Love on a Desert Island

I had long ago discovered a sap, which when boiled made a strong waterproof glue, I had used it on the roof of the house and it had never failed. I reasoned that I could make canvas patches and glue them to the outside of the boat, allow one to harden and then add another to form a watertight skin.

A few days later and our boat floated in the bay with no sign of a leak anywhere. I had some oars that were salvaged when the ship sank but I couldn't figure out how to make any rowlocks for them. Instead, we searched out a long and straight branch and no time we had a mast stepped in the provided hole amidships, suitable ropes tied it off, we were ready for sails, now all we had to do was make them.

We didn't have any needles, nor any twine for stitching. What we did have though, was an abundance of sharp thorns, they kept snapping but there were always plenty more, For twine, we unravelled a rope, a long and tedious job but eventually, we had sufficient to make our sail.

In fact, we made two. I had no idea of how to sail a boat, other than the little knowledge I had gained from the few weeks I had watched the sailors on the schooner. The sails of a ship though were somewhat different to those our longboat would need.

First, we made a square one, with a pole arm at the top and bottom. Then a triangular one with just the one pole at the bottom. Although it was a bit large for the job, I fitted the pulley at the top of the mast, something to make it easier for pulling the sail up.

At last, we sat in our boat, too nervous to take the next step. Then it occurred to me that the wind was blowing the wrong way, we would have been blown straight back onto the beach. I didn't want to take the boat out to sea until I knew whether we could sail it or not, so I needed a day when the wind was blowing from our side of the bay to the other or perhaps a wind blowing directly into the bay which would bring us back to the original campsite at the furthest point from the open sea. I only had an idea of how to sail directly in front of the wind, with no inkling of how to steer. There was no rudder on the boat, that was still somewhere at the bottom of the sea. Steering could only be done with sails, something that I was going to have to learn.

There was a reasonable wind blowing across the bay when we cast off the line mooring us to the beach, I warned Liz to keep her head below the level of the sail's pole, then I hauled on the rope, the triangle of canvas rose swiftly to the top, it made loud cracking noises as it wildly flapped in the wind. Then it filled, ballooning out, I only just had the rope fastened in time. The boat keeled hard over as she shot forward, we were sailing, slicing through the water much faster than I would have imagined.

Very soon, I found that I had almost no control, the boat went where the wind took it, at times we were leaning at such a dangerous angle I thought we might capsize. In no time at all, we had crossed the bay, I dropped the sail as we rapidly approached the beach, then quite smoothly, we touched sand.

I partly solved the steering problem by removing the pulley at the masthead and moving it to the side of the boat. It would be harder to raise the sail but now I would find it easier to control the bottom pole of the sail, more able to let out rope and change the angle without burning my hands as I had on the first trip.

Day after day, when the weather was suitable, we practised, I learned how to tack the boat, zigzagging against the wind, only once did Liz suffer a glancing blow from the swinging sail pole. I knew that there had to be a proper name for the pole but couldn't imagine what it might be.

We had now fitted another, much smaller sail in front of the mast, this increased our speed considerable but it also gave us a lot more work. My confidence grew until I felt it was time to venture beyond the bay. We chose a day when the wind was quite gentle and the sea was only running a small swell. If all went well, we intended to carry on around the island.

Everything did go well, we turned left from our bay, sailing parallel to the coast until we tacked around the end of the island. So far there had only been mile after mile of sand and trees, then we reached the previously unseen area beyond the mountain.

It was Liz who first saw the building, her excited shout breaking my concentration. Immediately, we tacked and sailed towards the shore. Soon we could see a rickety looking wooden jetty in front of a fairly large building. there were a few smaller buildings dotted about.

We beached the boat where the jetty met the sand and after tying the boat fast, we clambered ashore.

The large door to the main building took some moving, it obviously hadn't been used for many years. Inside, it was quite clear that it was some sort of factory. There were large swivelling vats over fire pits, long benches, chains hanging from giant beams, ropes and pulleys, all manner of things. We wandered about, gazing in awe, it was when I saw the huge spiked poles and hand scythe-like tools but with a large hook at the end, that I realised what the place was, "It's a whaling station but it's a long time since anyone's been here."

