The Island (closed)

[PennySaver]

Introducing Doris Parker; including Gail Peters, Eloise Friendly, and Marla Stein

Doris was standing near the tent distribution area when the Air Marshall called for everyone's attention. He spoke about the limited number of tents. Then, he spoke about how castaways would be sharing tents.

She was already on edge about her sleeping arrangements, of course. She'd begun her vacation as Doctor Ethan Patel's very enthusiastic lover. She'd ended it, however, as his Ex-lover. And now Greg Hamilton was saying that she was going to have to share a tent with him? Not a chance in hell.

Doris had had an opportunity to befriend one of the flight attendants, Eloise Friendly. She knew that Eloise was single. Even more so, Eloise had recently ended a relationship. They had that in common.

She made her way through the crowd to the other woman and asked to speak with her. Away from the others, Doris explained that she was no longer on speaking terms with Ethan. "I need a roommate. A tentmate, I guess. Is there any chance...?"

Eloise was hesitant at first. She was already imagining that she and Greg would be sharing a tent. They'd shared two wonderfully erotic kisses. And the Air Marshall had given her ass a manly squeeze while pulling her crotch against his swollen cock.

But Greg was making the case that the distribution and occupation of tents could be a temporary thing. Perhaps, once they'd gotten better acquainted, and fucked for the first time, she and Greg could talk about a change in address.

"Sure, of course, Doris," Eloise told her reassuringly. "But ... for now, okay? Things could change."

"Of course," the other woman said with a happy tone.

Over the next few minutes, Doris and Eloise would welcome other castaways into their tent. The other two female flight attendants, Gail Peters and Marla Stein, suggested that it made sense to bunk together. They were all single. Well, they were here on the island, anyway. Gail had a lover in Sydney. Marla had a husband on Maui. Marla and Roger were still newlyweds, in fact.

The 4 women retrieved a tent and bedding. Also on the pallet had been vacuum sealed kits of sheets, blankets, and pillows. The people who'd dumped them here had to at least be applauded for wanting the castaways to be comfortable.

They also retrieved a shovel and gardening pick. They smoothed out a little plot of land. They rid it of roots and stones, then hauled sand in to create a level, soft base. The tent went up, the bedding went down, and the luggage went in.

"Home sweet home," Doris said to the others when they sat back to look it over. Several other tents had been erected to form somewhat of a circle around a fire ring someone else had built. "Like the Air Marshall said, it's sort of like being at camp."

 

[HumanBean]

Lance and Greg, and introducing:

• Henry Paulson (flight attendant)
• Richard Quinn (professional chef; Vincent's husband)
• Vincent Wright (professional baker; Richard's husband)
• Lenny Carmichael (outdoorsman, hunter)

90 minutes later:

"How are we doing?" Greg asked Lance as the two men came together near the middle of what was becoming a village of tents. "Is everyone set up?"

"I dunno," the other man said, looking around himself and then off toward the storm, which was minutes away from unleashing its full fury. "We didn't have time to set up all the tents, so people are doubling up for now."

He looked off toward the airstrip and the men and women moving to or from it. One of the parachutes that hadn't been disconnected and collected was flapping crazily in the wind; it was torn and threatening to fly off. Lance continued, "We got most of the freight in. There're still some heavy containers, but they should ride it out okay."

They discussed their preparations some more before Lance told Greg, "You know, we aren't going to be able to live in tents forever."

"I know," Greg agreed, "but for now it's what we have. A horrific sound drew his attention in time for him to see the lean-to tarp pull loose from one of its tie downs, then another. The tarp flew up to entangle itself in the fronds of the forest canopy. Greg said about it, "It'll be fine. We'll get it down tomorrow. For now, get under cover. Get yourself safe."

Lance slapped Greg's shoulder in acknowledgement of the advice and hurried off. He'd made arrangements to stay for now with Howard Jacob's and the teen's family. The parents of the youngest member of the Island Council had appreciated Lance's support of their son and the other teens, and they'd told him he had a place in their tent if he needed it. He took the offer for now, though, in the near future he was planning on building a little beach hut for himself.

Greg, for his part, had taken up with the fourth and sole male member of the Flight Attendant crew, Henry Paulson. The two men had become acquainted during Greg's stint at a Pacific Air-assigned Air Marshall and had even gone out for drinks on occasion, despite their very differing taste in drinking holes -- Henry played for the other team, sexually, that is. Still, the two men had become friends and enjoyed each other's company, and at a time like this -- in the face of a possible tropical storm -- Greg wasn't going to let Henry's desire for cock over pussy prevent him from shacking up with the man for one night.

As the storm raged outside, Greg, Henry, and a married-to-each-other pair of men talked about the basics that the castaways would need in the very near future, assuming that they survived the storm, one of the men commented. One man, Richard Quinn, told them, "I'm a chef in San Francisco at the moment, but I also volunteer at a local homeless shelter, running their hot and packed meals program. I started as a CS ... Culinary Specialist ... galley cook, in the Navy. Then a chef on a cruise ship.

"I was looking at some of the boxes of food they dropped us," he continued. "I think I could whip up some healthy meals that are tasty, too. Course, I don't know how long it -- the supplies -- are gonna last. We're going to need another food source: a garden, foraging, hunting if there are animals to hunt, I mean."

"There're pigs on the island," the fifth man in the tent spoke up. Lenny had been part of one of the pairs of explorers who'd gone out investigating the island just before the arrival of the supply plane. "Yeah, I found tracks while I was out there. I'm sure I could bag us some pork."

Lenny Carmichael was an impressive example of manly man. He was 6'4" and 250 pounds of solid muscle. He'd grown up in the backwoods of Louisiana where he'd hunted, fished, and trapped to feed his family. He'd fallen in love with rugby the first time he saw it played at a New Orleans university. He began playing, proved to be a natural, and was recruited to a University out in California. After graduating, he was recruited again, this time by a team in Sydney.

A year into that gig, though, he blew out his knee. He'd continued his outdoors activities even during his sporting years, so once his athletic career had ended, he'd joined a group that explored remote rainforests and filmed nature films for the internet. Sometimes the trips were all about conservation; sometimes they were about hunting. He'd turned out to be good at and happy with either one.

"The question we have to ask ourselves is this," Lenny told the men, speaking over the wailing wind beyond the stressed tent. "Are we trying to feed ourselves for a day or for a year? What I mean is ... I can track down and kill us these wild pigs. I found some big fucking tracks, so I know there's some big pigs out there. Question is do we want them dead for a barbeque pit ... or do we want them alive for a breeding pen?"

The men discussed the issue a while before deciding that maybe they could have both. Lenny told them, "There's gonna be some boars out there that will be easily caught. MIght be better to put a spear through them. But before we do that, we need to capture one or two more docile ones. Don't get me wrong! Ain't no such thing as a docile wild boar. But, I can catch us one that will be easy enough to pen and breed. All we need is some girlfriends for him, and we'll have bacon on the hoof in less than a year."

"A year?" Greg nearly cried out. "You're kidding?"

Lenny shrugged his shoulders. "We gotta catch the bastards ... boar and sow. We gotta breed them. We gotta wait for the ten little piggies to mature. This all takes time. Maybe we'll get lucky and find out there're a thousand feral pigs running around out there, and we can all have bacon for breakfast and pork chops for dinner every day. But I doubt it very much. An island like this .... wait, have we decided we're on an island?"

"Pretty sure," Greg chimed in. "All four pairs that went out today came back saying they reached a beach before returning when the plane passed over. I can't imagine we missed an isthmus that reaches out to a mainland we haven't yet discovered."

Lenny shared his knowledge about feral pigs and their lives within confined ranges, as they would have on an island. They also spoke about how wild boars were territorial and potentially vicious and could be very dangerous if you just happened upon one in the jungle. It was decided that they'd try to capture both boars and sows for breeding and kill any that seemed too dangerous to allow to remain near the camp.

"Okay, let's talk about omelets," one of the other men spoke up. There was surprise and confusion, followed by laughter once the man explained that he was speaking about the egg-laying fowl that likely lived in the forest side by side with the pigs. "There's no reason we can't live trap some of them and raise them for eggs."

Through much of the storm, the five men talked in great detail about the possibilities ahead of them. Greg was sure that in other tents, similar conversations were taking place. He was eager to hear what was discussed as soon as the storm passed and they could once again mingle about in safety.

Eventually, as the hours went by and the storm began to lessen, the five men fell into slumber, one after another.

 

[PennySaver]

"The Girl's Tent": Gail, Eloise, Marla, and Doris:

The work that the foursome had put into their tent site was paying off right away. They'd worked the ground to get rid of anything that might poke up through the tent bottom. They'd then layered a couple of inches of sand over the smoothed ground. They'd used stakes on all of the tent loops, whereas some of the castaways had only nailed down the corners. They'd even brought some rocks inside the tent, weighing down the corners.

The result was that when the heaviest winds struck, the tent very much stayed right where it was supposed to be. And, of course, it was very comfortable once they laid out their mats and bedding. Gail joked, "If there was such a thing as a Four-Star Tent, this would be it."

Once settled in, they opened a box of food to share amongst themselves. Eloise and a couple of other castaways had gone around to each of the tents, distributing the meals. They were cold but nutritionally balanced. Eloise had promised each tent's occupants, "Tomorrow, we'll have a real sit-down hot meal."

They also had a couple of dozen single shot bottles of alcohol. Gail had stashed some away early in the day. Ironically, so had Eloise and Marla. They laughed about it earlier when they realized that all three of them had horded alcohol.

"So, if we're gonna be roommates," Gail began, "we should probably get to know each other better. I'll start. My name is Gail Peters, and as you all know, I'm the In-Flight Service Manager for Pacific Air Flight 1122, with service from Sydney, Australia, to Honolulu, Hawaii." She smiled and laughed. She had been using her professional voice as she talked. More jokingly, she said, "I am ... or was ... the head stewardess for the wonderful flight that brought all of us here today."

There was laughter amongst the women. Gail's description was funny in and of itself. But her use of stewardess was, too. It was a term no longer used by the airlines, of course. That didn't mean that some older passengers didn't sometimes use the word, though. It was a hard habit to break.

"I'm 36 years old and single," Gail continued, "though, I've been seeing a man in Sydney for almost a year now. Actually, I was seeing him when he lived in Los Angeles. And after he moved back to Australia ... he's an Aussie, by the way ... I put in for the Sydney-Honolulu run to be with him more after he relocated there from Los Angeles."

"He must be quite a man for you to change routes like that," Doris commented.

"He's the greatest fuck of her life," Eloise said, laughing and blushing. She caught Gail's hard glare and said, "You said so! I'm just repeating it."

There was teasing and inquiries. Gail eventually confessed, "Yeah. He's unbelievable in bed."

There was more laughter. Gail drew and released a deep breath. More to herself than to the others, she said, "I doubt I'll ever see him again."

The youngest of the stewardesses feared that the mood was souring. She jumped in. "I'm Eloise Friendly. And yes, I am friendly." She laughed. So did the others. "I'm 24 years old and also single." She pouted out her lower lip as she continued, "I was recently dumped by my first and only ever boyfriend."

She got a round of sympathetic, sorrowful, and supportive comments.

"One lover?" Doris asked with surprise. "You've only ever been with one guy?"

Eloise smiled, giggled, and blushed. "One guy." She perked up again, though, thinking about Greg Hamilton. "I have a new boyfriend, though. At least, I think so. Hope so."

"Someone here?" Doris asked.

The answer came from the third Flight Attendant. Marla filled in, "The Air Marshall. Elli is all hot and bothered for the man with the badge."

There was a mix of surprise and congratulations. Eloise exploded in a fiery blush yet again as she giggled. "When we trekked out through the jungle to look for a beach ... to see if we were actually on an island--"

"She got naked and the two of them made out and groped each other," Gail cut in, laughing.

"NO! Not true!" Eloise defended herself. She was mortified, yet after a moment laughed with the others. "I wasn't naked. I ... I still had my bra and panties on."

Marla and Doris teased the young woman, asking all sorts of inappropriate questions. The tent was developing a real teenage years slumber party feel. Eloise described the kiss and embrace on the beach in great detail. When asked about Greg's cock, she said, "Yeah, I could feel it ... you know ... right against my belly. It felt big!"

