Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
What does a straight guy do when he’s stranded on a South Pacific
island with a gay guy?
Nelson and Troy are scientists dropped on Honlera Island for three
months of experiments and exploration, but shortly after their
arrival, nuclear war breaks out. They’re safe on their island, which
offers an abundance of food and water, but there’s little chance of
their being picked up and brought home again.
The world outside is in flames, and naturally they cling to each
other for comfort and security. One thing leads to another, and
soon they’re sharing a sleeping bag, and Nelson is finally learning
the answer to his question, “Just what do two guys do in bed
together?” The seduction scene is exquisite, detailed, and drawn
out, as the very willing straight man gets indoctrinated into the
wonders and delights of gay sex.
Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Futuristic
Length: 20,560 words
SURVIVORS STRANDED IN THE
SOUTH PACIFIC
Diana Sheridan
EROTIC ROMANCE
MANLOVE
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove
SURVIVORS STRANDED IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC
Copyright © 2012 by Diana Sheridan
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62241-341-6
First E-book Publication: September 2012
Cover design by Christine Kirchoff
All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance
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PUBLISHER
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www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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DEDICATION
For Cassandra Pierce, a good friend and a really hot writer.
SURVIVORS STRANDED IN
THE SOUTH PACIFIC
DIANA SHERIDAN
Copyright © 2012
Prologue
Nelson looked again at the spot on the map. A mere speck in an
expanse of blue, it looked too tiny to even walk on, though he knew
maps were deceiving. “There it is, guys—Honlera Island,” Rik
Addams said. “Your home for the next three months.”
Nelson looked over at Troy. Openly gay, Troy had asked Nelson
bluntly, when they’d first accepted the assignment, if being alone on
an uninhabited island for three months with a gay man was going to
present any sort of issues for him. “I–I don’t think so,” Nelson had
told him honestly. “Obviously it’s not a situation I’ve ever been in
before, but I’m not homophobic or skittish around gays or anything
like that. I don’t see why it should be a problem.”
Troy smiled wryly. “I can think of several reasons that it could be
a problem, at least for some people, but if it’s not for you, that’s
great.”
“Am I supposed to worry that you’ll jump my bones while I’m
asleep? You’re far too professional for that, I’m sure. We’ve been
working closely together for nearly five months now, and you’ve
never stepped out of line. Why would I be concerned now?”
He hadn’t been concerned about that at the time, and he wasn’t
concerned about it now, but there were other things that did trouble
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
9
him, especially the concept of living on an island far away from
civilization. Honlera was a large enough island, to be sure, and it
supported quite a variety of fruit trees, some animal life that, if it was
far afield from his usual diet, was certainly edible at least, and some
vegetation that was edible as well. There were fish in abundance, both
saltwater fish in the seas surrounding Honlera and in the lagoon on
the south side of the island, and freshwater fish in the interior lake.
That lake would also be a valuable source of drinking water for
Nelson and Troy.
The two scientists were going to Honlera specifically to study a
number of species of fish, animals, and plants that existed nowhere
else—or at least, nowhere else that had been discovered yet. At one
time Honlera, too, had been a huge unknown. The International
Foundation for Species Exploration and Discovery had been quite
excited to learn of this island with its unique varieties of plant and
animal life, and they were sending two of their most stellar scientists
to live on the island and conduct experiments over the course of three
months.
Three months of living on an island with only one other person for
company. Three months of being over a thousand miles away from
the nearest inhabited land. Three months of not having a doctor
nearby in case of medical emergency. Three months of not having the
company of a woman for those comforts he was accustomed to
enjoying regularly. Three months of…Nelson tried to shift his focus
away from his concerns. It will be a wonderful adventure, he told
himself. And if anything does go wrong, we can contact base with our
shortwave radio, and surely they can come and fetch us in an
emergency.
10
Diana Sheridan
Chapter 1
The South Pacific was a brilliant azure beneath the VTOL craft.
They had traveled by transport plane to an airfield in Argentina,
where they had transferred to the VTOL plane. Because it could take
off and land vertically, it was better suited to landing on the rocky
beaches of Honlera. Nelson and Troy looked out the window,
straining their eyes to make out the tiny specks of occasional islands.
“I hope Honlera is larger than those!” Troy said.
“It is. Don’t worry,” Rik Addams reassured them. “You won’t get
claustrophobia on Honlera.”
Nelson wasn’t so sure the head of their organization was right.
Nelson’s reservations about this adventure were multiplying ever
faster the farther they got from the mainland.
Suddenly the pilot called over the intercom, “There’s our target up
ahead.” From the back of the plane, neither Nelson nor Troy could see
the island yet, but a sizzle of excitement burned through Nelson’s
veins at the thought that the long journey was coming to an end, but
the real adventure lay just ahead.
“What do you think, buddy?” Troy said to Nelson, clasping his
shoulder collegially. “Our home away from home for the next three
months.”
“It’s starting to seem more real—and scarier,” Nelson admitted.
Three months on an island with no human contact except each
other—and disembodied voices coming out of the shortwave radio.
What if…?” He let the thought trail off, not wanting to spook his
fellow researcher.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
11
“I know,” Troy said. “We’re going to either become real good
friends or be barely talking by the time the three months are up. I’ll
try my darnedest not to get on your nerves. Do you have any pet
peeves or hot-button issues, things I shouldn’t say or do?”
“I never thought about it. I’ll have to give it some serious
consideration and let you know.”
“Have you ever lived in such close proximity with someone
before? A roommate, a wife, a girlfriend?”
“I haven’t had a roommate since my college dorm days, and I’ve
never been married. At thirty-four, I’m old enough that I could have
been, but I guess I haven’t met the right girl, and that goes for living
with, too. I’ve had two or three serious girlfriends, but I’ve never
lived with any of them.
“What about you? Any hot-button issues or pet peeves I need to
avoid triggering with you?”
“I’m pretty easygoing. Like you, I haven’t really thought about
my hot-button issues, and, like you, I haven’t had a roommate since
college. I’ve had boyfriends but no live-ins, and obviously I haven’t
been married. Gay marriage is still a relatively new phenomenon, and
I certainly haven’t married any women. I knew I was gay when I was
still a teenager. I’ve unquestionably made my share of mistakes in
life, but marrying a woman wasn’t one of them.”
