Chapter 13

I was living gloriously. This was a new, and a wonderful life. By the time we'd glided through the Panama Canal and cruised out into the vast Pacific I'd settled down very happily. Being a steward easily beat sitting in a pop music office. I had everything going for me. Every day the sun shone magnificently, and at night the velvet sky blazed with great stars. I was stacking up cash too. I'd learned the ropes and become selective. I handled my cards so well I even played hard to get. I stopped visiting Amanda for three days in a row. Then she cornered me and upped the price to fifty dollars to be sucked, and then toss me off. My prick was having the time of its life. It was deluged by pussy and whenever it flagged from too much activity it could depend upon desperate, affectionate girls to stimulate it to renewed interest. Sometimes I made more money in a day than I'd earned in a month at the pop office.

I'd broken with my old way of life and its problems. I was gloriously, gloriously free. My future was rosy. Dave had talked to the Captain and when we docked in Australia I'd get a seaman's card and become a crew member. If I worked hard for a year I'd save enough capital to set up my own pop music business. But who'd be so crazy? Should I give up my steward's job to be trapped in London's concrete jungle?

The ship steamed on into the heart of the Pacific. I was truly happy and had only minor conscience pangs. I planned to send money anonymously to Carol. She might guess who it came from, but could never trace me. In time, Lillian would marry and I'd make my peace with my family. I couldn't do anything about Janet but whoever took over my job would be hypnotized by Janet's beautiful ass, screw her and become the Boss's son-in-law. Ruth had no money problems and could always find a lover when she made the effort.

So I was at peace with myself. I'd squared my conscience and everything was wonderful.

Except that the sky suddenly fell on me, smashed my hopes and dreams, and plunged me into suicidal despair.

Dave was waiting when I came off duty, pale and shaking. His voice quavered. "Something terrible's happened!" I knew it must be bad. It needs an earthquake to shake him. He'd brought a bottle of whisky. "Take a big slug before I tell you," he warned. "You'll need it." When he poured, his hand shook so badly the glass clinked violently.

We both took a gulp of whisky. I held mine in my mouth, its fiery bite stinging my tongue. Then I swallowed slowly. It burned all the way down my throat and into my chest where it expanded into a big, warm glow.

"Ready, Mike?"

"Ready."

"The Captain's a good friend," he told me. "He's tipped me off. We'll be arrested when we dock in Australia."

I felt sick. "Us? Arrested?"

"The Captain had to confirm by radio that we're aboard. When the gangplank goes down, well be taken into custody."

I gulped Scotch. It didn't help. I was as cold as ice. Shivers ran though me and my blood congealed.

"They're all after us, Mike," he said mournfully. "They've all joined forces and employed lawyers and detectives. They know we've shipped out together and all of them know about the others. We're deep in the shit, Mike. I didn't tell you everything. It wasn't only the three sisters! There's a married woman whose husband walked in on us; and another girl who's suing for breach of promise."

I took another gulp of Scotch and thawed a little. "I don't see how they can do much."

"They've done everything!" he roared. "They've figured out every angle. They're throwing the book at us. Perhaps they can't prove all the charges but they've made them. The Australian police are loaded with paternity orders, breach of promises and charges of bigamy and even fraud! They've obtained extradition orders and we'll be sent back wearing handcuffs!"

"They can't, Dave," I protested. "We can prove ..."

"They've ganged up on us," he said miserably. Tour girls and my girls. And their families! They want our hides. They've all kicked in money to make sure they get them. The sheer weight of the charges they've thought up has worried the Australian police. So even before we're extradited to Britain we'll go to jail. The Australians are all set to arrest you as an illegal immigrant."

I congealed again. "How bad is it all, Dave?"

"Looking on the best side we may escape prison. But we'll be skinned of everything we own and made bankrupt. We'll forfeit our wages for years to come in breach-of-promise and paternity contributions."

"Can't we jump ship?"