The inappropriate chat continued until Gail interrupted with, "Anyway...!" When things settled a bit, she looked to Marla, saying, "You're next."

Marla's excitement level dropped conspicuously. She kept things simple with, "Marla Stein ... 29 ... Flight Attendant, obviously." She was still wearing her uniform. It was seriously dirty by now and needed to be either cleaned or burned. She added, "Married."

There was a moment of silence. Eloise and Doris thought there was likely more to be told. Gail knew there was. She was hesitant to give it up without permission. But Marla spoke up, "Two years ago, I, um ... joined the Mile High Club with an Executive from the airline."

There were oohs and ahhs from Eloise and Doris. Gail remained quiet. She knew the whole story. Marla continued, "He was a married man at the time, and stupidly he talked about it with the wrong people ... men he thought it would impress. It impressed them, all right ... right out of his job.

"They brought me in front of a review board," Marla continued, "and were about to dismiss me ... when I began talking about how I'd been threatened with reassignment and possible termination if I didn't let him fuck me."

This wasn't true, of course. Marla had been very much a willing partner in the act. She wasn't going to tell the other two women this, though. "I never actually said the words sexual harassment lawsuit, but it was implied. I kept my job. I changed routes to get me away from the Airline's home office in LA."

She became solemn, just as Gail had before her. Then she glanced at Gail before finishing, "I'll never make In-Flight Manager ... but ... I have my job ... which I love ... or, at least, did love before yesterday."

(OOC: Continued in next post.)

 

[PennySaver]

The mood had soured again. The four sat in silence for a long moment. Then Doris suddenly blurted out, "I'm a slut!"

The other three stared ... then cracked up laughing. Doris joined them in the hilarities. When questioned, she explained, "Until just eight days ago, I was a virgin." She looked to Eloise, saying, "So yeah, you had just one lover, but I had none!"

"How the hell do you go from virgin to slut in just over a week?" Gail inquired. "And just how old are you?"

"I'm 24," Doris informed them.

"How the hell did someone who looks like you get to be 24 and still not get cock?" Gail asked with shock and doubt in her tone. "And after you explain that, you can explain how you suddenly consider yourself a slut!"

The three other women laughed. Doris explained, "I come from a religious family. Sex was something I was raised to belief was meant only to be partaken of after marriage."

"It's all around you, though," Gail pointed out. "How do you--"

"No, it really wasn't," Doris corrected. "I grew up without television ... without home computers or the internet. We hardly ever listened to the radio, and when we did, it was NPR or the Christian music stations. Not bible-thumping stations. It wasn't like that. We didn't go 'round knocking on doors, spreading the word of Christ or anything like that. Our faith was personal."

"So..." Gail cut in, "...where does the slut part come in...?"

"I met a man who I really came to like, and ... I decided that I was ready to become his lover," Doris went on. She smiled devilishly, telling them, "You all know him." The three looked at her expectantly. She told them, "The Doctor. Ethan. Doctor Patel."

There was total shock amongst the three. They all talked over each other seeking more information. "I met him when he came to the clinic in the town where I lived. I was ... still am, actually ... a nutritionist and herbalist, and I wanted to talk to him about homeopathic care for pregnant women. We came to like each other. We started seeing each other for coffees ... for lunches ... for dinners."

"For sex?" Eloise inquired.

Doris laughed. "No. Not at all. Ethan wanted to ... wanted to have sex with me. And, to be honest, I wanted to, too. But I was still saving myself for marriage."

"How do you do that?" Gail asked. She was more or less asking her own self.

Doris answered candidly, "A lot of masturbation."

They all four exploded in laughter. When they settled a bit, Doris continued, "Then, he got an invitation to talk at a conference in Sydney ... and he asked me if I wanted to come with him. We talked about it a bit ... about sex, I mean ... and we decided that once we got to Sydney ... if the mood was right ... we could consummate our relationship."

"Consummate," Eloise giggled. She clarified, "Fuck like rabbits."

Doris laughed. She went on, "So, our first night in Sydney, we slept together ... and I mean slept, as in sleep side by side but without sex. And it was very nice. And I wanted more. And on our second night, we finally did it."

"And...?" Marla prodded. "How was it?"

Doris, this time, was the one to blush. "It was nice."

There was a universal groan throughout the tent. One of the women murmured, "Nice? Fuck, not good."

"I'd imagined what it would be like for so long," Doris continued. "I'd expected that it would hurt. You know, you hear things like that. But honestly, it didn't hurt at all."

"But...?" Eloise urged.

"But ... it was just ... nice ... and nothing more," Doris said. "Like I said, I wasn't a stranger to pleasing my own self. And I'd experienced orgasms on my own. So I figured I'd partake of one or more or even many once I was actually with a man for the first time."

"But..." Gail urged the story to continue.

"But I didn't," the woman said. "It was nice ... but that was all. And I wanted more."

"Uh oh," Eloise said, "I feel the slut part coming."

Doris laughed nervously. "Ethan had an evening conference discussion the second night after we'd become lovers. I didn't want to go, and I certainly didn't want to wait in the room alone. So, I went to the hotel's lounge ... and I had a drink or two ... and I danced with some people I'd met earlier in our stay ... and some of the men were ... oh ... they were simply delicious!

"And one thing led to another ... and I ended up in the hotel of these two men who were just a few years older than me ... and I had sex with both of them."

"Both?" Marla inquired. "You mean ... like ... together ... as a threesome."

"Well, not at first," Doris said. "I was with the Aussie first ... then the ... they call'em Kiwis, right? Then with him. Then, I was with both of them."

The girls were all laughing and giving Doris compliments for being a wild animal. But her story hadn't ended yet. "I went back to the room to have sex with Ethan again ... but ... he just wasn't doing it for me. So the next morning, I packed up and went to stay with one of the women I'd met at the lounge ... a local woman ... and ... well, I sort of spent the next couple of days naked most of the time ... having sex with this guy or that ... this girl or that ... this group of people or--"

"Group?" Gail asked with shock. "Like ... an orgy."

Doris shrugged. "I guess. One night, they had an oil pool ... you know, where they put an inch of body oil in the bottom of a large kiddy pool and people get in naked and have fun with whoever slips up next to them."

Gail, Eloise, and Marla were shocked at what they were hearing. They quizzed the former-virgin with every possible question seeking detail about her time in Sydney. Darla obliged, finding no reason to hold anything back. They laughed and continued to drink until someone hollered out, "Jesus Christ! Go to sleep!"

They went silent a moment, then laughed again. They had no idea that they could be heard over the storm's howling wind. They did settle down, though. And the alcohol and long day finally saw they each fall asleep.

 

[HumanBean]

DAY 2

(OOC: I had already started this next day above in my previous post. That was a mistake, as I didn't give Penny an opportunity to end the day for her female characters. I have, therefore, moved the Day 2 paragraphs here and then added to them.)

Previously posted:

Greg awoke the next morning to the sounds of excited voices beyond the tent. He awoke to find Lenny already gone, while the other men continued to sleep on. He slipped his boots and coat back on and headed outside.

The camp was a mess. Debris was strown all about; most of the packages had maintained their seals, but they were scattered far and wide, sometimes as far at the end of the runway. Two of the tents were damaged as well. One had been hit by a flying frond; Doctor Patel was tending to an injured castaway. The other tent simply hadn't been staked down and -- with its occupants and gear inside -- took a twenty-yard tumble through the camp until it came up against a bulldozed stump near the edge of the forest. The nurse was dealing with those folk, but there didn't seem to be anything serious wrong with any of them.

"Okay, everyone!" Greg called out, "Let's get some food in us! Then, we'll clean up this mess."

They located some of the meal packs, and Richard Quinn and his husband -- a professional baker -- joined with others to put on a fairly substantial breakfast. After that, much of the rest of the day was spent retrieving the wayward supplies, securing the tents against any future storms, digging latrines, and other necessities for this new life of theirs.

New contribution:

Lenny Carmichael came through on his vow to bring fresh meat into the camp to feed the castaways. Greg had watched him use a heavy knife he'd taken from his luggage to carve an 8 foot long spear from a sapling before heading out into the forest alone. And three hours later, he returned to the camp with a fully slaughtered and ready to cook pig carcass slung over his back.

Not all of the castaways were tickled with what they saw, of course. Some were vegetarians or even vegans; others simply disapproved of killing an innocent little pig, as one castaway described it. Lenny simply turned his leg to show them the blood-soaked rip and injury before telling them, "Innocent little pig, my big, hairy balls."

Lenny showed some more interested parties how to build a proper pig-roasting pit, and they went to work. It was still going to be until after at least midnight before the carcass was safe to eat, though. He suggested that for now the castaways stick to MREs.

That, of course, offended Richard and Vincent. The two professionals -- the first a chef, the second a baker -- had created a breakfast and lunch that were anything but meals, ready-to-eat. They'd been surprised to find that the airdropped shipment had been fairly well stocked with not just foods but spices and condiments, too. The supply of the goodies wouldn't last long, though; actually, the supply of main food items wouldn't either. But it was still nice to be able to offer pepper and salt, as well as ketchup, mayo, and more for the first few meals.

Greg asked the pair for a rough estimate of how long the food from the drop would last. Richard didn't really want to offer a guess, saying, "No one will be happy with what I have to tell you, whether I'm right or wrong." But Greg reassured him that no one would hold this against him; "I will tell them all that I came up with the number."

Later, as he assembled them all for the dinner meal, Greg gave them the bad news. "The food left behind from the plane ... the in-flight meal, the snack packages, etcetera ... those are pretty much all gone. I'm sure a few of you still have some macadamia nuts or little bottles of booze horded away, and that's fine. The food that was dropped to us yesterday will last us about 20 days if we continue to eat as we are right now."

Greg looked around at the castaways as many of them looked down to their plates full of food. Many of them, he was sure, were wondering whether they could somehow save some of what was before them for later consumption. They couldn't, of course. He reported something that had happened earlier: "I spoke with Richard and Vincent, who have taken a thorough inventory ... and I have spoken with the Council Members ... and we believe that if we begin making more conservative meals--"

"Rationing?" someone called out. Another person grumbled, "You're gonna starve us, aren't you?"

Greg did his best to settle down a sudden uproar he had actually expected. He reassured them, "No one's going to starve. But ... meals generally won't be as ... extravagant as what you see before you right now." Without purpose, he glanced toward Richard and caught an expression of pride in the man's face. "Meals will become simpler. They may become downright boring. But we are doing and will be doing our very best to keep everyone fed and healthy."

"We have seeds and starts and tubers with which to plant a garden ... a farm really," a woman said after standing to let herself be known. Gail had introduced the woman to Greg earlier; she was educated in food production and had incredible experience in creating urban gardens and such. She spoke on the topic of growing food for a bit before finishing, "If a few of you will dedicate yourself to helping in the garden, we will never be hungry. I promise you this."

"Point is," Greg continued, "we have food now. And the forest will provide food, too, be it pigs or birds or eggs or coconuts or whatever. And we have the ability to grow food. Trust me ... no one is going to starve. You might find yourself hungry on occasion ... but c'mon, seriously ... couldn't a few of us stand to lose a few pounds?"

That brought both laughter and sharp, rude comments. Greg ignored the last and concentrated on the former. "We're going to eat better and smarter, and we're going to be just fine. Trust me."

 

[PennySaver]

The Girls' Tent:

One after another within a minute or so, the girls regained consciousness. They'd each had a few too many little bottles of airline alcohol. Now, each was suffering to one degree or another with a hangover.

From just beyond their tent, a man called out, "Okay, everyone! Let's get some food in us! Then, we'll clean up this mess."

Eloise had immediately recognized the voice as being Greg's. She, it would turn out, handled her booze better than the others. With ease, she was up and out in less than a minute. She sidled up next to her lust interest, smiling. She patted him inconspicuously on the ass. "Good morning, handsome."

She hurried off, giggling. She joined the two professional cooks in helping to prepare breakfast for the castaways. She even helped with cleanup, washing dishes and such.

Lenny Carmichael appeared with a dead hog over his shoulders. She was impressed with his Great White Hunter routine. For a moment, she wondered if perhaps she'd chosen a new love interest too quickly. That thought made her laugh, though. Eloise was very much stuck on Greg Hamilton.