I said that we should collect anything that might be useful to us, as nobody seemed to want it, I didn't feel too bad about stealing.

The stuff we found would have come in so useful to me years ago had I come here before now. A back room revealed boxes of nails, large needles and the tools made my mouth water. Hammers, chisels, drills, wood planes, saws, to name only a few. Then I hit a gold mine, a chest containing many different sizes of fishing hooks and reals of line.

Then, behind the building, covered in rotting canvas, there was a boat. It was badly damaged but it had an assortment of sail pulleys, rowlocks, oars, but most important, a rudder and tiller, if only we could make it fit our boat.

The smaller buildings were houses, where we found cutlery, pots and pans and the like. We even found three cases of wine, several bottles of port and two of brandy. Liz came back from one house, she held a tall mirror and a large washing bowl, then she showed me two cut-throat razors and several bars of soap. With a smile on her face, she said, "Now we can get rid of that bush of hair that you hate." She unslung the bag hanging from he shoulder, opening it for me to look. It was a bag of maize, if it was any good and we could get it to germinate, we would have corn on the cob, we could then make flour and maybe bake bread.

It took an age to load our haul, it was just as well the sea was calm as we were well overloaded. The sail back was more difficult than it had been getting here, we were mostly against the wind, so it was endless tacking, back and forth a countless number of times. We were both completely exhausted when we finally entered out bay but still we unloaded and carried everything to the tree line.

We took two bottles of wine, a bottle of port, the razors, some soap and the mirror then headed home. We were too tired to cook, so we reheated a thick soup. I had very much doubted the wine would be any good, but oh, was I wrong? It was fantastic. We discussed our days haul over several glasses of wine. Soon both bottles were empty, so we started on the port, not knowing any better, I drank it as though it were just a rich wine, It wasn't long before my head was spinning, I was quite drunk.

My thoughts got more and more sexual, the alcohol loosened my tongue. "I think you should come over here and play with me, Liz," I said.

"And what would you like me to play with?" Was the slurred reply.

"Well, for starters, how about my tits," then, "No, don't bother with them, how about my pussy." I pulled my skirt up and spread my legs wide apart, patting myself between my legs.

"Ooh, you naughty thing, I ought to give you a good spanking," said Liz.

"You can spank my... what did you call it the other day? Oh yes, my ass anytime you like." I giggled stupidly as I stood on unsteady legs. I weaved my way towards her. "Where do you want me?"

Liz grabbed hold of me, I more fell than she pulled, then I was lying across her knees, for a moment the room spun, then crack, she slapped me, "Ouch, that hurt," I wailed.

"It was meant to, you're a very bad girl." Then her hand walloped again, on the other cheek this time.

"I'm going to get you for this, just you wait." Then another hard spank, "Ow, ow, you're so cruel, I don't think my ass likes you anymore."

I felt her hot breath on my cheeks, then her lips kissed first one, then the other, "Oh, I'm sorry my baby, let me kiss and rub it better for you."

"I should damn well think so, you rotter."

She pushed my outside leg off of her knee, her fingers kneading my cheeks. A finger slid along the crevice, "Look what I've found hiding from me in here." I squirmed as her finger circled my ass hole, "What should I do to this naughty little hole?" She asked me but she didn't wait for my answer. I felt hot saliva drop onto my ass then she rubbed it around the winking hole, before pressing in. I tensed but she smacked me again, "Now don't be naughty, open your hole for me." So naturally, I relaxed and her finger slid in. For a few moments she twisted it about, then I felt another pushing alongside the first one. There was a brief pain but in a second, two fingers pumped my ass.

She was pushing me off her knees with her fingers still firmly up my backside, "Kneel down and bend over," she ordered. "Now spread your knees." I complied, my elbows on the floor and my ass sticking up high.

I felt something soft pressing between my legs and along my pussy, I couldn't imagine what it was but it did feel nice.

Then it was pushing my lips apart and easing inside of me. It went deeper, bigger than anything I'd ever experienced before. Again, through my haze, I wondered what it could be, I didn't really care, it was working its magic. It seemed to change shape, it adjusted to fit me as Liz pulled and pushed, the sensation was glorious.

Now, another finger was being forced into my ass, three bloody fingers now, God I feel good, I thought.