Suddenly Nelson was aware of a shift in the sound of the aircraft’s
motor. He looked at Troy with a raised eyebrow. What’s that about?
“I think the pilot’s getting ready to land,” Troy said.
Sure enough, the aircraft’s forward motion stopped, and it hovered
for a minute before lowering itself, helicopter-like, onto a stretch of
beach that would never have served for a runway for a conventional
plane.
“Aren’t these VTOL craft a marvel?” Rik Addams called from his
position in a forward seat.
In no time, Rik, Troy, and Nelson had deplaned from the craft,
leaving the pilot to hand down supplies that they’d had onboard.
12
Diana Sheridan
There was a huge inflatable tent that would be their home away from
home for the next three months, a smaller tent to house their supplies,
some foodstuffs to supplement the fish, small animals, fruits, and
other local resources that would comprise most of their diet, and
clothing for the two of them. There was a limited supply of books and
crossword puzzle magazines, lanterns and batteries, and, of course,
equipment for the experiments they would be doing, their purpose for
the expedition to Honlera in the first place.
The climate of Honlera, which was warm year-round, was
hospitable to them and didn’t require much in the way of supplies.
Mostly they would be wearing shorts and T-shirts, though in case of a
mosquito issue, they had brought some long-sleeved shirts and long
pants. A couple of umbrellas lay among the gear, though rain on
Honlera fell predominantly at night. But they would be out some
nights, investigating nocturnal fish and animals, and if it rained, an
umbrella would be handy. There was also the shortwave radio with
which the two men would keep in touch with base, the International
Foundation for Species Exploration and Discovery headquarters,
some guns and rifles, some fishing gear, and some cooking gear and
eating utensils, as well as a small camp stove.
Working together, the team inflated the big tent, as well as the
smaller one that would serve as a storehouse for their supplies. They
stowed the three sleeping bags in the living tent. There was one
sleeping bag each for the two men and a spare just in case of
emergency, or in case they had washed out one of their two and it
hadn’t quite dried by bedtime. It seemed that Rik and his people had
thought about everything.
“Well, guys, guess that’s it for now. We’ll be back to get you in
three months—unless, of course, there’s a medical emergency or
some other type of contingency—and I can’t even imagine what that
would be,” Rik said. Giving a cheery wave to Nelson and Troy, Rik
signaled the pilot with a come on motion of his hand, and Rik and the
pilot returned to the VTOL craft. Nelson and Troy stood off at a safe
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
13
distance and waved as the aircraft took off straight up and then
zoomed off into the brilliantly blue sky.
“Guess it’s just us now,” Troy said to Nelson, and the words sent
a shiver through Nelson. What if something goes wrong? What if they
don’t come back for us? What if one of us gets sick or injured, and
they can’t get back quickly enough? What if…
Troy’s voice cut through his reverie. He seemed to sense Nelson’s
troubled thoughts. Perhaps they showed on his face, or perhaps Troy
was even having misgivings himself. “It’ll be all right, buddy. The
three months will pass fast. They’ll be back to get us before we know
it, and meanwhile it’s going to be kind of like a vacation, living on a
tropical island. Hey, I think there’s a deck of cards packed in among
the books and crossword magazines. Are you up for some head-to-
head poker after dinner? We can play for leaves, or stones, or shells.”
“Okay. Whatever. I’m easy. But right now we’d better think about
dinner. What are your thoughts about our first meal here?”
“Suppose we take our fishing gear and see if we can catch
something. I suggest one of us goes to the ocean and one of us to the
lake, and let’s see which one seems the better spot. If that’s agreeable
to you, do you have any preference as to which site you fish at?”
“It’s agreeable, and I’ll go wherever you don’t want to.”
“I’m fine either way.”
“Well, then, since we’ve seen the ocean but not the lake yet, and
I’d like to, let me go to the lake if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Go for it.”
“I think the fishing gear is over here—ah yes. Here’s a tackle box.
And here are the rods and reels.” Troy was bent over a pile of gear in
the smaller tent, and now he stood up triumphantly, the items in
question in his hands. He handed one of the fishing poles to Nelson
and opened the tackle box. After picking out a weight, a bobber, and a
lure, he proffered the box to Nelson. “Let’s do it,” he said, striding
eagerly out of the supply tent, bent on his mission of catching dinner.
14
Diana Sheridan
After selecting a weight and lure and deciding he didn’t need a
bobber, Nelson went off toward the shoreline, hoping he’d have some
success. He was back in no time, having caught four small fish almost
immediately. He studied them with interest before cleaning and
filleting them, but they were common species not peculiar to Honlera,
so there was really little to learn from them. If Troy was less
successful, they could each have two little fish for dinner.
Troy, however, returned almost as quickly with the same number
of fish, albeit larger ones, two of which were of a type they couldn’t
identify. Immediately Troy got out one of the cameras and began
taking pictures and making notes to document the find. Then he
dissected the fish so he could note any internal peculiarities. While he
was doing that, Nelson got the camp stove going and cooked Troy’s
two remaining fish and his own four in a skillet. He also opened a can
of beans and warmed them up in a small saucepan. “Chow!” he called
when dinner was ready.
“It’s not the Ritz, but I think we’ll enjoy it,” Troy observed when
he had washed his hands in the ocean and returned to sit down and
eat. “I’m hungry. And it smells good, too.”
It not only smelled good, it tasted good. Nelson dug in with gusto,
and even the canned beans tasted better to him than canned beans
usually did. There wasn’t a morsel of food left on either man’s plate
or in the skillet when they had finished. Only a bit of the beans
remained in the pot as leftovers, and not much of those, either.
Troy volunteered for cleanup duty, and Nelson didn’t argue.
Nelson had done the cooking, after all, and of the two chores, he
infinitely preferred cooking. There was nothing creative about
cleanup, although pan-frying fish and warming up canned beans
wasn’t the most creative dinner imaginable.