Greg called the Council Members together. They talked about a number of things. One topic was assigning tasks to the castaways. It was understood that each and every person here needed to contribute to the community in one way or another. Some castaways had obvious skills that needed to be employed, such as the doctor or cooks. Other people with other skills were still being discovered.

Another topic was the food supply. Eloise was honestly concerned to learn that they only had about 20 days of food. It was, of course, more than they'd had when they'd first awoken on a tarp on the aircraft runway. It was also more than Eloise had hoped they would need. She still wanted to believe that this was all a short-term experiment. She wanted to believe that they'd be leaving the island in the next day or two.

Greg called the group together for the evening meal. He spoke about the food situation. Some people feared there was going to be serious rationing. Greg reassured them that it wouldn't be like that.

"We have seeds and starts and tubers with which to plant a garden," one woman spoke up. She stood for attention. Her name was Candice O'Conner. If you looked up Green Thumb in the dictionary, you found a picture of her near the margins. She corrected her description, "... a farm really."

She gestured toward the boxes hidden under a parachute near her tent. "I've looked over the seeds and such that were airdropped yesterday. Our benefactors have provided us with seeds, plant starts and cuttings--"

"Our what?" a man cut in angrily. He stood and took a step closer to Candice. "Our benefactors?" He continued slowly toward her as he questioned, "Are you talking about the assholes who dumped us here on a deserted island ... away from out world ... our friends and families ... our jobs, our homes, and everything we know and love?"

Candice understood the mistake she'd made. She'd spoken of the people behind all of this as benefactors. That had been a mistake.

"I'm sorry," she admitted. "I shouldn't have called them that."

A second male stepped out in front of the first. He defended Candice with a silent but aggressive expression and stance. The angry man hesitated, then casually sat down on a nearby crate.

Candice continued, "I only meant that the people who delivered these goods to us were thinking about our long term survival. "They provided us with vegetable seeds ... melons, cucumbers, lettuce, cabbage. Dozens of varieties. They won't all prosper here, I'm sure. But even if only half of them do, the nutritional value is significant.

"We have tubers ... like potatoes," she continued. "And some fruit tree and berry and grape starts. And every bit of it is perennial or heirloom."

"Air what?" someone asked.

"Heir-loom," Candice said, spelling out, "H-E-I-R-L-O-O-M ... heirloom. That means that after our crops mature, we save some of the seeds, and we can grow another garden the next season for as many seasons as we are here. I'm talking about the garden crops, of course. The trees and berries and such are perennials. They'll be here for as long as we take care of them."

There was a soft conversation taking place in the crowd as she talked. Candice knew what it was about. She said, "Listen, I understand. The people who did this to us are fucking assholes. No one should do this to anyone else. But the fact is that is did happen ... and we are here now. We need to make the best of it. We need people who are interested in working in the garden to volunteer to do so."

She didn't ask for hands, yet some came up anyway. Candice acknowledged them, saying, "We will talk about this more tomorrow. I appreciate your support."

"And some of these plants have medicinal properties, too," Doris cut in. She explained for those who didn't know her, "I'm a nutritionist and herbalist. I have an Associate's Degree from a Homeopathic College. I can give you, off the top of my head, a hundred medicinal properties of some of the plants that Candy here has seeds for."

She looked to Candice for her support and got an energetically nodded head.

"And that doesn't even include the plants in the jungle," she continued. Seeds and flowers and roots and so much more. I've studied rainforest flora, and I'm telling you, the jungle will provide."

The conversation continued for a while. The castaways finished their meal and their dishes. Some returned to their tents. Others followed the trail that had been cut through the woods to the nearest beach. It was time to work off some of the energy this day had caused.

 

[HumanBean]

As the sun neared the horizon, Greg passed word that everyone not already at the camp needed to return to it. Once it seemed that most if not all of them were back, he asked them to gather around for a talk. The subject, of course, was why they were here -- why they themselves as individuals were here.

"Throughout the day," he began, "the Council Members -- myself, Gail, Ethan, Lance, Howie -- we made our way around to as many of you as we could to ask you some questions about yourselves." Greg held a copy of the flight manifest out before him; in between the typed lines and all about the margins were a multitude of notes. "Some of you expressed a concern that perhaps we were invading your privacy with some of the questions we asked, but I want to reassure you that there was a reason for these questions."

Greg looked at the pages, then looked up again at those gathered before him; about half of them sat on the ground or on makeshift seats, while the balance stood behind those persons on the crowd's perimeter, forming a somewhat semicircular shape. He instructed, "Please, everyone raise your right hand." Some did as told, but the majority hesitated. "Please, this will make sense to you in a moment."

Across the entire group, each and every castaway -- including the teens -- raised their right hand. Greg glanced to Gail with a knowing expression. The most senior of the Flight Attendants had been the first one to suspect what Greg was about to show the others.

To the castaways, he instructed, "If you were on Flight 1122 because you and your family won some sort of vacation package contest or won your trip to or from Sydney by some other unexpected reason ... please lower your hand."

Over the next few seconds, more than two-thirds of the hands lowered. Some parents had to clarify the question to their children, the latter of who then lowered their hands, too. Greg continued, "If you were on the flight because you were traveling for some sort of conference or meeting ... a gathering to which you wouldn't normally have been invited ... please lower your hand."

Again, more hands dropped. He went on, "If you were supposed to travel on a different flight but found yourself being shifted to Flight 1122 instead..." Greg didn't have to finish his instruction; another half dozen hands dropped. "Finally, if you fly between Sydney and Honolulu a lot ... or between Sydney and anywhere, actually ... and you found that your preferred flight arrangements were unavailable for reasons that either didn't make sense or were not explained to you..."

Again, Greg didn't finish and, still, hands dropped. He scanned the group and found only 6 hands still raised. One couple -- who would turn out to be brother and sister -- still had their hands up still, leading Greg to ask, "How did you end up on Flight 1122?"

The man explained, "We got a call from our mother in San Diego that my dad had a heart attack and that we needed to come home." His sister chimed in, "We told her we couldn't afford it, but she said someone at the hospital's charity center had paid for airline tickets for us."

Greg asked a man standing alone with his hand in the air for his specifics. "I was offered a job in Seattle ... one of those life changing opportunities that I couldn't pass up. The hiring agency ... they paid for my ticket, too, but only if I was able to make this flight on this specific day."

Each of the people with their hand still up had a similar story of some fateful thing that had caused them to board Flight 1122. There was a buzz about the group, and Greg knew it was time to explain what he and some of the others believed.

"We -- the members of the Council and some others -- we don't believe that any of us are here by accident," he said. "The questions we asked today ... why were you on the flight, what do you do for a living, do you consider yourself highly skilled at anything in particular ... they were all intended to answer the question: why are we here, and is it coincidental ... or a plan."

There was a growing murmur through the crowd now. Greg signaled for quiet, then continued, "We believe that each of you were specifically selected, so that you could provide our little community here with a skill or profession that will be important as time passes ... as the days, weeks, months ... possibly even years pass."

Now, the murmur was more of an uproar. Greg let it go on for a couple of minutes and was about to bring it to an end, when Lenny Carmichael hollered out for silence and -- getting it -- gestured to Greg and demanded, "Let the man finish."

"A doctor ... a couple of nurses ... a dentist ... a nutritionist and herbalist," he told them. "These are the medical professionals who we count among our numbers. An outdoorsman who knows about hunting; a bushcraft educator who I bet could build a power plant out of palm fronds and wet sand; an English teacher, science teacher, and mathematics professor; and so many more skilled people whose talents would be vital to a community starting out and living in the wilds of a deserted island."

"And there's more," Doctor Ethan Patel cut in. "By a show of hands, how many of you are diagnosed diabetics?" When not a hand rose, he explained, "That is mathematically impossible. We have, what, 115 men, women, and children here, most of whom live normal Western lives that include poor diet and exercise and far too much time sitting at computers or TVs. The percentage of Americans -- and Aussies and Kiwis, too -- diagnosed with diabetes currently sits at over 11%. That's one out of ten or more. And yet, we have not one! diabetic."

He looked around for response, the continued, "How many of you are on medication for heart disease, stroke, or other serious medical condition. Again, no hands rose. Ethan looked to Greg, shrugged, and said, "Improbable ... if not impossible."

 

[PennySaver]

Introducing Kimberly "Kimmie" Taylor:

19-year-old Kimmie listened to the ongoing conversation with great interest. And with great disappointment. The Air Marshall was saying that each of the families had been selected for a reason. Someone in each family had been chosen for something that made them important. Her father, Edward, was a structural engineer. He built things. Big, tall, or long things that would stand against earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, and more for decades or centuries to come. That was why he'd been chosen. To build things here for these people.

And that absolutely fucking sucked!

These people who had done this to her, these benefactors, as the plant lady had called them ... weren't they thinking about her when they did this? Kimmie had a life back in Seattle. She was starting University this fall. She had a boyfriend. For Christ's sake, she'd just given him her virginity two days before she and her family flew for Hawaii, on their way to Sydney.

She couldn't be stuck here on this fucking island. What was she supposed to do here? She had no skills beyond Googling and Tweeting.

She looked to her father as he listened to the Air Marshall. She could see a touch of pride in his expression. He'd always loved a challenge. Kimmie could just imagine that he was already fantasizing about the buildings he would design for the castaways. Huts, a community kitchen, a church maybe.

She suddenly found herself hating her father for being so talented. If he'd been a greeter at Walmart, she wouldn't be stuck here now. Fuck him and his three University degrees and multiple industry awards.

The Air Marshall continued, "A doctor ... a couple of nurses ... a dentist ... a nutritionist and herbalist ... an outdoorsman ... a bushcraft educator ... an English teacher, science teacher, and mathematics professor..."

Kimmie thought to herself, And not a structural engineer. Congratulations, you just won Island Castaway Bingo.

The Air Marshall turned the conversation over to the Doctor. Ethan Patel talked about how healthy everyone was, compared to the general population beyond the island. No diabetes, no cardiovascular issues, no other diagnosed issues of any kind.

Kimmie thought about herself again. She wasn't diabetic. Her family had no history of heart disease. They were all fit and healthy. She was fit and healthy. She was the perfect example of womanhood. Her tits were too small to gain her a lot of attention back in the world. But she still got her share of attention because she liked to wear revealing dresses and body hugging jeans.

Why had these benefactors found it necessary to include her? Why couldn't they have given her parents two and only two tickets to Sydney? They didn't have to include her. Did they?

Two women in their late twenties had been quietly whispering together near Kimmie. It had been a bit annoying, actually. She was trying to listen to the Air Marshall and Doctor. One of them joked, "My husband's a meteorologist. Do you suppose he was selected so that he could tell us what cloud was going to rain on us?"

The other laughed, saying, "Mine's a Marine Biologist. His area of expertise is bivalves, which I think means clams and shit. I dunno. We don't talk about it much. We mostly just fuck. Or fucked, anyway."

The two women laughed. Kimmie turned to glare at them. That was when a thought struck her. A horrific thought. The woman married to the Marine Biologist was obviously pregnant. Several months, though, Kimmie didn't really know enough about it to know whether it was 5 months or 7 months or ready to pop 9.

She looked at the other woman. That one, too, looked pregnant, though, only enough to have recently changed her wardrobe to suit the condition. Kimmie stood and approached the two. She asked the more pregnant one, "You don't think your husband's career warranted being dumped here?"

"Excuse me?" the woman responded, obviously put off. "My husband has an important career and two Masters in--"

"I wasn't dissing him or his job, lady," Kimmie cut her off. "I was asking you a simple question. If what the Air Marshall and Doctor and the rest of the Council is saying is true ... that we were brought her for a reason ... specifically selected for a reason ... do you think that your husband's experience and knowledge as a weather man was enough to have the two of you brought here?"

The woman stared at Kimmie in silence. Then, finally, she confessed, "I don't think so." Then, after another moment of silence, she asked Kimmie, "Why?"

Kimmie looked at the other woman, asking, "Are you pregnant?"

"Yeah, so...?" she responded with the same annoyance. "What's that to you?"

Kimmie's lips spread in a knowing smile. She shook her head lightly. She told them, "I don't think your husbands are the reason you were chosen to be here."

"Then why?" the more pregnant of the two asked.

