed as it was. She lived alone on a desert island. Who did she have to hide her No-No's from? Really, the only reason she was wearing the panties and shorts was to keep the sandy out of her No-No; and the bra and tee to support her Double D's when she hurried about.

But there were other greater treasures to be examined. Polly tossed the tee aside and continued digging. Her face lit up again as she lifted a packet up before her. It was transparent plastic, water proof, with a travel book of the South Pacific in it. She looked curiously to Carl. She tried to open it, but didn't understand the Ziplock seal.

He must have understood the issue because he slowly moved over to sit on the opposite side of the treasure pile and opened it for her. She flipped through the pages and her eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of her head.

 

[Tony2015]

"Polly want a cracker," the beauty said, indicating a colorful bird jumping about from limb to limb. "Polly."

Carl wondered about the name. He had no idea that she'd been here on the island for almost two decades, so he didn't know whether it was coincidental that she had a name commonly used for captive parrots -- which the bird above wasn't -- or whether she'd been named or nicknamed for the bird.

Even more interesting that her name, though, was Polly's reaction to the pile of debris. Her behavior shifted repeatedly from confusion to amazement to delight and back. At one point she lifted the only tee shirt he'd rescued and laid it over her incredibly chest. Carl had to contain a smile as he thought, Oh, PLEASE ... try it on. I won't look. I promise ... or not.

But she tossed it aside and, after some more digging, came up with tourism book. Carl had only snagged it during the ship wreck because it was within reach. At the time, he'd thought that maybe the pictures and maps inside it would be of value. Now, as he sat down across from Polly and watched her page through the full color photos and images, he was tickled pink to have it. She was obviously intrigued.

"Stop," he said. He rose to his knees and walked around the pile toward her, pointing to the sand near her and telling her reassuringly, "I'm just going to sit right there, okay?" He got to just barely within reach of her, then gestured for the book. She didn't look ready to give it up. "I'll give it back. I just want to show you something."

She gave up the book, and Carl opened it to the inside front cover. There was a map of the world. He pointed to the map, telling her, "That's the world. The whole world. Do you understand?" Carl wasn't sure whether her expression meant No, I don't understand or Get closer and I'll cut your nuts off. He gave her a friendly smile, swept a hand through the air, and said, "All of this ... every thing, every where--" He touched the map again. "This is a map ... a picture of all of that."

He traced a rectangle around the South Pacific, saying, "Now, this much of it--" He turned to the indicated page which showed the area in which the two of them were. "--is this picture ... this map. You and I--" He touched his finger to the map. "We're here ... someplace. I don't know where, really."

He paged through the book a few more pages, found another map, and circled his finger tip around a set of islands. "This picture is a smaller scale ... zoomed ... closer." Carl looked into Polly's eyes, smiling. "Do you understand zoomed ... closer?" He comically leaned in toward her closer, then leaned back, saying. "Closer ... farther."

He paged through the book again as she watched him, then turned it to her and pointed at a colorful bird. "Polly. Like you."

Holding the book open, he handed it back to her, asking, "Is this what you want for the fish...? Or for telling me your name?"

 

[LoriDean12345]

"Stop."
"I'm just going to sit right there, okay?"
"I'll give it back. I just want to show you something."

Polly's body tensed at Carl's direction. As he moved closer, knee-walking around the pile of goodies, she casually reached down to grip the handle of the machete. She saw his gaze follow her hand. He didn't seem too worried. Why not? Because he knew she wasn't going to cut him up? And why wouldn't she? Because he wasn't going to do anything to make her do that. Polly could feel that Carl had no fear, and the only reason for that was that he meant her no harm.

She didn't understand what Carl was telling her. Oh, she understood all of the words. She just didn't understand them in the context Carl was using. She'd never seen a map, not even one drawn in the sand. Initially, Polly's mother hadn't wanted to inflate her daughter's hopes of ever getting off this island. And later, after the island had become an accepting home to them, discussion of ever leaving simply stopped. So, Polly's entire world had always been the scant two and a half square miles that was her island home. And that scant size was at low tide!

"Do you understand zoomed ... closer?"
"Closer ... farther."