"Not a chance. We don't dock until we reach Australia. As soon as we're inside the three-mile limit we'll have the police and Immigration Officers aboard." He eyed me gloomily. "If you can swim three miles you'll have a chance. So will the sharks!"

"At school I once swam two hundred yards," I said morosely. "Since then I'm out of practice."

"We're dead ducks," he gloomed.

"Just when everything looked so rosy," I groaned.

"All we wanted was to be young, and carefree."

"It's my big, fat prick that got me into this mess," I gritted.

"My stiff bastard's fucked me up too," grated Dave. "If we'd known sooner we could have jumped ship in Hawaii."

"Isn't there some way?"

He shook his head. "We're fucked!" Then abruptly he was deep in thought. His head came up and his eyes widened. He'd had inspiration. "Wait a minute, Mike," he yelled. "We do have a chance!"

We were three thousand miles out in the Pacific and it was uncanny when the ship's engines stopped and the screws ceased to thresh. It was suddenly very silent. The ship creamed on under its momentum, its speed slowly diminishing. So many passengers lined the deck on the starboard side that the deck inclined. A loudspeaker addressed the passengers in the tones of a travel commentator.

"We are now approaching the beautiful, unique Island of Fluga-Huga, known to Polynesians as the Island of Eternal Fire. Do not be alarmed the engines have been stopped. Our momentum will carry us some miles before we begin to drift. By then we shall be opposite the entrance to a small lagoon. The ship cannot approach close to the island because of underwater rocks. But on the rare occasions that ships do stop near the island, its inhabitants paddle out to wave a welcome."

I shouldered through the throng at the ship's rail and studied Fluga-Huga. It was a green island with tall palm trees and wide, white-sand beaches. The lagoon was turquoise blue and as still as a mirror. There was a small break in the reef where Pacific rollers thundered and foamed.

"You will see three canoes paddling out," mentioned the loudspeaker. "The natives are a very happy hospitable people. Regrettably, or perhaps luckily, only small craft can approach the island. For this reason it has remained almost untouched by civilization. Passengers may wish to throw gifts into the water that the natives will dive for them. Pen-knives, men's leather belts, ladies' compacts with mirrors and combs are highly prized. These simple, happy people have no use for money or clothing."

The ship was moving very slowly now. We could see spray spurting from paddles as the canoes skimmed through the water on an intercepting course. I had one eye on the bridge. Dave couldn't see me but I saw his signal. I slipped away from the rail, descended to the lower deck and met him at the port rail. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready."

The passengers were watching the approaching canoes and nobody saw us strip off our clothes.

The loudspeaker blared again: "The simple people of Fluga-Huga are completely uninhibited and possess no false modesty. Flowers in their hair, and garlands around their necks are the only adornment they use. It is noteworthy that all the paddlers are female. Fluga-Huga is sometimes called the Women's Island because of its ratio of ten women for every man. The tribe was once very aggressive and warred upon all its neighbors. But the other tribes united and only the women folk escaped and a few males survived the perilous voyage to this island."

I was down to my jockey-shorts. I looked at Dave as he pulled his off. "Completely naked?" I asked.

"You won't need pants where you're going!"

A rope ladder was hanging over the side. We went down it and dropped the last few feet into the water. Dave started swimming away from the ship. "Hurry," he called. "We've got to keep clear of the screws."

We swam away from the ship, turned and swam parallel with it. Dave had timed it nicely. Soon, the great propellers turned and water boiled up behind the ship. It glided forward, steadily increasing speed.

Dave swam with powerful strokes. I followed him. The ship drew away and revealed the canoes. Their occupants were still diving for gifts. We swam towards them.

I was gasping, at my last breath. I'd swum further than I'd, ever swum in my life. A canoe loomed up before me and I grabbed. The delighted girlie shrieks were deafening. Beautiful dusky faces and bobbing tits loomed over me. Many soft brown hands reached down and held me. I was pulled into the canoe like a landed fish. Lovely eyes and flashing teeth swarmed around me. I tried to sit up but I was pressed firmly back. A dozen hands simultaneously held my prick and a dozen girlie voices shrieked in curiously accented English: "Fooky-Fooky!"