Kimmie looked to the round bulging of her lower torso, then to the other woman's smaller repeat of the condition. She didn't answer the question. Instead, Kimmie turned and headed off toward the tent she shared with her family and a young couple they'd befriended. Kimmie thought about the young couple a moment. The pair were newlyweds. And the woman, like the two Kimmie had just left, was pregnant.

She laughed to herself as she realized why those particular women were here. It wasn't because of their husbands. Oh sure, a meteorologist and a marine biologist could come in handy. They were on an island often savaged by storms and surrounded by marine life that could be either deadly or delicious.

But Kimmie didn't believe that was why those couples were chosen at all. They'd been chosen because the women were fertile. Better than that, they were already pregnant.

So ... what did that say about Kimmie's reason for being here? Was she here because her father knew how to build shit? Or was he here because his daughter was potentially a walking, talking baby factory? She got to her tent and huddled up in the less-than-satisfying bedroll she'd been provided. She thought about her boyfriend back in Seattle. They'd fucked. Was she already pregnant? Was that why she and her family were here? What the fuck?

 

[HumanBean]

Greg

The conversation had continued almost two hours, with people slowly fading away individually or as family units until finally only a dozen or so castaways remained to speak with the 4 adult Council members remained; teenaged Howie had left to talk with some of the other teens before eventually leaving them to call it a night.

"Listen, this isn't going anywhere," Greg said, trying to bring the night to a close.

"None of us are, apparently," one of the men snapped, speaking of the fact that everything they knew or hypothesized pointed at the castaways being stuck here permanently.

"It's late, we're tired, and the Air Marshall is right," Lance jumped in. "We could talk about this all night long, but it isn't going to change the facts. So--"

Though he wasn't a Council Member, Lenny Carmichael had stayed behind to oversee the conversation. All night long, he'd been afraid that the emotions of the group might break into violence at some point; he'd been the one who'd earlier cut off the man who'd been approaching Candice after her comment about the Benefactors. Now, though, he announced, "The pig will be fully cooked by morning. Whaddaya all say we break this up, get some sleep, get a hot breakfast of roasted pig and powdered eggs, and -- if necessary -- return to this again then?"

"Powdered eggs..." Vincent Wright murmured, as much to himself as to anyone else. He realized that his words had been overheard and asked with dismay, "They couldn't have sent us real eggs. Would it have been that hard?"

He received only chuckles as his answer as the group broke up and headed in various directions. Greg caught Eloise's attention, looked around for prying eyes, then glanced off toward the entrance to the path that had been tromped down and widened over the past two days for easier access to the beach. She seemed to catch his intentions and reacted accordingly.

"I'm going to take a walk around the camp," Greg announced to the others, feeling as though he might need to explain his stroll into the darkness.

He received some okays and goodnights, but other than that, didn't seem to attract any unwanted attention. Greg did, however, catch a sly smirk on Lance's lips as the man first glanced toward the young, sexy Flight Attendant before then turning and walking off toward the tent he shared with Howie's family.

Greg strolled about a bit, taking a moment to put a few more pieces of wood on the community fire. He share a polite nod with Lenny, who was tending to the pig being roasted over yet another fire. Then, believing that no one was paying him undue attention, Greg headed toward the trailhead. He entered the forest, using the moonlight to guide his careful steps.

It was 50 yards or so from the camp to the trailhead, and another 100 yards through the trees to reach where the forest gave way to the gentle slope that dropped to the dry sand. From there, it was another 50 yards out to where the waves crashed upon the shore.

Greg waited at just beyond the reach of the high tide, almost fearful of turning to find that Eloise had either not understood his desire to be alone with her or had chosen to not meet him...

(OOC: We are taking this exchange -- which we expect to be sexual and take a couple of days to complete -- to a separate thread, so that we can continue the rest of the story with the rest of the characters here in this thread. That new thread is here: "Greg and Eloise". If you are following our story as we write it, you can subscribe to this 1x1 thread and follow it parallel to this thread; if you are reading our story some time later, a link in the 1x1 will bring you back to this very post at the appropriate time to keep you in the timeline and prevent you from missing posts for other characters.)

 

[PennySaver]

Gail and Candice (with Lenny Carmichael)

Gail poked her head out to watch her tentmate sneak off to meet with Greg. She wished the two of them the best. The last thing she wanted for the younger woman was another heartbreak.

She also caught sight of Candice slipping out of her own tent. And she, like Eloise, had changed clothes. The future farmer of the island had shed her modest, loose-fitting top and slacks. She was now wearing a tight-fitting, skimpy summer dress. She'd traded in her work boots for a pair of sandals with modest heels. It was pretty obvious that Candice was on the prowl.

It wasn't any of Gail's business who Candice was going to meet. That didn't mean she wasn't curious, though. Still, she ducked back inside again and called it a night.

Candice's target was the biggest hunk on the island, Lenny Carmichael. She'd fallen in deep, hot lust with him when he'd returned to the camp with a slaughtered boar over his shoulders. She found him at the roasting pit, tending to the pig.

"Hey," she said softly when he caught sight of her. She gave him a moment to look her over. She laughed. About her outfit, she said, "Different. Yeah, I know."

She stepped closer to the fire, opposite the pit from him. The now-low flames danced light upon her figure. Unsure if he knew, she introduced herself, "Candice. You're Lenny...? Or is it Leonard?"

She listened to his answer. She was smiling tentatively. Candice wasn't a big flirt. This was actually rather hard for her. But she'd been watching the way other women eyed Lenny all day. She knew that if she didn't make a move on him, she'd miss her chance.

"This is very impressive," she said, indicating the pig and the pit. "You know, they're calling you the Great White Hunter." She chuckled. "It's kind of an old phrase, actually ... dated. Sort of a white man comes to Africa thing. Kinda racist, actually ... now I mean. I mean, it was racist then, too, of course."

She went quiet, realizing that she was rambling. A blush burned her face. She hoped it wasn't visible in the darkness. She blushed even more so when she realized that she'd been ogling his beautiful, muscular form. She looked Lenny in the eyes, wondering if he'd caught her.

"I should probably ... you know..." Candice jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "...go to bed. It's late. Others are sleeping, too. I wouldn't want to keep them up ... you know ... talking. Probably better to go to bed."

Candice didn't want to return to her tent, of course. She wanted to stay right here with Lenny. Even better than that, she wanted to go to his tent. She wondered who he was sharing accommodations with. Another guy? Several guys? A woman? Several women? Many of the female castaways had been eying him. She hadn't seen him pay an inordinate amount of time with any one of them in particular. Was she too late?

 

[HumanBean]

Lenny Carmichael
36-year-old American Ex-Pat; now Australian Citizen
Former Professional Rugby player (Australia/New Zealand)
Outdoorsman, Big Game Hunter, etc.

The pig had been roasting over the fire since early afternoon. Lenny would have preferred that the beast be ready to eat for dinner, but he hadn't killed it earlier enough in the day. Instead of building his normal fire to produce an extremely high-temperature bed of coals, Lenny built a smaller one that would have the meat ready for consumption as the sun and camp both rose.

"Hey," a female voice sounded from nearby.

Lenny looked up to find a beautiful woman in a sexy summer dress approaching from the opposite side of the fire. It took a moment for him to recognize her as the farmer lady who'd talked earlier in the day about feeding the camp long term. He couldn't help but ogle her and smile both.

She must have understood his surprise at her very different appearance, smiling and responding, "Different. Yeah, I know."

"Different," he confirmed, adding, "but nice ... very nice. You should dress that way more often."

"Candice," she introduced.

"Yes, I remember," he said. Who could forget? he thought to himself.

Before he could speak his own name, she asked, "You're Lenny...? Or is it Leonard?"

"For you, Lenny," he told her, his tone intentionally flirtatious. She smiled to him, causing him to do the same. He glanced around, finding no one accompanying her. He asked, "Out for a stroll ... or ... looking for company?"

He was, of course, hoping for the latter option. Her response was only another wide smile. She called the pig and pig impressive, then joked about the nickname he'd gained, the Great White Hunter. He agreed with her about the racial inappropriateness of the phrase, saying, "I'd be concerned about it if I was commanding a horde of African porters to pack around my rifles, khakis, and bottles of Port."

She chuckled, which led Lenny to do the same. Candice went quiet for a moment, and even in the relative darkness, he thought he could see her face darken with a blush. To Lenny, Candice seemed uncomfortable with the flirting taking place between them. He wondered -- and rightfully so, it was -- if maybe flirting wasn't second nature to her.

They talked about the pit, the pig, and the delay of eating it. About the carcass, Lenny said, "It isn't the biggest of pigs, but it'll feed all of us breakfast and lunch. I mean, it probably won't be as much as some people will want ... there won't be any seconds, depending on how many pork enthusiasts we have ... but as Greg said earlier, we're all gonna have to get used to smaller and potentially fewer meals."

They chatted a bit more until Candice started talking about calling it a night. "Others are sleeping, too. I wouldn't want to keep them up ... you know ... talking. Probably better to go to bed."

"You could come to my bed," Lenny said boldly. He nodded toward the woods and the corner of the camp opposite of the trail down which he'd seen that Flight Attendant sneak a few minutes earlier. "I have my own tent. Not one of those tents--" He looked toward the expanse of identical, military-styler tents. He explained, "I used one of the parachutes to construct my own tent ... just a bit inside the forest. I prefer not to be out in the open for a variety of reasons."

(OOC: As with Greg and Eloise, we are taking this sexual explicit scene to a separate thread, so that we can continue to write the rest of the story with the rest of the characters here in this thread. That new thread is here: "Lenny and Candice" 1x1 thread)

 

[HumanBean]

Day 3

Greg was up and around before dawn, tending to a variety of tasks he'd spent the previous day contemplating. The tarp that had been the Community's first shelter had been repaired following the storm, and -- with a couple of other early risers -- Greg was trying to organize and further inventory the airdropped supplies. Some of the boxes and crates were opened and empties; these items were to be distributed as appropriate. Other containers were stacked together and covered with one of the parachutes, as a disincentive to anyone who might want to pillage them for their own gain.

Lenny was up and around as well, tending to his pig. He'd set up one of the larger shipping crates to serve as a preparation table and began carving up the boar. Greg was impressed with the Great White Hunter; Lenny used the big knife he'd gotten from his checked luggage as if he'd been born with it in his hand.

As the sun was rising and casting its glow down upon the camp, the two cooks rose and joined the fray as well. Richard -- the professional chef -- set about preparing other food items to go with Lenny's pork breakfast, while Vincent -- the professional baker -- prepared a platter of unleavened bread he'd baked the day before in a rather makeshift oven they'd quickly put together with stones from all about the strip and forest's edge. Combined with some food from cans, boxes, and bags, the breakfast was actually rather vast in its offerings.

"You know, we aren't going to be able to keep this up very long," Greg told the other three men about the spread. "We're going to run out of food options ... and we're going to need to cut back on quantity. I know no one wants to hear the word rationing--"

"This is rationing," Richard cut in. He gestured to the layout before him. "This looks like a lot of food laid out like this ... but you have to remember that its feeding 115 people. If it wasn't for the pig -- oh, and thanks for that, Lenny -- there wouldn't be enough calories, vitamins, and protein here to satisfy the needs of a healthy breakfast."

The people who'd abandoned them here had in one very important way actually been benefactors, as Candice had referred to them. When they all came to that first morning, the castaways had found with them not only their checked luggage and carryon but also nearly everything that had been in the plane that hadn't been fastened down.

This had included all of the as-of-yet unserved late breakfast and early dinner meals for the 9 1/2 hour flight. In addition to the actual food, there had been the serving plates, eating utensils, and plastic cold and hot drinking cups. Preparing breakfast this morning -- as well as the meals the day before -- had been made much easier by the presence of all of this kitchenware.

In addition, the airdrop had provided them with more communal cooking needs: pots, pans, kettles, ladles, spatulas ... the list went on. Richard and Vincent -- as well as a half dozen others who'd stepped up to help prepare meals -- had been very surprised and almost fully satisfied with what their benefactors had supplied them.

"I don't like the prison chow line look of it, though," Vincent said, looking out upon the way the various food containers were arranged around them and the fire pit in somewhat of a semi-circle. "I was thinking we might build a more permanent serving area under the big tarp...?"