When Carl leaned into Polly, she mirrored his motion. She leaned back, then forward, as if attached firmly to him with a pole. Her hand tightened on the machete's grip, but the weapon remained on the sand. Then, she laughed. It was a short, sharp laugh, but it was a laugh all the same.

Carl showed the photo of the bird, then asked his questions about their trade. Polly snatched the book back, then picked up the protective bag, too. "Fish."

She looked at the pile before her, then snatched up a tightly wound bundle of rope. "Name."

Polly opened her new treasure again, this time from the back. It was mostly letters. They didn't mean anything to Polly, of course. Polly's mother had begun teaching her to read when she was little. But Polly hadn't been able to sit still long enough to get anywhere with it. And after her mother had accepted that they would all likely die on this rock before ever returning to a world that honored literacy, she had also given up on that type of education.

She skimmed forward until she began finding pictures. There were things she'd never imagined. Many things. She turned the book toward Carl, asking, "What?"

Carl leaned forward, unable to see the picture clearly. When he did, Carl told her what the object or place or person was, then explained it. They repeated this again and again and again. But Polly was impatient. Turning the book, sometimes handing it over, taking it back, and repeating was taking too much time.

Suddenly, Polly stood up and moved over to drop onto the sand right next to Carl. She opened the book again, paged through it, and found another picture, this one of a young girl riding a horse. She leaned until her shoulder was pressed against Carl's, asking with amazement, "What?"

 

[Tony2015]

It didn't take long for Carl to understand that Polly was illiterate. She showed no interest in the text of the travel guide, and sometimes when she showed him pictures, the name of the item was clearing right there for her to read yet she still asked for identification from Carl.

It was fun explaining things to her, though. Again, it didn't take long to understand that Polly had likely spent her entire life here on this little rock; and, just as likely, she'd spent a lot of it alone. Even though she seemed to understand all of the words Carl spoke, her English and use of it was obviously lacking.

Suddenly, she moved over and sat down right next to Carl. His eyes grew, and he even laughed. Suddenly, she was no longer afraid of him, her entire interest being upon the book and its contents. He identified everything from jeeps to dogs to statues to sail boats to float planes. The length and detail of his explanations of the items varied, depending upon Polly's interest in them and/or her impatience to move on to something new.

When she got to the picture of a girl riding a horse in the surf, she spoke with the greatest excitement yet, "What?"

"That's a horse," Carl explained. "People, like that girl, ride them. They pull wagons and carts ... plows in fields..."

He could see a bit of recognition in Polly's eyes, and he knew immediately that she'd been on one before being marooned her on the island. Carl let Polly marvel at the picture for a long moment ... as his gaze fell to the impressive cleavage so near to him now. He couldn't believe how erotically beautiful this woman was. And he had her all to himself.

Didn't he?

"Polly," Carl said softly, and when she looked up into his eyes, he began with what he was sure were going to be personal and possibly heart breaking questions...

(PM coming to you.)

 

[LoriDean12345]

(FYI for any readers. This post is a combination of an exchange of PMs between Tony and me. In case you were wondering whether I was speaking for Tony's character.)

"Polly."

The island girl was entirely entranced by the book and didn't hear her name.

"Polly?"

She looked up with delight in her face. After a moment, as if playing a game, she said with the same inflection, "Carl?"

He laughed. After she, too, chuckled, he asked, "How long have you been here?"

When he gestured in a way that she understood he meant here on the island, Polly said, "Home."

"Yes, I know. How long have you been here? How many years?"

Polly was a bit confused. She smiled brightly again, thinking she understood. "Always!"

"Always? You mean you were born here?"

Polly was again confused. She only shrugged.

Carl politely took the book, turned to some of the images they'd already discussed, and began asking if she'd ever seen any of them before. She either said no or shook her head. When he asked about the horse, Polly took the book back and stared at the picture for a long moment. She shrugged again. She thought she could remember once riding such a creature. But there had never been a horse on the island, and if she'd always been on the island, then didn't that mean she hadn't?

"Polly, are you here alone?" When she didn't immediately answer, he asked, "Is there anyone else on the island with you?"

She smiled and perked up, saying, "Carl!"