Although the sun was low in the sky, there was still plenty of
daylight remaining, and the two men decided to do a bit of exploring.
“Let’s not get too far from camp,” Troy suggested. “It may get dark
quickly.”
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
15
“Good thinking,” Nelson concurred. “We can save more extensive
explorations for another day.”
They made note of several trees and bushes that were unfamiliar
to them, promising themselves to return at another time to take
samples of the leaves, and in the case of one tree, the fruit. They
discovered a spring that burbled up from underground and created a
river that fed into the lake that took up a goodly chunk of the island.
“We certainly won’t get bored over the three months we’re here,”
Nelson opined.
They were in a woodsy area, and the light was growing dim.
“We’d better get back to camp,” Troy suggested. A snake crossed
their path. It didn’t appear to have fangs, and they both deduced that it
was nonvenomous, but they agreed to capture it and kill it for
scientific exploration, and Nelson dispatched it with a quick blow of a
rock to the back of its head.
As they emerged from the woods, it didn’t seem so dark as before,
and they tidied up the area and prepared to settle into their tent for the
night. By common consent, they postponed the poker game they’d
talked about earlier in favor of just getting to know each other better.
Though they’d been working together at the International Foundation
for Species Exploration and Discovery for five months, they’d never
socialized outside of work, so they didn’t know each other all that
well except as work partners.
Troy led off the conversation with, “I don’t even know your last
name.”
“Yes you do. It’s Nelson.” He laughed.
“Nelson Nelson?”
He laughed again. “No. My last name is what people call me. I
prefer it.”
“Why? What’s your first name?”
“You’re going to laugh.”
“Try me.”
“Engelbert.”
16
Diana Sheridan
“Engel—holy shit! How’d you get a moniker like ‘Engelbert’
pinned on you?”
“My mother is a fan of Engelbert Humperdinck.”
“The singer? The guy who sang, ‘Lonely Is a Man Without
Love’?”
“No. The German composer. The guy who wrote the opera Hansel
and Gretel.”
“No kidding. Really? I never heard of him.”
“He’s not as famous as Verdi and Bizet and those other guys who
wrote operas. But my mom is totally nuts for Hansel and Gretel. So
she named me after him. I’m lucky she didn’t name me
‘Humperdinck.’ ‘Humperdinck Nelson’? I think ‘Engelbert Nelson’ is
bad enough.”
“Why don’t you just go by ‘Bert’?”
“I never was crazy for the name ‘Bert.’ Way back in high school,
when I was on the football team, the coach called us all by our last
names. The other guys on the team followed his lead and called me
‘Nelson’ just like he did, and little by little my other classmates
picked it up. By the time I got to college, most everyone but my folks
called me ‘Nelson,’ and that was how I introduced myself to everyone
in college. I’ve kinda been ‘Nelson’ ever since. Well, now you know.
“But I’ve wondered about your last name, too. I know it’s
‘Gutierrez,’ but you don’t look a bit Hispanic. What’s the story?”
“In the first place, I’m only one-quarter Latino—Cuban, to be
specific. And in the second place, my Cuban grandfather was blond-
haired and blue-eyed. Not the typical swarthy type that most people
envision when they hear someone’s Latino.”
“What’s the rest of your ethnic heritage?”
“Nordic on my mother’s side, and my paternal grandmother was
Polish.”
“Wow—you’re a walking United Nations!”
“What about you?”
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
17
“My dad’s folks were plain ol’ American. They must have come
over from somewhere at some point, but it was too far back to trace.
My mom’s mom was half Native American and half Irish, and my
mom’s dad was German.”
“Well, you’re almost as much of a mongrel as I am,” Troy said
with a laugh, and he clapped Nelson on the back.
They were seated on camp chairs in the larger inflatable tent, the
one that was to be their home for the next three months, and they had
one of the lanterns glowing. It was battery operated, and in an
abundance of caution they had been provided with what should have
been a six-month supply of batteries. “Just in case,” Rik had
explained. “In case some of the batteries are duds. In case you find
you need to leave one of the lanterns on all night every night. In case
there’s some weather situation or something that prevents us from
picking you up on the scheduled date—though surely we’d be delayed
only a few days or a week at most, not three whole months!” Still, it
felt good to know they didn’t have to stint with their lantern usage.
“What would you be doing if you were back home right now?”
Nelson asked.
“I’d probably be at a gay bar, having a few drinks and seeing who
was worth chatting up. If there was no one I wanted to hook up with,
I’d be talking to one of my buddies, or several of them, maybe
playing darts or pool, or just shooting the shit with the guys. It’s not
all about sex, you know.”
“No, I really don’t know. I don’t know much about the gay life at
all, beyond the popular knowledge, most of which is probably
misconceptions anyhow, you know?”
“Yes, I do know,” Troy said with a chuckle, “but at least you
recognize that much of what you’ve heard is misinformation.”
“Aren’t you gay guys always on the prowl?”
“Only the ones who don’t have partners. But is that so different
from you straight guys? Aren’t you always on the lookout for fresh
females?”
18
Diana Sheridan
“Well, yes, but we’re not out ‘recruiting,’ as I believe you call it,
every minute.”
“Well, shit, man, neither are we. Is that what you think gay life is
all about? Is it?” Then, as if suddenly realizing his comeback had
been inflammatory, he amended his tone, adding, “I guess I can still
get a little touchy around you het guys. I’m sorry, man. Shit, I’m
sorry. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot, here, really…”
“No, buddy, no! I bet it was me! I bet I came off sounding
homophobic, didn’t I? Okay, I admit, there is this, like, five percent of
me that isn’t one hundred percent comfortable about being alone with
a gay guy for three months on an uninhabited island.”
“Is it me you don’t trust or yourself? Honestly! Because I’m really
not into unwilling partners, and I have zero plans to seduce you. Your
gay virginity is totally safe with me.”
“Um—I didn’t mean to say you were, you know, repulsive or
anything. It’s just that, you know, I’m not gay. I’m sure that, if I were,
I’d find you attractive. You’re handsome. Maybe ‘cute’ is a better
word. I’m sure if guys were my thing, I’d be drooling over spending
three months alone on an island with a really cute guy. But I’m not
gay. I’m het. So you see, it’s nothing personal.”