He was looking at Greg as he was inquiring. Of the 5 Council members, Greg was the only one currently present. Vincent continued, "It doesn't have to be much ... but c'mon, we're feeding over 100 people here, and some organization would be nice ... if only for hygiene. We need a dedicated dishwashing area, using one of those big kettles..."

Vincent continued talking about the kitchen and dining hall's needs. Greg -- who was a very accepting person -- couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't the man's gayness desperately seeking release. Richard -- Vincent's husband and thus, presumable, sexual partner -- joined in, too, but then surprisingly, so did Lenny and Lance, who had only just moments earlier arrived.

"You tell us what you need, Vincent," Greg told him reassuringly, "and we'll get it built. We have some pretty talented people amongst us. I promise: we'll get it done and done right."

Little by little, the castaways began rising and, in most cases, heading straight for the cafeteria; they arrived individually, in family units, or even larger groups, forming an eager and hungry line. There was an expected amount of grumbling about the limited assortment of foods, but for the most part it was all orderly. Lenny got an enormous amount of praise for the pork, as did Richard and Vincent for what they'd been able to do with what they'd been given for ingredients.

"We have coffee if anyone needs a pick-me-up," Greg called a couple of times, adding each time, "Also, black tea and cocoa." More often than not, he added, "Please, one cup per. It won't last long if we consume it the way most of us do back in the world."

Doctor Ethan Patel arrived finally, looking as though he was still waiting to go to bed. He explained, "I sat up with one of the kids whose arm was swollen from a bug bite ... allergic, it would seem. He'll be fine."

He held a coffee mug out toward Greg, who was holding the coffee pot after pouring his own one-cup-a-day serving. With a serious, Starbucky tone and attitude, he ordered, "Nonfat, skinny mocha, six shots espresso, double whole milk whipped cream with a light chocolate drizzle, two pumps of caramel, three of French vanilla, heated only to a hundred degrees ... please."

He looked up from the mug to the Air Marshall, who was staring at him with an Are you serious? expression on his face. Ethan drew and released a deep, exhausted breath, then settled, "Black, two sugars, and a good dose of cream or milk if available?"

"Good call, Doc," Greg said, filling the cup. He ripped open two sugar packets, spilled them in, found a spoon to drop into the mug, and put the empty packets in a container in which they were saving paper for whatever future purpose they might have for waste paper. He filled the mug to the rim with a bit of milk, explaining, "It's powdered, but it's still milk."

Ethan grunted as if annoyed, then smiled as he said, "This is going to take a bit of getting used to."

"That it is, Doc," Greg agreed, sipping at his own cup of jo. "That it is."

(Part 1 of 2)

 

[HumanBean]

For the second time, the camp of castaways got busy with a full day of activities. Firewood was collected; ground was better cleared for tent relocation or trails or other structures or purposes; one of the parachutes was cut down the middle to create two shower stalls using the trees just inside the forest, one male and one female; a similar construction project created a pair of outhouses as well; another tarp from the airdropped supplies was set up as a rain catcher, with a series of buckets to collect and filter clean water; and so much more.

Greg had casually kept his eyes on the castaways throughout the day, wanting to know whether or not each of them was putting in some effort toward the greater good. He was quite surprised to see that nearly all of them did their share. He did, however, notice a bit of a trend. Some of the married couples had one member who was working hard while the other slacked off. It made him think about what Gail had said: they'd been selected to be here for their skills and talents in specific areas. But Greg couldn't help but think that perhaps only the chosen spouse was as dedicated as need be; the other, in some cases, showed about as much enthusiasm as you would expect of someone thrown into a situation in which they felt trapped.

Later in the evening, after Lenny, Richard, Vincent, and some others put on another great dinner, Greg called the Council together for a little walk down to the beach. There were others down there enjoying the end of the day in the sand or surf, so the 5 of them walked off casually together to talk.

"I think we're going to have to be a little more ... regimented about work assignments," Greg began. "We're still getting used to all of this. It's still all new. I mean, it's only been three days. People's lives have been shattered."

"It's going to take time," Doctor Patel offered. "People are still in shock ... emotionally, I mean; not physically ... though, actually, some of them aren't far from that either."

"I understand, and I accept that assessment, Doc," Greg continued. "But fact of the matter is this: we have 115 people who all need to eat ... who all need fresh water ... who all need safe, long term housing that will survive the next storm ... and you know that we're going to get them. We're coming up on tropical storm season. We're going to get hurricanes ... cyclones, sorry ... that are going to last days ... that are going to rip tents apart and send valuable resources all across the island."

They talked about the issues for a while before Greg suggested, "I think we should send Lenny out to better explore the island. He could pick a small team to go with him: two, maybe three people who can handle themselves in the jungle."

"What's the goal here?" Lance asked. "I mean, we're pretty sure we know we're on an island. And we haven't seen any signs of other people. I mean, it's not like we're going to find a vacation resort on the other side of the island."

"We need to know this island," Greg said. "We've only begun to search it ... to see what's here and what's not here." He gestured off into the distance. "We haven't been all the way to the north end, yet. Hell, we can't even see the north end."

Most of the island they'd investigated thus far was relatively flat and low; there was about a 5-foot elevation rise from the sea at high tide to the forest's edge, and the forest itself didn't rise and fall more than maybe 10 feet anywhere that they'd searched thus far.

But at the far end of the island, the elevation rose increasingly faster until it finally peaked out at a single mountain that was somewhere around 2,000 feet in height. Greg continued, "We need to know what's on the other side of that peak. And we need to see what we can see from that peak, too. Hell, for all we know, we might be able to see the lights of Noumea or Vanuatu or Honolulu after dark sets."

There was both doubt and hope in the face of the others. Greg turned the conversation back to the original topic, saying, "But we're not going to find any of this ... and I hate to say it, but we might not even survive all of this ... unless each and every one of us puts out the effort and energy required for us to survive ... let alone thrive."

 

[PennySaver]

Day 3, morning:

Gail heard the camp coming alive beyond her tent. She roused and looked around for her roommates. They were all there. That included Eloise. That surprised Gail, initially. She'd half expected the young woman to spend the night with Greg. But Greg had tentmates, too. That could have been awkward.

"Get up girls," she called out. "Breakfast is probably waiting for us, if I know Richard and Vincent."

She put on a fresh uniform. Gail had closets full of clothes in her apartments in Sydney and Honolulu. She rarely packed clothes other than undergarments in her carryon bag for flights between the two cities. Sometimes she took a favorite bikini or pair of new shoes. She had this trip, too. The bikini might find use here, but the 5-inch heel dancing shoes ... not so much.

"How was your evening, Eloise?" Gail asked after the other two women had departed the tent. The young beauty blushed a fiery red. Gail chuckled. "Good for you."

Nothing more was said about Eloise's rendezvous with the Air Marshall. If there was something to be shared, Eloise would share.

Gail made her way to the makeshift kitchen. She'd missed most of the conversation about building a more permanent kitchen. She offered her assistance with serving as the castaways began filing in. They used the airline in-flight meal plastic platters, glasses, cups, and utensils. There were a couple of cases of dinnerware amongst the airdropped packages. But the Council had agreed that they should get as much use out of the reusable Pacific Air gear first.

Doctor Ethan Patel arrived to talk about a teen who'd been bitten or stung and got sick. He reassured them, "He'll be fine."

"I was talking to a woman ... Katherine ... oh, what was it ... Wilson ... no Wilcox," Gail offered. "She says she was an Emergency Room Nurse. Now she's working for a doctor in private practice. Well, I mean, before she ended up here, of course."

Ironically, Katherine came through the line just as they were discussing her. She shook hands with Ethan, telling him, "I'm eager to work with you, Doctor. I think that's why I'm here, right? That's what they're saying ... that we are all here on purpose. My only other talent is making jewelry, and I doubt that's why they chose me."

The two medical professionals wandered off to sit together and talk more about the future of the castaways' health.

Meanwhile, Eloise finally arrived. She was coy with Greg, who had joined the serving line's staff. She blushed yet again simply meeting eyes with him. "Good morning, Marshall."

She made her way through the line quickly. She found it hard to look at him without smiling like a fool. She found a place to sit where she could see her new lover. She caught Gail looking at her, smiling knowingly. And yet again, she blushed.

After breakfast, an organized census taking began. It was important for the Council to know what each castaway had to offer. Gail worked closely with Greg throughout the day. She found herself wanting to ask about his night with Eloise. It wasn't that she was nosy. She simply wanted to know that Eloise wasn't going to get hurt.

After dinner, the Council met down on the beach to talk. Greg talked about becoming more regimented in regards to work assignments. They talked about sending Lenny and others out to explore the island. She quickly offered, "I'll go."

The others looked Gail's direction. She shrugged. "I want to see what's out there as much as anyone else. Only problem might be..."

She swept her hands before her, indicating her clothes. "I'm going to need to find something a little more appropriate than this."

One of the others said, "Hold on, there are clothes."

The attention shifted from Gail to the speaker. He explained that there were two large cases filled with clothes. "I only found them this afternoon, in the forest." He pointed toward where the airdrop's last case had entered the forest. "Way down there." (OOC: I left this vague. The other Council members are all male.)

 

[HumanBean]

"I'll go."

The other Council members looked at Gail as she so immediately volunteered to explore the island. There was really no reason to question her desire to take a hike; she'd handled herself well so far with everything she'd taken on herself or been asked to do by either Greg or the Council as a whole. For Greg himself, his surprise was simply the eagerness.

She told them, "I want to see what's out there as much as anyone else."

She indicated that her Pacific Air uniform wasn't really appropriate for a hike through a mountainous forest.

"Hold on, there are clothes," Howard quickly responded. He told them about finding a case of clothes in the forest. "A bunch of us ... the kids as some of you like to think of us--"

"Howie, c'mon," Greg interrupted. Seeing that Howard was going to let him speak, Greg explained, "You are kids ... compared to us old folks." He saw in Howard's smile the teen's recollection of having used that phrase the day before to refer to the older-than-him majority of the castaways. Greg continued, "But here ... with us, the Council, you are anything but a kid. You are an equal. Understand?"

Howard took a moment to consider what the Air Marshall was saying, then nodded his head. "I'm sorry. You're right. You've all treated me fairly ... like an adult." He looked around for acknowledgement of what he and Greg had established, then continued, "Anyway, we went on a little exploratory hike of our own, around the outside of the airstrip. Perimeter, right? Anyway, we were looking for more signs of who built this place and how they built it and why."

"What did you find?" Greg asked with a hopeful tone.

"Nothing," Howard said with an obviously disappointed tone. "We found some trash ... candy wrappers, empty beer and soda cans ... some empty motor oil containers and a broken belt for a truck ... fan belt, you know, one of those, whaddaya call'em ... serpentine belt?"

"Tell me more about the trash ... the containers," Greg asked. "The writing ... was it English? Chinese? Something else? What about nationality: American, Australian, Chinese?"

"English," Howard answered, adding, "I think. There were products from Australia and the US. I don't know about Chinese. Why Chinese?"

"The Chinese import a lot of products to Australia," Greg explained. "Sometimes, they are labeled for domestic and international sales, so ... Chinese language labels sometimes."

Howard told them, "We brought some of it back to the camp. Sorry, I should have shown it to you."

"We should get back," Doctor Patel said. "I have to check on a couple of patients before bedtime."

Howard looked to Gail again, returning to the conversation about clothing: "We found two big cases full of clothing." He used his hands to indicate a shape about two feet wide, long, and tall. "Big plastic sealed bunches of stuff. We cut some of them open to look at them. They're pretty basic ... nothing you're gonna see going down a Milan fashion runway. But there's men and women's clothes ... all sizes, a bunch of colors ... shoes and boots, too."

"Okay, well, let's get back so the doctor can make his rounds," Greg said. Trying to include a bit of procedural appropriateness, he raised a hand and said, "Move to close the meeting until tomorrow?"

There were some chuckles and giggles as the others all confirmed, turned, and began heading for the trail again. Greg looked up and down the beach, then hollered to the others walking the beach, "Don't stay out here too long, folks. Time to call it a night soon."

He got waves and some verbal responses from the others. As they continued onward, Greg reached out to take Gail's arm, slowing her down. When they were separated from the others by twenty yards or so, he asked softly, "If you don't mind ... can I ask you: how's Eloise? We, um ... we didn't get a chance to talk today."