He laughed, then asked again, clarifying, "Not counting me."

The playfulness faded. She shook her head.

"How long have you been alone?"

Polly's face was now entirely devoid of humor or playfulness. There was no doubt that she was becoming adversely affected by this line of questioning. She rose to her feet, taking Carl's hand. She led him down the beach a hundred yards, then inland on the trail a few dozen steps to a sudden cliff. She pulled aside a huge frond from a low growing plant to expose a small cave.

"Polly's first," she said about the place where she and the others had hidden when they first arrived at the island. She snapped off the frond to allow sunlight to flood into the barely eight foot deep by six feet tall hole in the rock. She crawled in on the sand, gesturing Carl inside. Pointing to hash marks on the rocks, Polly said, "How long."

There was more than just the hash marks. There was writing on the rock face, scratched letters from someone -- Polly's long dead family -- who had attempted to leave a record for future visitors to the island.

Carl counted the hash marks, saying, "Twenty? Twenty years?"

Polly only shrugged. She explained, "One year, one season." She didn't know how to explain that each year brought a typhoon season, and that was how she marked time. She wasn't counting years: she was counting storm seasons.

Carl pointed to the hash marks and asked, "How many of those have you been alone?"

Polly considered the question for a moment, then realizing what Carl was asking, pressed a finger to a hash mark. When he asked, "Ten?" she again just shrugged.

Carl had carried the book with him, and moving back out into the direct light again he opened it. He turned to a page that showed a half dozen men of various ages, builds, and ethnicities. He pointed and asked, "Have you ever seen one of these? A man?"

Polly again hesitated, deciphering Carl's meaning. She smiled suddenly, pointed at Carl, and said, "Boy!"

He laughed. "Yes, a boy. Have you ever seen one of them?"

Again Polly laughed. "Carl boy."

They laughed together. He asked, "A boy other than me?"

After a moment, Polly shrugged. Then she shook her head.

"You've never seen a boy like me?"

She again shook her head. "No boy like you."

 

[Tony2015]

"No boy like you."

Carl simply sat there stunned for a moment, unsure of how to react. I'm sitting on the beach of a deserted island ... with the most amazing creature I've ever seen ... barely dressed ... womanly features almost SPILLING out ... and she's never seen another boy-- MALE ... other than me in all her life??

If ever the word virgin could be applied to someone, it was Polly. She hadn't only not touched a man's cock, she'd never even seen one before.

Speaking of cocks, Carl's was absolutely, positively, undoubtedly hard as a fucking rock! He was sitting in such a way that Polly couldn't see it, but eventually he was going to have to stand up. To make matters worse, his mind was mulling over his next question ... and it wasn't a question he'd ever imagined asking a woman in his life.

"Polly, you, um..." He blushed, then chuckled nervously. "You understand what makes boys like me ... different from girls like you, right?"

 

[LoriDean12345]

"No-no's," Polly said quickly.

Carl only stared. It was obvious she hadn't explained herself well. She reached up and cupped her impressive breasts, repeating, "No-no's."

She then lowered a hand toward her groin and pointed a finger at the coming together of thighs. The worn denim was barely hiding her womanhood from Carl as she sat with her ankles cross before her. Yet again she explained, "No-no."

 

[Tony2015]

"No-no's," Polly said, clutching her breasts.

Carl's eyes widened, and while he knew he should look away, he couldn't. Polly ... was ... squeezing ... her ... huge ... tits! This wasn't a situation Carl had ever faced, so ... he wasn't exactly reacting a way a man should because he honestly didn't know how a man should react. He'd had women masturbate in his presence, or grope, caress, and fondle their sensitive parts while he was making love to them. But ... well, this was simply unprecedented.

And it only got stranger when she pointed to her crotch and continued, "No-no."

Again Carl stared, though this time he was able to pull his gaze up in a reasonable amount of time. He realized that his face was burning with an amazing blush. Polly's expression baffled him. She showed no sign whatsoever of being embarrassed by or concerned with what she'd done. She'd done it as if she'd been pointing at a hat or pair of shoes, explaining what they were.

He laughed nervously...

(PM: Sending you a question for him to ask after her reaction.)