“No, of course not. Nothing personal. But did you mean that?
That, if you were gay, you’d find me attractive?”
“Well—yes—I’m sure I would—yes—you’re friendly, outgoing,
disarming, unabashed, uninhibited, unpretentious, forthcoming, and
delightful to talk to. If I were gay, I’m sure I would have noticed
those things.”
“That’s nice to know,” Troy answered in a droll tone.
“Hey, I don’t know what your usual sleeping pattern is like, but I
would like to suggest that for the three months we’re here, we think in
terms of going to bed early and getting up early. Our evening
activities are going to be limited. No TV, no movies, no concerts, or
whatever you’re used to doing in the evenings. No having friends
over for a few beers or going to someone’s house for a barbecue. It’s
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
19
just you and me, buddy, and we don’t want to wind up sick of each
other’s company with two months still to go.
“By day we’ll be busy cataloguing species, taking pictures,
recording bird calls, collecting leaves and flowers, dissecting animals,
observing creatures in their habitat, and, of course, hunting and
fishing for sustenance, collecting water to drink, washing dishes and
clothes—”
“Bathing in the lake,” Troy cut in. “At least, for spring-fed water
it’s not too awfully cold. I checked it out earlier. I think when we get
back home, though, the thing I’m going to do first is take a nice hot
shower.”
“I expect I’ll be missing ice cream and will want to go out and
buy a gallon of the stuff. That will most likely be the first thing I do
when we get back.”
“What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”
“Maple walnut. What’s yours?”
“Rum raisin or a good, rich vanilla, depending on the mood I’m
in.”
“I’d say you have wide-ranging tastes.”
“Well, if we’re going to get into a routine of turning in early, now
is as good a time as any.”
“I think our toothbrushes and toothpaste are in the supply tent.”
“Let’s go.”
They lit a second lantern, each man took one, and they headed to
the second tent, retrieving the items they needed. These included a
small supply of bottled water for rinsing their mouths and for washing
up. From there they each, separately, proceeded to a spot distant
enough from the main tent to discreetly pee, obscured by trees, and to
brush their teeth without spitting out toothpaste just outside the tent.
Nelson returned to the tent a minute before Troy and got into his
sleeping bag, turning off the lantern but leaving it within reach. When
Troy returned, he did the same. “Well, good night, buddy,” he said as
he doused the light of his lantern.
20
Diana Sheridan
“Good night, buddy,” Nelson echoed.
But saying “good night” was easier than falling asleep. Whether it
was the early hour, the unaccustomed surroundings, or nervousness
about the expedition, he found himself lying there staring into the
darkness, sleep an elusive commodity. He suspected Troy wasn’t
asleep yet either. He heard rustlings, exhalations, and other sounds
that led him to believe his tentmate was similarly awake.
After a while, the sounds from Troy’s side of the tent took on a
different aspect. Nelson wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or if it was
real, but he thought the sounds were consistent with a man quietly and
discreetly jacking off in a sleeping bag. Was that what Troy was
doing? Was he stroking himself to climax right there in the tent with
Nelson, under cover of darkness?
Nelson had never seen or listened to a man jerk off before. He had
not participated in any circle jerks in his younger days, nor jerked off
over a purloined “dirty magazine” with a youthful buddy. The idea
that a guy might be jerking off right there in the tent, close–by,
inflated his cock and made his blood race. He held his breath so as to
be very silent and listen carefully. But although the noises continued,
they remained ambiguous. Was he or wasn’t he? Nelson couldn’t be
sure. But his imagination was running away with him.
He imagined Troy wearing only his skivvies, his hand stealthily
lodged within the front of those cotton underpants, grasping his cock,
squeezing it, and stroking it. What did his cock look like, anyhow?
Was it thick or skinny, long and large, or short and stubby, dark
maroon or pale, or perhaps mottled? Was it circumcised or not? Did it
have a rounded corona or an arrowhead?
The more Nelson thought about Troy’s cock, the more Nelson’s
own cock swelled and began throbbing. But when he started
imagining Troy playing with his cock, stroking it, jerking it, and
manhandling it, Nelson’s cock became completely engorged and
pulsated demandingly.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
21
There was nothing for it but to try to give it some relief. He
thought of getting up and going outside into the bushes, but that didn’t
strike him as a very comfortable scenario. Besides, if he was very
quiet and very discreet, Troy wouldn’t have to know what he was
doing. He could get off within the privacy of his sleeping bag, and
Troy would be none the wiser.
Just then Troy’s breathing pattern seemed to change. Was he
revving up into a masturbatory high gear? Or perhaps even
climaxing? Or was Nelson reading something into Troy’s breathing
that wasn’t real? Maybe Troy was just relaxing and on the verge of
falling asleep.
But again a mental picture of Troy rubbing his stiff, fat cock
intruded itself into Nelson’s mind, and again Nelson’s cock throbbed,
demanding attention. As Nelson gave in and began doing some
serious cock-rubbing, the mental picture of Troy jerking off in his
sleeping bag became clearer and brighter, more vivid and more
compelling. Nelson found himself rubbing his dick even faster, even
harder, and even more needfully.
He managed to stifle his groans of excitement but was less
successful in keeping his breathing calm and level. It seemed his
breaths were hoarse and raspy, not as discreet as he wanted them to
be, and no matter how he tried, he could not control the sound.
Scrunching down within the sleeping bag, he buried his face within
the bag and hoped that would help muffle the sound.
The image of Troy blazed in his mind. Troy’s face was a mask of
urgent need. Troy’s mouth was open as he gasped desperately for air.
Troy’s brow was furrowed as he concentrated on coming. And
Nelson’s hand sped over his pulsating, throbbing, demanding cock.
From Troy’s direction there came a distinct sigh. Was it an
orgasmic or possibly post-orgasmic sigh? Had he gotten his rocks off
in the cozy confines of his sleeping bag? Or was he merely rolling
over to go to sleep and sighing in comfort as he settled down for the
night? Then again, perhaps he was contemplating the long three
22
Diana Sheridan
months ahead and sighing at the prospect. Indeed it would be a long
three months if every night was like this.