Greg's concern came out of the contradiction between the time he'd spent with her last night and the time he hadn't spent with her today. He'd expected some sort of interaction between them during the daylight hours, and yet they hadn't shared a word. Oh sure, they'd both been busy little beavers with their own tasks and responsibilities, but still, Greg had thought that they would at least talk. Perhaps he hadn't taken the initiative to search her out? He tried to recall his day better. No; no, he hadn't actually gone off looking for her even once. Maybe this was his fault.

 

[PennySaver]

Gail listened to Greg explaining to Howard that they didn't see him as just another one of the kids. She added, "Howie, you are a valued member of this Council. Your voice means just as much as any of ours. Even more than that, I've been talking to some of the others ... the other teens. They respect you. They know you're looking out for them on the Council."

She stepped closer to him. She lifted a hand to his cheek in a comforting way. With a smile, she said, "But don't be in too much of a hurry to grow up either. You're a kid, still ... for a little longer anyway. Enjoy it."

Howard acknowledged what they were telling him. He returned to the conversation about the search around the airstrip. Gail didn't initially understand Greg's interest in the garbage Howard and his friends had found. She did eventually. The trash could tell them who had built the airstrip.

"But ... do we know that the strip was built by the same people who did this to us?" she asked. "I mean, we originally thought that maybe the airstrip was built by some government for landing military planes. Or by smugglers hauling drugs or weapons or--" She cringed just thinking of it. "--humans, maybe for the sex trade. Do we really know that the people who did this to us are the same ones who made the strip?"

If she had thought about it more, Gail would have realized that the two people were most likely one in the same. The strip's perimeter had been recently bulldozed. They'd seen it in the damage done to the earth. It had been too new. It was too coincidental for one group to have made the strip and another to have dumped the castaways upon it.

But she was testing out theories. She was looking for answers. They talked more on the topic but got no farther ahead than they'd been.

Howard looked to Gail and spoke about the clothing they'd found. She asked to see them the next day. To the Council, she warned, "We're going to have to ration clothing as well. One set to each castaway to start, assuming there is at least one set per castaway. Clothes are like anything else they gave us. They need to be given out appropriately."

They ended their talk and headed back for the trailhead. They were halfway there when Greg urged Gail back. He asked, "If you don't mind ... can I ask you: how's Eloise? We, um ... we didn't get a chance to talk today."

Gail hadn't really expected Greg to ask about Eloise. She wasn't prepared to answer such an inquiry. She glance around for eavesdroppers. Then just as softly, she said, "She's fine, Greg. She ... she didn't give me details as such ... but she did say she enjoyed last night."

She looked for his reaction. Greg seemed pleased. Then the devil inside her brain screamed out. It wanted to come out and play. In a serious tone, she continued, "You used a condom, right? 'Cause Elie isn't on birth control ... and I think she said she's ovulating."

She looked to Greg, waited, then laughed. She gave him an elbow to his side. "I'm kidding, Greg. I'm just fucking with you." She took Greg by the elbow. In a sincere tone, she said, "Be good to her, Greg. She's young and inexperienced ... and she recently had a break up, which she may or may not have told you about. Just ... be a good guy to her."

One of the female castaways who'd been enjoying on the beach rushed up. She was in a good mood and asked to speak to Gail, alone. Gail squeezed Greg's arm as she gave him a smile. "Be good."

She curled off to talk to the woman. She watched Greg and the others as they disappeared one after another. She hoped the best for Greg and Eloise. She really did.

 

[HumanBean]

Greg listened to the others talk about the airstrip and the people who built it. He had no doubt that they were the same people who'd dumped the castaways here. The original airstrip may have predated whatever this was that was happening to them, of course. Many of the islands large enough to handle a small or medium sized prop plane that also had an area of relatively flat land had had airports built upon them during World War II. This strip could very well date back to the war that enveloped the entirety of this region.

But as Gail was thinking, the work they'd seen was very recent; Greg was certain that it had only been completed days or possible just a week or two before Flight 1122 arrived. It had to have been quite an operation, depending on the condition of the strip before the recent work. He tried to imagine how the job was completed.

The reality was even more involved than what Greg imagined, though, he would probably never know the truth. It had all begun with an abandoned WWII airstrip, as he had guessed. It hadn't been accessible by fixed wing aircraft, though, so other means had been employed. A cargo ship had sailed from an Australian port, carrying a Boeing CH-47 Chinook helicopter, a pair of bulldozers, tons of other equipment, and two dozen well paid men who didn't know where they were anymore than the castaways did now.

They lifted the bulldozers to relatively open spots on the old, abandoned strip and went to work clearing it. The work was quick; from first dozer down to last one out, the work had been completed in just four days. Eight days later, Pacific Air Flight 1122 landed, unloaded all of its occupants less the pilots, and departed. None of the men working on the strip had ventured farther than 50 feet from that strip; it was the reason the castaways had found no signs of a path or anything else.

On the way back to the trailhead, Gail told Greg about Eloise, "She's fine, Greg. She ... she didn't give me details as such ... but she did say she enjoyed last night."

He was immediately relieved; Greg had feared that his new lover might have had post-coitus remorse. He also found himself delighted. Eloise had enjoyed the night enough to speak of it with her coworker and, presumably, good friend.

Then, Gail shocked him with the joke about birth control. She elbowed him, saying "I'm kidding, Greg. I'm just fucking with you."

"Jesus, you scared the shit out of me," he laughed.

"Be good to her, Greg," Gail continued. She talked about Eloise's inexperience. "Just ... be a good guy to her."

"I will, Gail," he reassured her. "I promise. I'm a good guy ... and I like her ... like her a lot."

After they'd gone their separate ways, Greg thought more about his reaction to fearing that maybe he'd knocked up Eloise their first time together. He didn't have any children out there in the world, at least to his knowledge. He'd never even had a pregnancy scare with any of his previous lovers. Children simply hadn't been something he'd considered yet.

But what about now? The Doctor had, of course, hypothesized that children were in the castaways' futures. They'd been provided an impressive quantity of medicines, supplements, and medical supplies related to the topic. Greg wondered if perhaps he and Eloise shouldn't have children together. They didn't know each other enough to be talking about such things, let alone be making decisions on the subject. That didn't keep Greg from imagining little, skinny Eloise's belly fat with his son or daughter, though. The thought made him smile.

(OOC: I was going to write more, but I'm out of time. Feel free to start Day 4.)

 

[PennySaver]

Gail continued up the slope to the trail that would take her back to camp. Over the past three days, a crew had sculpted a path that could now be easily and safely navigated in the moonlight. There were multiple reasons for doing so.

The first was simply that the castaways wanted to safely visit the beach. This was the only sandy beach currently accessible from the camp. Rocky cliffs, both short and tall, were at the end of the other current and less developed trails.

The trail had initially been a bit hazardous. One woman had twisted her ankle on an unseen rock. A man had tripped and fallen on a sharp root that had cut into his forearm. Doc Patel had seen to each of his patients. He'd said they'd be just fine after a few days.

The second reason was to tend to a bonfire meant to signal passing ships or aircraft. A fire had actually been built and lit their second night on the island. But the effort required a full-time attendee to collect wood and feed the fire. The Council voted to keep a bonfire built and ready for ignition upon sighting a vehicle instead.

One of the castaways had had a powerful pair of binoculars amongst their vacation gear. A Lookout Station was constructed in the tops of some trees on the rise above the beach. From there with the field glasses, the ocean and sky were monitored. Upon seeing a ship or plane, the Watch Stander could descend to the ground, reach the fire, and have a significant flame burning in under four minutes.

Of course, a Lookout Station at a higher altitude would be far better. It was hoped that while trekking to the mountain at the other end of the island the next day, such a location would be found...

(OOC: I can't keep my eyes open. What about YOU starting Day 4. )

 

[HumanBean]

Day 4:

Greg slipped into the backpack he'd put together for the hike and looked to the others assemble around him. "Okay, everyone ready?" They acknowledged him, leading him to turn and tell them, "Then let's get going."

He and the others interested in exploring the island had sat together over breakfast and talked about the details; other castaways had listened in, eager to learn more about the plan. The main topic -- more important than exploration -- had been safety. They talked about proper foot movement, which Lenny stressed was a much bigger deal than anyone had previously imagined. Greg spoke about keeping within eyesight of the person ahead of you; That person would be Greg, by his choice. The airdrop had included six machetes, of which they would take three with them.

Each trekker was carrying a backpack with supplies, including water, cold food and snacks high in calories and protein, first aid needs, flashlights, extra batteries, and more. In addition, they carried secondary water bottles; there was no telling if they'd get a convenient rain from which they could rehydrate as needed.

They also brought extra warm clothes, blankets, and fire-starting devices, including matches, lighters, and a flint-and-steel kit that had been part of the airdrop. It had already been decided that they were likely to be out for at least one night, and the likelihood that that might stretch into two nights was a possibility that all had accepted.

The all concerned included Greg, who would serve as expedition leader; Gail, who had been the most excited about the trek; Lenny, who knew more about this kind of outing than all the others combined; Doctor Ethan, whose reason for being there was all too obvious; and Henry Paulson, the fourth Flight Attendant who was an avid hiker and hunter and had a great deal of experience with the outdoors.

They headed off after eating a large breakfast heavy in all of the nutritional categories; Lenny had suggested the need for it, and Doc Ethan had confirmed it. The walk took them from their camp located southwest of the southern end of the airstrip north to the northeast end of the strip, then into the forest itself. Much of the area immediately surrounding the airstrip had been investigated to a minor extent, but anything deeper into the forest had been restricted for safety reasons.

Greg was the expedition's leader, but it was Lenny who took the lead. He handled his machete like a Samurai, whacking at the foliage so skillfully that Greg -- who followed at a safe distance -- barely had to swing the machete he himself carried. Henry carried the third blade, and while it probably wasn't necessary, he did a bit of cutting, too. By the time Gail and Ethan reached where the others had already been, all they really had to watch for was the uneven ground beneath their feet.

The going was harder than Greg had expected, despite Lenny doing such a great job at preparing the trail before them. It was hot, humid, and stuffy, and there was never a shortage of insects buzzing about the castaways, whether feeding on the humans or simply moving crazily from point A to point B via lots of points in between. In addition to flying bugs and crawlies, there were plenty of amphibians and reptiles, too. Occasionally a critter of one sort of the other would land on someone, causing instant panic and a variety of frightful reactions.

"We'll break here," Lenny said after they'd traveled less than an hour. When Greg gave him a questioning glance, the outdoorsman explained, "We need to rest and rehydrate more frequently than your body tells you, too. By the time you begin to feel exhausted or dehydrated, you've waited too long."

They found places to squat or trees against which to lean and ate and drank. Greg looked to Gail and smiled. He asked with humor, "So, how's our token female doing?"

 

[PennySaver]

Gail had let the rough and tough men with machetes take the lead through the jungle. Sure, she'd been the most excited of the trekkers by far. But she knew how much work would be involved in blazing a trail the length of the island. She assumed that they'd try to circle the mountain and come back down the other coast, too. Who knew, though? There was so much they didn't know about what was ahead of them.

The foliage was skillfully hacked off by the long, sharp blades. And still, the going was rough. The land itself was rugged. Boulders presented twisted ankle hazards. Downed trees had to be crawled over. Often, those horizontal barriers were crawling with creepy crawlies.

Gail wasn't fearful of bugs in general. But she'd heard so many stories about Australia's deadly insects and arachnids. How were they supposed to know what was dangerous here? They didn't know where here was!

Occasionally, one of them came across a critter of interest. Lenny knew what some of them were. Henry did, too. He was quite the outdoorsman, it turned out. And he'd been a Biology and Zoology Major in college as well. Gail hoped that either Lenny or Henry would ID a critter that would tell them exactly where they were. Neither of them did.

When they stopped to rest, Greg teased, "So, how's our token female doing?"

Gail laughed between gulps of water. She answered, "Wishing I was back at camp hanging with the girls in the sewing circle."

They chatted a while about what they'd seen thus far on their trek. There really wasn't much to say, really. Jungle and more jungle. There'd been no sign of human activity, not even another trail. A couple of times, they'd gotten a look at the ocean through the forest canopy. They'd seen no signs of other islands. Of course, they still weren't very high.