"Fuck me Liz, I'm going to cum, Oh God, yes, harder!" As I spasmed and jerked, then I fell to the floor, still shaking.

I could still feel whatever had fucked me inside, "What was that Liz?" I asked when I looked at her grinning face.

She reached to the table, her hand came back with a passion fruit, the island variety were almost the length of a medium-sized cucumber but they were much fatter in the middle, they had a thick but very soft and pliant rubbery skin. They were nothing like the funny little hard brown things I'd seen in New South Wales. They were delicious to eat but now I also knew that they were delicious to fuck with.

She giggled wickedly, then pushed her fingers into my pussy, trying to remove the fruit. "Oh bugger, it's just burst." She was fishing lumps of fruit out, whilst she laughed uncontrollably. "Do you think your pussy will grow a passion fruit bush Laura?"

We both laughed, our sides fit to burst, tears rolled down my cheeks, "I need another drink." I said and slurped from the port bottle.

I lay on the floor and Liz sat back on the bench. "I can see up your skirt miss, are you teasing me?"

Liz pulled the hem higher, "Would you like to see more, little girl?" she giggled again.

"Yes, I want to see more and I want to lie here and watch you fuck your pussy, just like you did mine."

She almost fell off her bench as she reached for the fruit. With her skirt around her waist and her knees spread wide, she spread her lips with her fingers, then rubbed the large fruit up and down her opening. For a while she teased the fruit at her clitoris, then she slowly began to push it inside, it gradually changed shape as it disappeared inside her hole. Holding one, barely showing end, she twisted it about before beginning to pump. While her other hand continued rubbing at her clitoris.

No wonder it was called passion fruit, the look on her face was ecstatic. I moved closer, to admire how her lips widened and then narrowed to fit the shape that fucked her. I couldn't resist, I grabbed another fruit and thrust it hard up my own pussy, I worked it much faster than Liz was doing, I wanted to catch her up.

She leaned her back to the wall behind her and raised her feet to the bench, "My ass Laura, finger my ass."

When I touched her hole, it was already nice and wet from the juices that ran from her pussy.

I didn't hesitate, I went straight for two, fighting against the resistance, then they were in and I fucked her ass. I felt wicked, passion ruled me, I tried two more, her feet lifted off the bench, her eyes going wide as I watched her hole stretching, slowly it got wider, I had the sense not to force too hard, patiently I watched, then they were being absorbed. Fascinated, I saw the hole staying open when I withdrew before I plunged in again.

All the time my fruit was busy fucking me but I couldn't catch up with Liz. I felt her ass gripping my fingers, her eyes were screwed tightly shut, then her fruit moved in a blur as she screamed, "Laura." Her legs came around my neck, resting on my shoulders and her ass lifted up off the bench as she came.

She eased her legs down to the floor, motioning for me to stand, then she kneeled in front of me. As her hand went to my clitoris, she said, "Keep fucking, it's my turn to watch."

With my legs spread wide and my pelvis thrust forward, I did, I fucked myself hard and fast. I felt my inner muscles clenching hard at my lover inside, then I was cumming. How I managed to keep standing, God knows, but the orgasm was even better than the last one. Suddenly, I knew the fruit had burst and yet far more liquid was shooting out of my pussy than from just the fruit. I didn't know what was happening, I didn't care, all I knew it was wonderful.

As I calmed, I looked down at Liz, she had a huge smile on her face, her tongue was stuck out under my pussy and she slurped at the juices dripping out. "The best fruit cocktail I've ever had, passion fruit juice and Laura juice."

My legs were almost ready to give way, so she eased me to the bench, "Did I just pee in your face, Liz?"

"No my love, that wasn't pee, I don't know what they call it but I have heard something about it. It doesn't happen too often, I think it's special, anyway it tasted fantastic, especially with the fruit juice."

We hugged each other and kissed for a while, then I said, "I think we should go and wash ourselves in the lake, I need to get these seeds out and then it's bedtime, oh, and don't fall down the ladder."

Over the next few months, we were very busy. I firstly, worked on the boat, fitting the rudder and the rowlocks. Now I could row out in the bay, over time I found the best places for fishing and I discovered a shallow area where I could dive for lobsters. They didn't have huge claws like the ones I had known in England but instead, they had long spiny feelers, they were still delicious though.