 

[LoriDean12345]

Polly gave Carl a confused look. She didn't understand why he was laughing. Had she not explained herself correctly? Had she mispronounced No-no's? Maybe he and his kind didn't call a person's privates that. She couldn't remember the words Skipper had used, but Polly could recall that the only man she'd ever known had had other words for her breasts and the places between his thighs and those of his fellow female islanders.

"Polly, can I ask?" Carl began. "Why do you call them No-no's?

Now Polly laughed. How could he not know that? She shook her head playfully. "Because it's a no-no for anyone to touch my No-no's and for me to touch anyone else's, silly. Momma said so! She said only I can touch my No-no's. And I should only touch it when I am alone."

 

[Tony2015]

"And I should only touch it when I am alone."

Carl was stunned. Polly, this incredible woman, who -- with the exception of the as-of-yet-unmentioned Skipper -- had never seen a man in her life, was telling him that she masturbated! Isn't that what she was telling him? I should only touch it when I am alone.

He didn't know what to say. He couldn't believe the twists and turns and revelations he'd seen in so few hours. If he hadn't recently lost his boat and nearly drowned at sea, Carl would have thought he was on one of the Candid Camera-Punk'd-Just For Laughs shows.

Carl knew he shouldn't continue with this line of questioning, but ... jeez, it was so easy! Polly was so innocent ... so naïve! He could probably ask her anything, and she would probably answer him. But, was that the right thing to do? Oh, Carl had taken advantage of women before. He'd even lied to a few to get what he wanted. But ... well, this was something like nothing he'd ever seen or even imagined!

Just one more question, he promised himself. Then, I'll stop. Really!

Carl cleared his throat and asked with hesitation, "Polly. Do you ... you know ... when you are alone ... do you ... do you touch your No-no often?"

 

[LoriDean12345]

"Polly. Do you ... you know ... when you are alone ... do you ... do you touch your No-no often?"

"Yes," Polly said without hesitation. Then she smiled wide and said without shame, "Good feel."

As Carl reacted, the island girl tilted her head as if studying the Boy and asked, "Do you?"

 

[Tony2015]

(For the readers: as with Lori's post above, this one includes some of her PMs.)



"Yes ... Good feel."

Carl's mouth dropped open. Oh ... my ... dear ... God! he thought. Polly has no shame whatsoever in admitting that she masturbated, and even declared to him that it felt good to her. Carl had watched lovers touch themselves, but even the most immodest of them had always felt a bit embarrassed about doing such things to themselves.

"Do you?"

Carl just stared for a moment, unsure. Did she just ask me ... if I masturbate? He wasn't sure why he was so shocked. After all, he had asked her! But ... she'd answered. And without hesitation. Didn't that mean he had to reciprocate ... answer her, too?

Carl considered lying. But, why? It was obvious that Polly wasn't embarrassed about touching herself. Why should he be? He shouldn't be. I shouldn't be, he tried to convince himself. Carl suddenly realized that Polly was staring into his eyes with an intensity. She was waiting for his answer. He drew a deep breath, released it with a chuckle, and told her, "Yes, Polly. I, um ... I touch myself too. My No-no. Sometimes."

"Alone?" she asked.

He laughed again. There had been one lover with whom Carl had often masturbated himself to spurt onto her, whether it was into and onto her mouth, her tits, her belly. The girl had been kinkier than hell and had loved watching him fire his load all over her. But, no, for the most part--

"Yes, alone," he told Polly. "Like you."

"Good feel?" she asked.

Carl laughed yet again. He couldn't believe that he was having this conversation. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with this goddess! He considered the ways to answer, once again, then simply used Polly's answer. "Yes. Yes, it feels good. Felt good."

They just sat there staring at one another for a long moment. Then suddenly, there was a crack in the distance that caused Carl to jump. He looked off to the south and saw a mass of black. He had been so involved with Polly that he hadn't even noticed the closing storm. There was another flash of lightning.

"Wow," he said in awe. He waited until the low rumble of thunder washed over them, then said, "I've been sailing for more than a decade and I've never seen ocean lightning. I've always known it existed, but ... I've just never seen it before."