Nelson’s fever was rising. He was lying on his side, his back
toward Troy in the darkness, and his body wanted to hunch back and
forth in fevered fuck-motions. But he didn’t want to rustle the
sleeping bag. He didn’t want to telegraph his activities. So with great
difficulty he kept still, though that made it take even longer for him to
reach the orgasm he so badly needed.
His balls were buzzing and throbbing. His hand grasped his dick
more tightly and rubbed up and down, prodding it into a state of
flaming need. Oh! He was so hot! He needed to get off so badly.
Cupping his balls with his other hand, he squeezed his sac and felt it
draw up tighter into his body. He was getting closer!
As images of Troy playing with his own dick flashed through his
mind, Nelson’s dick shot off a geyser of sperm. It took all his
willpower to stifle the groan that threatened to erupt from his stressed
soul. Oh, it felt so good to get that load off! The funny thing was that,
knowing his opportunities for sexual activity would be limited to self-
satisfaction, and knowing there might be privacy issues, he had
whipped off a load just the night before. He shouldn’t have been this
horny. What had brought it about? Just the thought of Troy jerking off
on the other side of the tent? Why was that so exciting?
Now that he had had a good, strong orgasm, he felt much more
relaxed despite the sticky cum in his underwear. He could get to sleep
now, he was sure, but even as he drifted off, images of Troy and his
dick still flitted through Nelson’s mind.
Although a sleeping bag in an inflatable tent was hardly the
equivalent of a nice firm mattress over a box spring, Nelson slept
surprisingly well. When he did wake up, needing to pee, he checked
his illuminated watch dial and saw that it was nearly six a.m.
Surprised, he decided to simply get up and get going, but he tried to
be as silent as possible so his tentmate could remain asleep.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
23
Something, however, awakened Troy, who sat up in his sleeping bag.
Nelson couldn’t see him in the dark, but he could hear him.
As Nelson took one of the lanterns and tiptoed toward the door of
the tent, Troy whispered, “Is that you, buddy?”
In a soft but not whispery voice, Nelson replied, “Yeah.”
“Is it morning? What time is it?”
“Yeah. It’s nearly six. I need to take a piss, but I think I’m awake
for the day.”
“I think I am, too. What have we got for breakfast?”
“How about powdered eggs, crackers, canned meat, and coffee?”
“What time are we supposed to hear from the guys at the base?
Eight o’clock our time?”
“Yeah. It’ll be good to hear from them. I don’t mind admitting I
miss home a little.”
“Me, too.”
The two guys wandered off in different directions by unspoken
agreement, for privacy’s sake, and took care of their morning needs.
When Nelson returned, Troy was already cooking breakfast.
“What do you say we go off together today and explore the
island,” Nelson suggested. “Let’s both take our cameras and take
shots of anything worthwhile. Do you think we need to map the
island?”
“I don’t think it’s large enough to need mapping, but if I’m
wrong, we can go back out later or tomorrow and explore it again and
draw a map. Hey, chow’s ready. Let’s tuck into it.”
The word “tuck” sounded close enough to “fuck” to remind
Nelson of his activities of last night, not to mention what he thought
Troy had been up to. Suddenly he wondered if Troy had heard him,
and if Troy knew he had been jerking off in the semiprivacy of his
sleeping bag. He quickly attacked the food so he wouldn’t have to
look at his partner on this expedition.
Since Troy had cooked, Nelson did the dishes, and then Troy
suggested that they still had plenty of time to go to the lake and bathe.
24
Diana Sheridan
“Let’s use as little soap as necessary, so we don’t pollute the water,”
he added.
“Are we going together?” Nelson asked, abashed.
Troy looked surprised at the question. “Did you think one of us
needed to stay here as a sentry? Or are you suddenly feeling bashful?”
“Never mind. I’m just not used to, you know, bathing with
another guy. Not since the locker room in college football, and even
then I admit I was a little skittish.”
“Were some of the guys pecker checkers?” Troy laughed. “That
can make even the straightest of the straights uncomfortable. Well, I
won’t be comparing the size of your dick to mine. Don’t worry.”
But that reassurance, of course, only brought to mind Nelson’s
curiosity the night before about the size and appearance of Troy’s
dick. Maybe Nelson himself was a pecker checker?
Taking soap, towels, and clean underwear, the men headed toward
the lake, a three-minute walk. When they arrived, Nelson hesitated at
taking his clothes off. Troy was off behind some bushes, peeing, and
Nelson felt awkward at disrobing. Finally, though, he girded himself
into taking his clothes off, just as Troy stepped out from behind the
bushes.
Nelson was sure Troy’s eyes had discreetly swept over his dick,
but the glance was so fleeting, Nelson didn’t feel he was being
compared. And when Troy took his clothes off, Nelson couldn’t help
but sneak a peek himself. Troy’s cock was sized comparably to
Nelson’s, neither very pale nor very dark, and at a quick glance it
seemed to be circumcised, with a slightly rounded dome. Nelson
immediately raised his eyes to Troy’s face, but Troy was looking at
him and certainly had seen where his eyes had been. Nelson expected
Troy to jibe, “Caught you looking!” but all Troy said was, “We have
time to swim around a bit for fun, too.”
They both turned into kids in the water, splashing each other,
playing tag and even Marco Polo, and having a grand time. By the
time they’d decided it was enough, Nelson had lost his shyness over
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
25
being naked in front of Troy, and he even regretted the prospect of
putting his clothes back on to walk back to camp. Being naked felt so
free. He didn’t know if nudity was prudent, though. What if he were
stung in a tender place by an insect or scratched by some branch that
was sticking out?
“I don’t think we need the soap,” Troy said. “I think we’ve rinsed
ourselves quite clean enough with all this splashing around.”
“That’s fine with me,” Nelson agreed. They waded out of the lake,
toweled dry, and pulled their clothes back on.
“Good timing,” Troy said. “It’s a quarter to eight. We need to
make sure the shortwave is turned on and running. We have enough
time, but not much to spare.”