Liz had been busy clearing a patch of land, where she planted the maize seed, some in quite damp soil near the lake, others in dry soil, it was all an experiment. The damp soil produced nothing, the seeds had all gone mouldy when we dug them out. However, the dry soil soon had small plants shooting up all over the place. Some we watered regularly, others we just left. They all produced cobs but the watered ones had far more corn kernels on them than the unwatered. We were learning fast.

I wanted my bread oven. My first attempts were a total disaster, I tried building with mud, it collapsed. Then I made a frame with thin branches before I plastered the mud all over. Once it had dried, I cut out the branches, it looked good, until I lit a fire inside though, it cracked and again collapsed.

I was ready to give up when Liz came to me with a big lump of clay like soil she had found when digging in her garden area. Clay, I knew it was the answer.

The first attempt still cracked quickly when it got hot. Liz suggested I try mixing sand with the clay. After several goes, I got the mixture right, this time though, instead of a wooden frame, I built a mountain of sand and then layered the clay mixture over the top. After a couple of weeks, we shovelled out the sand. First I lit a small fire, hey, no cracking. Then we built the fire bigger and still no cracking, we were in business.

Of course, I had been thinking about a lovely loaf of bread, until Liz pointed out the things we didn't have to do that, no yeast, milk or butter. But when my face dropped, she said for me not to worry as we could still make fresh flatbreads.

While I had been fiddling with my oven building, Liz had been experimenting with trying to make an alcoholic drink. We had long since found how to make sugar syrup from boiling down the wild sugar cane that grew in several places around the island, this was an essential ingredient for the process of fermentation. She tried passion fruit, coconut milk, coconut pulp and a wild red berry fruit that we had learned was quite safe to eat. Although one or two were drinkable, none were very good.

"I have to stop the air getting in while it's fermenting, I don't know how to do that."

For a while, I pondered, until the solution came to me. She watched me as I tied a bunch of sticks into a kind of criss-cross frame. Then we went to a bamboo patch about a mile away. I selected a very young and tender shoot and fed it into my frame, carefully bending the shoot into an upside down 'u' shape, the next day we returned, the shoot had already turned itself upwards, I tied it into the frame. A few days later and I was able to cut it off at the base and trim the top, I now had a length of bamboo that went up about six inches, then looped back down before turning up again. I left it a week to harden, then with some wire salvaged at the whaling station, I cleaned out the core.

"When you're ready, I'll make a clay stopper with our airlock pushed through the middle, you pour a little water in and hey presto, no more air but the fermenting gasses can still escape."

"However did you get to be so clever Laura, when you've been all alone here?" She asked, giving me a sloppy kiss.

I liked the praise, "When my love has a problem, it's my job to solve it."

The coconut produced a tart but high alcohol wine, not really to my liking, it also went sour quite fast. The wild berry though was delicious and it just got better and better the longer it was kept sealed.

Months passed by, life was good, we had all kinds of food now, wild pig which I occasionally hunted, a plentiful supply of fish, as well as lobster and crab. We had fresh bread, fruit growing all over, there was plenty of salt and sugar and now our own, or I should say Liz's wine.

I never killed a deer, there weren't that many on the island and besides, they were my friends and they had learned to trust me, I kind of looked after them. I had rescued one that was trapped down a deep depression, twice I had splinted a broken leg, I had nursed one back to health after it had been gored by a pig and once looked after a lost youngster for a long time, she never strayed far until one day a handsome male gave her a sniff, then she was gone.

I had the tools to do almost anything I liked. I got rid of the rope ladder and built a stairway. The lake had a diving board, well I dived, Liz jumped but it was good fun.

I could now make better bowstrings by weaving lengths of the salvaged fishing line together. Previously, I had made them from plant fibres and even pig gut, they had worked but didn't last very long, often snapping at the critical moment.

We had moved the boat, it was now hidden in a small creek about half a mile or so away from the bay, it was where the second stream from the lake met the sea. We stopped using the same regular track from our home to the bay, allowing the vegetation to grow back. Liz had grown cuttings from the thorn bushes and had begun to plant a natural barrier between the direct route from the bay and us. Effectively, we were hiding our home.