"My turn," Gail said when it was time to get back to walking. She waggled her hand for Greg's machete. "Let the token female take a whack at it."

She'd been watching the guys cut their way through the forest. She took a stab at it. She immediately found it to be harder than she'd imagined. After maybe 50 feet, she turned back to look at the others. She was breathing hard. Her heart pounded in her chest. The sweat stained her shirt dark.

"Okay, that's enough for me," Gail said. She leaned to see Greg pass Lenny, who'd been right behind her. She waggled the machete. "I think this is yours."

Back in her place again, she had to laugh. She'd always thought herself a fairly fit and athletic person. But this bushwhacking was beyond her. She would wait until they'd had another break before offering to take the third machete position from Henry for a while. Other than that, she was perfectly fine running fourth in the train.

 

[HumanBean]

(OOC: as my writing partner is fond of saying about her pics, the image below is out of context. Just imagine Gail in a forest.)

Although cutting a trail through the ever-thickening jungle was the priority of the men out front, each of them found their attention being pulled away to other things at times...

Lenny, out front, found himself studying the terrain around them as much as he was cutting his way through it. He paid close attention to such things as the runoff patterns of previous rain storms and even the type of soil or rocks over which they were walking. The ground and how water ran over it could tell the knowledgeable hiker a lot about where they were going, as well as whether or not they even wanted to go that way.

Several times, he altered their course by a significant enough amount to be questioned about the change. Each time he explained what he was seeing and why he thought it was important. Twice, following their third break, he turned them to backtrack down the newly cut trail, once almost as much as a hundred yards. Greg questioned Lenny about whether or not the reversing had been necessary, an inquiry he answered by not much later pointing to a cliff he'd suspected would be blocking their way and answering the Air Marshall with, "Yes ... necessary."

Greg, of course, was the expedition's leader. At times, he didn't feel as if he was in charge, of course. Lenny was blazing the trail in front of him, choosing the course and doing most of the laborious hacking and whacking of the underbrush. But after Lenny had set an example regarding taking periodic breaks, Greg had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on the time and call for another one of them every 30 to 50 minutes.

In addition, he made it purpose to monitor each and every trekker, not only at the breaks but along the way. He frequently asked them how they were doing, calling back over his shoulder to Gail and Ethan; he would switch positions with Henry on occasion, moving that man into the second trailblazing spot between one break and another, so that he could both keep an eye on Hank and be closer to the Doc and the token female

Henry took on a role that none of the others had expected, except perhaps Gail, who had been part of Flight 1122's In-flight Service staff alongside the steward. He turned out to be quite the conversationalist and comedian. As they trudged through the forest, he kept them entertained with stories and jokes both. Greg was more the quiet type of guy, and if they'd been on some nature hike back in the Olympic National Forest or Yellowstone National Park, Henry's incessant rambling would have annoyed him to the point of protest. But on this particular hike, which at times became almost too much to bear, a quick joke or short story was just what was needed to keep the mind from going places one didn't want it to go.

And last but not least, the Doctor -- who literally was last in the line of bushwhackers -- was both monitoring his fellow hikers and the forest around him at the same time. With little to know trailblazing to be done himself -- he only had to watch where he was stepping -- he was able to study the flora and fauna around him. He wasn't a naturalist or botanist or herbalist, of course -- they did have one of those down at the camp -- but he had taken some classes during his many years of university and medical school and attended some follow up courses teaching legitimate New Age treatments, and he found himself marveling at the possibilities offered by some of the plants and animals they were coming across as they pushed forward.

On one break, Greg teased Gail, "So, how's our token female doing?"

After joking that she'd rather be back at the camp relaxing, she took hold of a machete and took the lead for a while. It didn't last long, however, once she'd realized just how much work it actually was. She surrendered, returning the machete to the Air Marshall and taking her place fourth in the line of trekkers again.

In addition to having studied the forest around him, Doctor Patel had had the pleasure of studying Gail's beautiful ass as well. Now, as she moved back to her place in line just before him, he found himself ogling the way her body had come alive after her short bit as expedition leader. Gail's already generous and gorgeous bosom seemed to have swollen a cup size with her exertion, and her nipples were pushing hard against the inside of her top, making themselves conspicuous to his wide eyes. Sweat had darkened her top between those wondrous mounds, only causing the man to ogle even more so.

Ethan realized eventually that he was ogling Gail's curves ... and that she had undoubtedly noticed his excessive attention as she took her place again. Embarrassed, he diverted his eyes quickly to the jungle again and -- realizing that that probably wasn't enough -- murmured for her benefit only, "Sorry, I ... I didn't mean to ... well ... sorry."

It was only after the trek was off once again that Ethan realized that the front of his loose-fitting vacation shorts had become tented out before his crotch in an all-too-conspicuous fashion...

 

[PennySaver]

(Pic out of context. Enjoy it.)

Gail found herself learning more about the men with her as they trekked through the jungle.

She'd initially questioned whether Lenny's reputation as an outdoorsman had been real life or reality television. She'd begun to change her opinion after he'd brought a dead and slaughtered boar to the camp. His hacking his way through the forest had cinched it for her, though.

Greg's leadership over the castaway group as a whole had been impressive. Gail had had no doubts about him. Still, it was good to see him leading this smaller group. He was proving that he could hold his own with other confident, skilled men.

Henry, or Hank as some called him, had been the big surprise to Gail. She'd never socialized with him outside of work. She'd had no idea that he, too, was an outdoorsman. And there was more than that. He'd always had a joke or story ready once their flights had gotten to cruising altitude. Here, though, he was proving that he could keep the others' minds off the drudgery of trudging through the forest.

Even the Doc was surprising Gail. Ethan did so in ways she hadn't expected, though. On more than one occasion, she'd caught him ogling her delicious curves. Each time, he'd diverted his eyes quickly. He even apologized once, "Sorry, I ... I didn't mean to ... well ... sorry."

Gail just smiled to him. For his ears only, she said, "It's alright, Doc." She glanced at his groin. He was conspicuously swollen and pushing out the crotch of his shorts. She smiled again, saying quietly still, "If I was following you, I'd be staring at your ass, too."

She chuckled softly and turned back to the trail. As they continued, she would peek back occasionally. Each time, she would find him watching her. Each time, she would smile and again turn away. The Doc was a good-looking man. He wasn't Lenny. He wasn't even Greg. But Ethan was handsome in the face and seemingly fit in the body. She could see her becoming involved with a man like him.

Of course, there was the issue of his career. The man was an obstetrician. He spent his workdays minding after pregnant women, which was a noble pursuit. But part of his work was pulling little humans out of a narrow hole. Gail had only ever used her narrow hole for pleasure: hers, her lovers, and if all went correctly, both.

Gail had never given birth. She'd never been pregnant even. The though of a big, round, human head shooting out of her narrow coochie gave her the chills. She wasn't against the idea of one day becoming pregnant. She wanted to one day start a family. She'd talked to her Australian lover in Sydney about children. The conversation had been a tense one. That was probably because he was already married with children.

Lenny called for them to take another break. Gail broke out her water bottle and drew a gulp. Ethan hadn't taken his out yet, so she tossed hers to him. She joked, "If you don't mind sharing my germs, Doc."

It was getting late. The decision was made to make camp where they were. The location was flat and large enough to set up the tent they were to share. A fire was built, and food was put over it. A little stream nearby enabled them to refill their canteens. They boiled the water, just in case.

"I'm gonna clean up," Gail said, standing. She writhed about comically. "I'm sticking to myself in places where I didn't know I had places."

She filled one of her canteens with hot water and gathered a rag, towel, and change of undergarments. She headed off toward the sound of the stream's source, possibly a small waterfall. She hacked at the foliage with one of the machetes. But then the forest opened up. She found herself standing near a small pool of water. It sat at the base of a twelve-foot-tall waterfall that fed it.

She wanted to strip down and shower. But she'd told the men she'd only be a minute or two. She stripped off her shirt and shorts. Wetting her rag, she cleaned her pits. She poured what remained of the hot water over her head. It wasn't an entirely satisfying shower. But it was better than nothing.

Gail filled her canteen with water from the fall and returned to the camp. She told the guys about the waterfall. Then, she ate, slipped into her tent and bedding, and quickly passed out.

 

[HumanBean]

The Doc had been embarrassed being caught ogling Gail's curves as they trekked through the forest, an emotion that only amplified when she said to him, "It's alright, Doc. If I was following you, I'd be staring at your ass, too."

Ethan had always been a rather quiet and shy person, and dealing with women romantically had always been an issue. He saw far more than his share of pussy, but more often than not, a little human being was being pushed out of it. He didn't view his job -- or all those exposed vulvas -- the way many people thought he did: there was nothing sexual about it to Ethan; he never fantasized about putting something into one -- namely his own cock -- rather than taking something out of it -- namely some other man's offspring.

That didn't mean that his career hadn't negatively affected his sex life, though. Since choosing to become an obstetrician -- something he'd switched to after deciding not to be an OB/GYN -- Ethan had never been able to look at a woman's pussy without his mind wandering off towards his work. That meant no eating pussy. He hadn't performed oral sex on a woman since his post-grad years. Even in the dark, he had problems with separating what he wanted to do there and then from what he'd likely been doing in an examination room, hospital room, or birthing center earlier in the day or week.

He missed it -- eating pussy -- particularly because nearly every woman he'd been romantic with -- let alone become lovers with -- had expected Ethan to perform his duty down yonder. Then he met Doris Parker. (OOC: Note please that my cowriter accidentally posted the same image for Gail as she did Doris. Ignore the image in Doris's profile until PennySaver can decide which character will us this picture. I will come back and erase this note when that is done.)

Ethan, Doris, and a couple of hundred other medical professionals had been attending a conference on Naturopathy when they'd met, talked, and fell in love. She was much younger than Ethan and as pure -- mentally and physically both -- as the driven snow. Ethan liked the idea that no other man had ever been with Doris; in fact, her PCP and OB/GYN had both been female, so no man had ever even set eyes upon her lady parts since the day she'd exited her mother's same.

He'd never been with a virgin before, not even when he himself had been one. And he began to imagine that being with one -- being with Doris -- might enable him to ultimately have a satisfying and somewhat normal sex life because no man before him had set a precedent before him.

They began dating -- going out on dates, not fucking as many people interpret the word dating anymore. They'd hugged, they'd kissed, and they'd even begun cuddling with one another on occasion when she visited his apartment or they picnicked in more secluded locations. They began talking about sex, too, with Ethan discovering Doris's virginal state and her determination to remain so until after marriage.

Ethan hadn't been interested in marriage at the time. But his fantasies about a normal sex life and the possibility of Doris providing it to him pushed him to buying a ring and presenting it to her. She'd accepted without hesitation, and they'd very nearly consummated their relationship that very night.

But he had a better idea for a better place to finally be together: Sydney. Ethan had been invited to speak at a conference in Australia, which had been a big surprise for him as he hadn't petitioned to be a presenter or even heard of the organization sponsoring it. But the trip was all-expenses paid and even came with a stipend so that Ethan had money to spend on frills.

And, of course, the cost covered a plus one. In fact, the conference representative who'd arranged everything with Ethan had spent a great deal of time convincing him that a trip to Sydney could be a wonderfully romantic getaway with an intimate partner. Ethan had for a moment thought the woman was hinting at him taking her to Australia, but he'd even inquired -- with humor in his voice, just in case she was offended -- as to whether that was where she was taking the conversation.

She'd laughed loudly, dismissed his concerns, and told him, "No, silly. I mean that beautiful young girlfriend of yours. What did you say her name was ... Doris?" Ethan had confirmed the woman's inquiry, made the arrangements for two, and presented the idea to Doris, to which she had gleefully agreed.

It was only after the pair had taken to the air that Ethan realized he'd never actually told the conference rep' his new love's name. He'd dismissed it at the time, certain that he'd let Doris's name slip at some point. But later -- here on the island, after Gail and the others began hypothesizing about the nature of their situation -- Ethan couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he and Doris had been chosen to be here like so many of the others.