The Southern Cross blazed in the velvet sky of a tropical night. The lagoon glittered like a mirror and the palm trees fringing the beach threw proud, stately shadows.

I lay upon a coconut mat with cushions under me. Dave reclined with the same manly grace. Around us thronged beautiful, naked Polynesian girls. On the beach a suckling pig roasted on glowing embers and its aroma wafted to us. In the firelight "Fluga-Huga" girls danced a traditional Polynesian hippie number. Their naked breasts shone with sweat and their bellies and thighs writhed with an ease that made the grind-and-bump shows of Soho look like kindergarten pantomime.

The girl on my right dipped her breast into a coconut shell and withdrew it coated with a pinkish cream. She brought her breast to my mouth and teased my lips with its nipple. I opened my mouth, swallowed the nipple and licked up the cream with relish. It tasted fishy. Probably crabs' eggs. She recharged her breast and the girl on my left fed me a breast tasting of anchovy and olives. I moved to a more convenient position because the girl sucking my knob was obstructing the girl who was licking my scrotum.

Dave asked dreamily: "How do you like the menu, Mike?"

"Delicious! It's the flavour of tit that makes it so piquant!"

"You know what I want served with my roast pork?" he asked. "Pussy sauce! I want them to shove mashed mango up their twats, whip it up into a paste and spread it on slices of roast pork. What do you think?"

"Pussy goes with anything," I told him. "Pussy and pork. Pussy and bacon, pussy and fish and chips."

"Can you tell them apart yet?" he asked.

"The girls? Or their pussies?"

"It's bewildering, Mike. There're so many. That's what makes it great. We'll never get bored."

I snapped my fingers and pointed to my mouth. A girl wearing a garland of lotus blossoms around her neck smiled happily. She stood astride me, bending her knees and poising her pelvis. She tilted a gourd of fermented coco wine until the sweet, amber liquid ran down between her breasts, flowed over her belly, coursed through her hairs, trickled down through her parted love-lips and dripped into my mouth. It was nectar. Pussy juice and alcohol!

"Try these, Mike," recommended Dave. A girl was holding a platter of clams. Another girl took one, rubbed it up within her juicy crotch and then popped it into his mouth. "This is civilization!" he sighed happily. "None of that shit about getting married and working hard. This is living! Us, and two thousand beautiful pussies. You and me, and our pricks worshipped by two thousand lovely cunts."

I gestured to one of the girls that she should dangle her tits on my belly and drag them lightly up and down. "We don't even have to learn the language, Dave. They seem to know by instinct exactly how to please us."

"We may have a problem later," Dave warned. "It's natural that the girls cook, fish, grow vegetables and do everything. But once in a while we may like to fish ourselves. We've got to make them understand we like exercise occasionally." He tapped the head of the girl who was sucking him and gestured. She eagerly squatted astride him with her back towards him. She sank down slowly, guiding his prick into her crotch. Then she flexed her thighs and rode up and down his shaft smoothly.

"Isn't that a perfect movement?" Dave said, entranced.

Giggling girls ran over to us from the cooking fire, bearing platters of roast pork. They held up thin slices between finger and thumb, blew on them to cool them, and fed them into our mouths.

It was delicious. I made tiny thrusting movements with my loins. The girl sucking me got the message. She squatted astride me, her back towards me, fed my knob into her crotch and then gently slid down my shaft. My big fat prick chortled happily as it simmered within her hot pussy. I made another tiny loin movement. She flexed her calf muscles and rode up and down with greasy tantalization.

"We might as well stay here for the next hundred years," suggested Dave.

"I'm in no hurry to move on," I agreed.

"Tell you what I'll do some time soon, Mike," he said dreamily. "I'll exert myself. I'll roll over on top of one of these girls. I'll make a big effort. I'll fuck her!"