The pair forbore to stop and explore their surroundings but went
straight back to camp. They had the shortwave radio set up in the
main tent, the sleeping tent, and they pulled their camp chairs up close
to the radio. Soon enough they heard base calling their signal, and
Troy responded.
“Everything okay on Honlera?” Rik’s voice crackled to them.
“A-OK,” Troy responded. “I trust all’s well with you guys?”
There was a pause before Rik answered. “Uh—there’s been a little
trouble. Not here. Everything’s fine here. But, uh, Iran has nuked
Israel.”
Both Nelson and Troy sat up straight on hearing that, and Troy
automatically said, “No!” though Nelson was sure it was just a
reaction and not an actual expression of disbelief.
“Things are a bit of a mess. We don’t know what America’s
reaction will be or even what Israel’s response will be.”
“How bad was it?”
“They pretty well wiped out Tel Aviv.”
“Jerusalem?”
“They left the holy city alone—at least for now. But they got two
others.”
“Does this impact on us in any way?”
26
Diana Sheridan
“Not for the moment. The radioactive cloud doesn’t seem to be
headed anywhere near you. There was a brief discussion of aborting
your mission and coming to pick you up, but for the time being,
everything is status quo. Carry on as you were. How are things going?
What have you done so far?”
Nelson’s mind immediately flashed on what he had done in the
privacy of his sleeping bag last night, but Troy answered with a
routine if brief description of what they had done so far on their
expedition and what they had planned for the day ahead.
“Well, take your time. Unless things go haywire, you’ll have three
months to accomplish your explorations. Carry on for now as if
nothing were amiss. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Roger, and thanks.”
“Are you there, too, Nelson?” Rik’s voice asked.
“Affirmative.”
“Everything okay with you, too?”
“Yes. Just shaken by your news.”
“We all are, man. We all are.”
Troy ended the conversation and shut the radio down to conserve
the battery, but Nelson was left sitting there, stunned, wondering what
was going to happen next.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
27
Chapter 2
Since they had already gained some minimal familiarity with the
lake but had not at all explored the north side of the island, the two
men decided that they would set out on an easterly course, stay a little
bit in from the shoreline, and see what there was to see as they
worked their way around the perimeter of the island.
“How far inland should we go?” Troy asked.
“Let’s play it by ear,” Nelson suggested. “We don’t know how
close to the ocean the lake is on the north shore. There may not be
that much distance to cover. On the other hand, there may be quite a
bit of dry land between the two bodies of water. If that turns out to be
the case, we can decide then whether to explore it today or stick close
to the shoreline for now and go inland on a subsequent exploration.”
“Okay. I’m good with winging it. What if we’re gone all day?
What do we do about lunch?”
“Let’s take some crackers with us in case we don’t find anything
edible. That will at least tide us over and stave off the hunger pangs.
We could circumnavigate the entire island and be home before lunch
or be out all day and still not have seen it all when it’s time to get
back.”
“What about equipment?”
“Let’s take a rifle, a gun, two cameras, and a backpack for
collecting interesting specimens of rocks, shells, or anything else
that’s not living.”
“That’ll also come in handy if we kill something and bring it back
for dinner.”
“Agreed.”
28
Diana Sheridan
They gathered together the equipment they had decided on, and
wearing shorts, T-shirts, and sandals, they set out just a bit inland
from the shoreline in a generally easterly direction. Keeping an eye on
the ocean as a guide to where they were, they followed this heading
for about an hour without seeing anything particularly interesting.
They made frequent detours both inland and to the shoreline, seeking
sightings of birds and animals, scouting out interesting rocks and
shells, investigating plant life, and even checking out insects. Nothing
of any great interest caught their attention, however.
Since it was not yet nine thirty, the day had not heated up too
badly, on top of which strong breezes kept the humidity down and
made what heat there was seem comfortable. “The wind is out of the
south,” Troy observed, “which means we may not feel much of it
when we get to the north shore. And that will be the hottest part of the
day, if it takes us a full day to walk around the island.”
“If,” Nelson emphasized. “We may be home at the campsite by
noon.”
“Not at this rate. To judge by the sun’s position, we’re still
walking basically eastward, and we’ve been gone for a little over an
hour. I’d say we have at least a five-hour hike remaining—at
minimum. At minimum,” he repeated.
“I’m getting thirsty. Let’s head inland and get some water from
the lake.”
“Okay. Good plan.”
As they turned their backs to the ocean and walked toward the
lake, a bright blur of green flashed by them. “What was that?” asked
Nelson.
“Some sort of bird. Where did it go?”
“Up into that tree over there, I think.”
Troy got his camera ready and looked around for the bird, but he
didn’t spot it until it came zooming down from the tree and landed on
a nearby branch that was much lower. Then, snapping away, he
captured it digitally to bring home at the end of the three months.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
29
“Looks kinda like a parrot, but not exactly,” he observed in a quiet
voice, not wanting to scare it away.
“Smaller beak than a parrot,” Nelson concurred.
“And the configuration of the head is slightly different. Wonderful
coloring, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Nelson said almost reverently.
In the excitement of discovery, they had forgotten that their
immediate objective was to get a drink of water from the lake, but
now Nelson reminded Troy, who was wandering around with his head
tilted up, looking to see what else of interest he might find. “Sorry,”
Troy apologized. “Let’s go.”
At the shore of the lake they made another find—a big lizard,
around two feet long. It stared at them, unabashed, neither advancing
or retreating, while the two men held cautiously still in case it proved
aggressive. But it didn’t attack them, seeming more interested in
something in the lake. Then, apparently spotting whatever it had been
looking for, the lizard made a sharp turn and splashed into the water,
diving in. A minute later it surfaced with a fish in its mouth, and a
moment later it had apparently swallowed the fish whole. Then it
dived back into the lake and emerged again some twenty yards away.
Hauling itself up onto the shore of the lake, it lay on the sandy soil,
sunning itself.
“It appears the lake holds a few surprises,” Troy said.
“I’m thirsty anyhow,” Nelson said. While he cupped his hands
and bent to the lake to drink, Troy snapped pictures of the lizard,
advancing on it cautiously as he clicked the camera. The lizard
allowed him to get within about four feet of it, then lumbered into the
water and swam gracefully away. “Don’t you want a drink, too?”