Ironically, Doris's inexperience with men would be the downfall of their relationship. They would consummate their relationship their second night in Sydney, after which Doris would go all Girls Gone Wild on him. She bought skimpy bikinis, began drinking, and -- at a club one night -- even got high on pot. Ethan suspected that she'd been slipped some MDMA, too, but his own experience with Ecstasy was book education only, so he really wouldn't have known one way or the other.

Things were getting out of control by their fifth night in Sydney, though honestly, the sex was beginning to get really, really good. Then, two nights before they were scheduled to leave for Honolulu on Pacific Air Flight 1122 -- while Ethan was out for dinner with colleagues from the conference and his lover was, supposedly, waiting in the hotel room for his return, Doris was invited by newly made friends to what she would quickly discover was a sex club. And while the speed at which she became in the activities there and the eagerness with which she did as well could be argued, there was no doubt at all that Doris partook with great joy and enthusiasm.

Ethan didn't see her again for almost 36 hours; he'd called the local Authorities, thinking something foul had happened to her, only to be told by them that they'd contacted her on her phone, interviewed her briefly, and had nothing to report to him except for "She's fine, she's safe ... if might be time to move on, Mate."

They ended their relationship, of course. In fact, despite being on the same flight away from Sydney, they hadn't spoken to one another since he'd gone off to eat and -- in a fashion -- so had Doris ... eat and be eaten. He'd even paid almost a US$1,000 to get a seat in Business Class so he wouldn't have to sit with her for the 10 hours to Honolulu. Even after the crash, they hadn't spoken to one another, though to be truthful, Ethan had asked other castaways about Doris's health, safety, and state of mind and -- though he didn't realize it -- she had done the same with regards to him.

Despite his feelings about Doris's well being, Ethan was no longer interested in a relationship with her. And now, while walking the trail and looking at her tail, he'd very much decided he was very much interested in a new relationship with the Senior In-Flight Service manager. Gail was an incredibly beautiful and sexy woman, whether being eyed from the back, from the front, or from any direction at all. His cock had been swelling and shrinking repeatedly during the trek, and often he'd wished he could slip off into the jungle for a few minutes to deal with the problem she was causing him.

After their initial exchange about eying each other's hind ends, Ethan began to notice Gail peeking back at him more often than before. She is looking more now, isn't she? he found himself wondering. Maybe he simply hadn't noticed it before? No, no; it had only started after he'd apologized for ogling her ass. Still, fact of the matter was that she was looking back at him more frequently and -- more often than not -- giving him a flirty little smile.

He couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd found his next lover. And again, he couldn't help but wonder, Is she a fan of oral sex...? In the past, when he'd ceased seeing a woman who'd been disappointed by his inability to put his mouth to her pussy, Ethan had just moved on. The world was a big place, after all, a sea with a lot of fish in it. Now, however, Ethan was trapped in a much smaller world that was literally surrounded by sea, and the fish here were both limited in number and -- from what he'd seen thus far -- quick to talk to one another about intimate subjects.

It occurred to the Doc that he might very well never get laid again.

(I'm writing a second post for Lance, back at the camp.)

 

[HumanBean]

(Remember: there is absolutely no sexual content with regards to the story's <18-year-old teens. They are only part of the story for their family aspect. Also, the redhead at the bottom of this post is 20 years old. She has no connection to the teens comment you just read.)


Lance, back at the camp; midday:

One of the nice things about having not gone on the trek into the mountainous jungle was that Lance was sort of in charge back here at the camp. After all, other than Howard Jacobs -- who, of course, was only 16 -- Lance was the only Council Member still present. Lance gave the kid his props, though, suggesting that he gather the other teens together and work on some projects that were more important to them.

He wasn't surprised at all to see the lot of them head for the beach, though. They gathered wood for the emergency bonfire and hauled some more sand up to the trail to make it safer for travel by barefoot, as they themselves did more than the adults. But after that, they spent most of the rest of the day laying in the sun, swimming in the surf, playing soccer with a ball a boy had had in his checked luggage, and flirting as teens do.

Back at the camp, Lance did his best to make his presence known as both a leader and a worker. He got together with some of the men and women who were supervising projects; he organized teams of workers, tools, and supplies; and then joined each of these teams long enough for him to legitimately say he'd been involved.

The truth, though, was that he was just running another one of his scams. In his heart, Lance was little more than a con artist. He knew this; he accepted this. Almost from the moment that he'd awoken with the others on an airstrip tarp 3 days ago, he'd been looking for ways to benefit himself at the expense of others.

That first day, as the castaways were gathering their things and moving them to the location of the original-and-still-standing tarp lean-to, Lance had been quietly and inconspicuously gathering things from suitcases and other packages that belonged to his fellow passengers prior to them searching for said items themselves. There had been accusations when castaways realized they were missing things, but Lance's slick persona and methods had prevented any of those accusations from being waged his direction.

One of Lance's greatest abilities with regards to his outright thievery was his recognition of what was of value to him. He'd presumed almost from the outset that they were going to be stuck here for a while, so he'd only taken things that he could consume himself or trade without attracting attention. One of his treasures had been an unopened box of condoms. Already, he'd traded half of them to horny castaways for other consumables that he'd known weren't likely to be found amongst the airdropped supplies.

Booze was a favorite, of course, and he'd managed to get his hands on plenty of it. That first day during the confusion, he'd gotten into one of the airline carts that had been left behind, laying claim to three full cases of single serve bottles, 72 in all. He'd gotten his hands on some loose bottles as well, and little by little he'd been trading them off for resources of ever-increasing value.

Another key, of course, was having a place to hide his growing stash. He tended to wear loose clothing with lots of pockets, and he rarely if ever was seen without one of his two backpacks, the second of which had only become his when it went unclaimed that first day. But pockets and packs only went so far, so Lance had begun searching for a place to stash his stash.

And he'd found it one day while heading into the forest to take a shit. Just off the trail to the newly dug outhouse for the males, he'd found several trees blown down by storms. They created somewhat of a maze through the undergrowth, at the end of which he was using one of the parachutes as a cover, itself camouflaged by forest debris. Lance doubted it would ever be discovered by the others.

Today, Lance's wheeling-and-dealing only continued. As he made his way about the camp, spending a few minutes or so involved in this activity or that one, he had the opportunity to inconspicuously acquire things in a way that looked legitimate. Once away from those who'd seen him claim the items initially, he either made an immediate trade with someone else for something else; or he made his way toward the shithouse, diverted at his secret trail, and stashed the goods for future use.

Not all of Lance's dealings regarding trading one good for another; sometimes, his interest was in gaining something a little more ... personal. He'd been making some trades over the last couple of days aimed at getting him something very personal, and finally he may have collected all that he needed to close the deal.

After lunch had been made and served and the cleanup was underway, Lance slipped away to visit his stash. He gathered his goods, slipped unseen back out to what was generally known now as the Shit Trail, and headed not back toward the camp but the opposite direction toward the beach. This trail wasn't nearly as developed as the trail farther to the south, the one used by the majority of the castaways to access the beach. Someone had come through with a machete to clear the undergrowth, but nothing had been done to contour the ground itself.

Navigating the rocks, roots, and such, Lance reached the rocky cliff and looked down upon the beach for his trading partner. He knew she came here to catch some rays, but he couldn't see her from up here, which didn't surprise him; Lance had heard she disliked tans lines, so she wasn't about to lay out where she could be seen from clifftop.

The trail down this cliff was far steeper than the one to the south; it was riddled with loose gravel, as well, which meant that each and ever step had to be carefully calculated. This was probably the reason very few of the castaways had ventured here. Descending wasn't something one did without making a considerable amount of noise, either. That was fine with Lance, though, because he wasn't trying to sneak up on anyone.

He eventually reached the beach, trudged through the deep, dry sand around the cliff's half-moon shaped base, and stopped short when he finally caught sight of her once again dressed, but looking as sexy as he'd ever seen her before. She was awe-worthy, and Lance found himself simply standing there ogling her delicious figure.

(OOC: We are taking this to another 1x1 thread, so that this conversation can take place without playing leapfrog over the other posts. This new thread can be found here.)

 

[PennySaver]

(OOC: I replaced Doris's image. I think you'll like it. It's a little out of context for the use below, but hey, like I said, I think you'll like it.)

Doris Parker had been wracked by competing emotions for days now. Her life had taken so many turns since meeting Doctor Ethan Patel that she didn't know which way was what.

She'd been innocent and naive before Ethan, a virgin to even the touch of a man. They'd met at a medical event and had fallen in love on sight. Doris knew right away that Ethan was the one. He was her soul mate.

She'd always sworn off premarital sex. But Ethan was so wonderful. They'd dated for months before he'd even spoken about them becoming lovers at some time in the near future. He'd been so patient. And she'd decided that he deserved to know her in that very special way.

Then he got the invite to Sydney. And he'd insisted that she come with him. It was decided that they would consummate their relationship down under.

Doris had expected intercourse to be painful that first time. And it had been. But it had been wonderfully satisfying as well. Doris had known what orgasms were, of course. She'd had them alone with her fingers playing upon her clitoris. But she'd never imagined that she would experience them her first time with Ethan. And she certainly hadn't expected to experience so many of them either.

The two of them had made love again and again and again that first night. Doris wore Ethan out, actually. She'd become obsessed with sex and all things sexy. She bought tiny revealing outfits and skimpy bikinis she would never have worn before now. She dragged Ethan to a nude beach. She dragged him to strip clubs, one for gentlemen, one for ladies.

And everywhere they went they fucked. They fucked at night. They fucked at sunrise. They fucked three or four or five times a day. If Ethan wasn't at a conference event, Doris was stripping the two of them and fucking.

The fourth or fifth night in Australia, Ethan had an event to which Doris couldn't go. She had made new friends, though. They'd insisted she go to a club with them. It had turned out to be a sex club. She'd been nervous at first. But seeing the wide variety of erotic acts taking place excited greatly.

She was invited to partake of some of the fun. She'd laughed, saying, "I have a boyfriend ... a lover. I can't cheat on him with another man."

The woman who'd been her primary hostess told her, "It's not cheating if you're doing it with another woman."

Doris had laughed again. She'd thought the woman was teasing her. But then warm, wet lips were pressing on her own. Doris had reacted by kissing back. And from there, it had become what Ethan would later describe it, Girls Gone Wild.

Doris and her new friend ended up in a private room. There was groping and caressing and fingering. For the first time, a mouth made its way to Doris's pussy. She'd had orgasms with Ethan, of course. But this had been a whole different animal.

They were joined by the new lover's female friend. Then a third female friend. Then a male friend, followed by a second and third. What had started as an I kissed a girl and I liked it moment had become a legitimate orgy. And Doris was absolutely enthralled!

Doris wouldn't leave the sex club for two days. She and her new friends fucked and sucked. They slept. They showered, sometimes fucking and sucking while they washed. They ate at the club's restaurant. And then they started all over again. In 48 hours, Doris had some form of carnal knowledge with over forty men and women, sometimes one-on-one, other times in groups of over a dozen.

She understood that she was hurting Ethan, of course. But Doris had surrendered herself to these new experiences. She couldn't pull herself away. She was lost.

The day to leave Sydney arrived, though. Doris had no choice but to make her flight. She couldn't stay in Australia forever. She had a career back home. She had to return at some point. She had no money to pay for a later flight.

She slinked her way to the gate, ashamed, her figurative tail between her legs. Ethan was there, of course. He'd left her ticket at the boarding desk so that he didn't have to speak with her. He'd somehow learned the nature of Doris's disappearance. She never learned how. But his knowledge of her sluttiness was undeniable.

She boarded the flight, fearful of what she was going to say when he sat next to her. But he didn't. He'd bought a seat elsewhere in the plane. They never talked about what she'd done. In fact, they'd never talked again. Even after awaking here on the island, they hadn't spoken a word to one another.

Doris's problems were only continuing, though. She didn't have Ethan anymore to satisfy her carnal needs. And she didn't have her Australian lovers either. And she really, really needed some satisfaction of the sexual euphoria nature.

It was the 4th day here on the island. Four days had passed without Doris's body exploding in heavenly orgasm. She was about to explode. She'd slipped away into the jungle twice to deal with her problems on her own. But that hadn't solved the problem. She'd released some of the pressure on the dam. But the rain was still falling, metaphorically, and the dam was going to break.