Nelson called to Troy. Troy shrugged but bent to the water anyhow
and took a few swigs, then splashed more water on his arms, neck,
and face. Seeing him do this, Nelson followed suit and did the same.
Then Troy walked back over to Nelson, and the pair headed back
toward the ocean.
30
Diana Sheridan
Resuming their hike around the island, they continued for another
fifteen or twenty minutes before their next discovery. It was a
butterfly, but not like any they had seen before. Beautiful jewel tones
of bright green, blue, orange, and yellow radiated on its wings. “I
don’t know this species for sure,” Troy said as he snapped pictures.
“Me, neither.”
As Troy approached the dazzling creature, it flew away, but he
told Nelson he had gotten some great shots anyhow.
It was Nelson who got the next shot—and the first kill of the day.
“Dinner!” he exclaimed on seeing a band of squirrel-like creatures
running up and down some trees. He first whipped out his camera,
then the gun, and he got several pictures and four of the creatures to
take home, skin, gut, and cook.
“Shall we pan-fry them?” Troy asked.
“I’m thinking a stew, in case the meat is tough. We don’t know
what we’re dealing with.”
“Put ’em in the backpack.”
“I think we’re on the east shore now, heading north,” Troy
observed around eleven o’clock. “I noticed our track seemed to be
curving slightly, and judging by the position of the sun, I think I’m
right. It’s close enough to directly overhead that it’s a little hard to
tell. Take a look and tell me what you think.”
Nelson peered at the sky, trying not to look directly at the sun. “I
think you’re right.”
“On Rik’s map, Honlera looks more oval than round, but not
terribly elongated like Manhattan or Long Island. I think we still have
a way to go before we reach the north shore.”
“Are you ready for a rest? I’m getting sweaty and a little tired.”
“Let’s think in terms of stopping in half an hour or so and seeing
what we can do about lunch.”
That turned out to be a good suggestion, as they came upon some
berry bushes around twenty minutes later. “These look like good old
American blackberries,” Nelson said.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
31
Troy took a cautious bite. “If they’re not, they’re very close
cousins.”
The bushes were laden with berries, and the men filled up on
them, supplementing the berries with crackers and then heading to the
lake to wash it all down. The lake was farther inland at this point, and
the two men had to trudge a greater distance than they had expected
before they reached it, but when they did, they not only drank their fill
but jumped in the lake, clothes and all, to cool down. Emerging from
the water after a couple of minutes, they agreed that a rest at the shore
of the ocean would be nice, so they made their way back to the
saltwater and lay down on the sand until they’d dried off. Then, rested
and refreshed, they continued on their way.
Their next find was a catlike creature, short-haired and with fangs.
They were wary of the fangs but soon saw the animal was not a threat
to them. Although the creature was no cuddly kitty, it was not a lion,
either. About twice the size of a house cat, it had legs that were
proportionately longer than those of a domestic feline. These enabled
it to leap up the trunks of trees and snag the squirrel-like creatures like
those Nelson had killed four of earlier.
Both men took pictures of the cat creature as it jumped up,
captured its prey, tore into it, and devoured it. It was thorough and
efficient in its methods. When it had finished its meal, it licked its
paws and cleaned its mouth and whiskers, then walked away, waving
its tail.
The two men walked on. It was almost half past two when Nelson
suggested another break, and Troy said, “Why don’t we take a dip in
the ocean?” But before they could, they came upon a tree that was
like no species they had ever seen back home. Nelson decided that if
he had to liken it to anything familiar, he would say it resembled a
giant fern, yet it obviously was not a fern—for one thing, its leaves, or
fronds, were a mottled purple and green with red tips. He had never
seen a fern like that! Naturally, he took pictures, and then he used a
32
Diana Sheridan
penknife to cut off two fronds. Where he cut it, it oozed a sticky,
pinkish saplike substance.
“Be careful,” Troy cautioned. “It could be poisonous or
corrosive.” Nelson wrapped the oozing stems in some ordinary leaves
before putting the fronds in their backpack so that the sap would not
ooze onto the four creatures destined for the stewpot.
Then they walked to the shoreline of the ocean, put down the
things they were carrying, stripped off their clothes, and ran into the
ocean. “The waves are a bit rougher on this shore,” Troy observed.
“I think we’re on the west side of the island now, but nearer the
north shore than the south shore,” Nelson surmised.
“I’d say you’re right.”
The water was warm, the waves not really rough enough to be
dangerous, and it felt good to submerge themselves in the refreshing
ocean after their all-day trek. They refrained from splashing each
other and didn’t play Marco Polo, but nonetheless, they splashed
around in the surf, frolicking like a couple of happy otters. For some
reason, a totally irrational thought danced through Nelson’s mind—
that Troy would somehow be able to tell, by looking at him naked,
that he had been jacking off the night before. As soon as he banished
that worry, another took its place—that he would spring a hard-on,
and Troy would think he was the cause of it.
He was standing in knee-deep water at the time and quickly
crouched down so his dick was submerged, “burying the evidence” as
it were. But he didn’t have any need to worry, he quickly reasoned
with himself. There was no way to tell he’d been jerking off in the
sleeping bag, and his dick was remaining cooperatively soft. He did
look over at Troy to see if Troy had a hard-on, but his fellow
explorer’s cock was beneath the water, out of sight. I don’t think it’s
possible to get a hard-on in the water anyhow—or is that just cold
water? Then he put it out of his mind and continued splashing around
and having a good time.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
33
Finally, though, Troy suggested that they’d better get on their
way. “We can’t be sure how long the walk will take us, and it’s
pushing three o’clock already.” Nelson knew Troy was right. He just
was having so much fun that he hated to get out of the water. But get
out he did nonetheless, followed by Troy, and they both got dressed
again and, before resuming their walk, picked up the items they’d
earlier set down.
The next thing to get their attention was another bird, this one all
black except for a splotch of brilliant red on its back. It was quite
large—larger than a vulture. “I wonder if it smells the fresh kill in our
backpack?” Nelson said, but the bird didn’t seem interested in the
contents of the backpack so much as in scoping out the two men
themselves. The bird swooped around them numerous times, although
not in a particularly threatening way, and Troy snapped a multitude of
pictures before it flew away.
By now it was almost four o’clock, and just as Nelson was about
to say, “I wonder when we’ll get to the lagoon?” there it was ahead of
them and off to their left. The azure waters were calm and inviting,
but the men agreed that they had no time for a dip. “We need to get
back to camp, especially if we’re going to stew that meat,” Nelson
pointed out. “Stewing isn’t a quick process like frying.”
There were wading birds in the lagoon, long-legged like storks or
cranes, though they were neither. There seemed to be three distinct
species, none of them familiar, though two were white like many
birds back home. “We’ll have to come back here tomorrow,” Troy
suggested.
“Definitely,” Nelson agreed.
They walked on. They were moving faster now, both because it
was growing later and because they knew that the lagoon was not that
far west of camp, so they were closing in on getting home. They gave
only a cursory look for unusual shrubbery, rocks, shells, birds, or
animals now. “We can look more thoroughly tomorrow when we
come back here,” Troy said, and Nelson agreed with him again.
34
Diana Sheridan
The men were exhausted when they finally got “home” to the
camp after their all-day hike. “I need a nap!” Troy said emphatically.
“Me, too, but I want to get the stew started first.”
They had a modest supply of potatoes they’d brought with them.
While Troy stretched out on the grass, Nelson peeled and cut up four
potatoes and threw them in a large pot along with the meat, after he
first butchered the animals. He had gutted and skinned a deer a couple
of times, so it wasn’t a totally unfamiliar process to him. The
creatures were so small that he made only four cuts to the meat of
each one before throwing them in the pot. He added water from the
lake, started a fire, and set the pot over it, and then he, too, lay down
near the stewpot to nap.
They were both awakened by a loud ruckus that turned out to be
another large bird, this one with different coloration. It squawked and
screeched as it approached the stewpot, was driven away by the rising
heat, and approached it again and again. Nelson sat up and stretched,
yawned, and got to his feet, then waved his arms to shoo the bird
away. Actually, the rising heat was doing a good job of that already,
but it seemed as if every time the heat drove the bird away, the smell
drew it back.
“Looks like it wants our dinner,” Troy observed with a laugh.
“That’s our dinner and tomorrow’s lunch,” Nelson corrected him.
“Do we get a vegetable, too?”
“Yes. You know those freeze-dried green beans we brought with
us? I thought I’d pop a packet of those in the pot, but they don’t go in
till it’s nearly done.”
“When will that be? Berries and crackers aren’t much of a lunch.
I’m starving.”
“Not for at least an hour and a half. I just poked at the meat with a
fork, and it’s still pretty damn tough.”
“Rats. I’m famished.”
“Have a snack. Aren’t there some roasted peanuts in one of the
cartons in the supply tent?”
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
35
“I’m concerned about running through our supplies before the
three months are up.”
“We need to be survivalists. We need to learn which of the native
vegetation is edible and how to cook it, or whether to eat it raw. We
had our first taste of that—pun intended—today with the berries.”
“I’ll use my willpower and hold off until dinner. An explorer
needs to be disciplined.”
“As you wish.”
“I sure wouldn’t mind a beer right now. Say, I noticed a few
coconut trees. Can you ferment coconut milk and make wine or
something out of it?”
“I don’t know, but by all means let’s try.”
“Let’s get the coconuts tomorrow afternoon. Are you good at
climbing trees, or are we restricted to the ones that have fallen to the
ground?”
“I haven’t climbed a tree since I was a kid, and the maple in my
folks’ backyard sure wasn’t as tall as those coconut palms.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while. Every now and
again, Nelson got up and stirred the stewpot and checked the meat for
tenderness. The sun was very low on the horizon when he finally
added the green beans and declared that dinner was almost ready.
When at last Nelson called, “Chow!” and both men filled their
plates, they agreed that the meat was gamey but interesting. Both men
ate seconds, taking care to leave enough for tomorrow’s lunch.
Nelson kept the fire burning low under the pot so that the meat would
stay fresh until they dug into it again the next day.
“Want to play some cards?” Nelson offered after Troy had done
the cleanup.
“I’m too tired to think straight. All that walking did me in. In spite
of the nap, I’m ready for bed. I do feel I ought to take a bath first,
though. I don’t know about you, but I sweated plenty after our last dip
in the ocean.”
“I’m right with you on that, buddy.”
36
Diana Sheridan
“Let’s head to the lake, then.”
This time Troy undressed at the camp, leaving his clothes behind,
and didn’t bother to bring a towel, either, only the soap and a plastic
glass with which to bring back some water for toothbrushing.
Following suit, Nelson did the same and went to the lakeshore as
naked as a newborn and as free as a bird, enjoying the feeling.
Too tired to swim or frolic, they took care of their ablutions,
rinsed off, and left the water. By the time they were back at the tents,
Nelson was pretty well dry and assumed the same was true of Troy.
Retrieving his toothbrush and toothpaste, he took his glass of water
and went into the bushes to pee and brush his teeth. Then, still naked,
he returned to the tent and got into his sleeping bag. Troy was already
in his.
Sleepily, Nelson wondered if Troy was going to jerk off in his
sleeping bag, but he heard soft snores from Troy’s side of the tent
before he’d even turned the lantern off. It was not long before sleep
claimed Nelson, too, and he woke only once during the night to take a
pee and check on the stewpot.
The next morning was much like the one before. They had fish for
breakfast with black coffee, and at the appointed time they gathered at
the shortwave radio. Although they had both been concerned about
yesterday’s news, neither had felt it concerned them personally.
Surely America was safe! But things were getting more worrisome on
the world front. Rik’s report that morning was that Israel had
retaliated against Iran with a nuclear device that they’d exploded in
Tehran. Egypt and Syria had in turn taken action against Israel, albeit
with conventional weaponry, and now North Korea was issuing
belligerent warnings to South Korea. “The world is in a mess,” Rik
opined. “How are things on Honlera?”
“Better than you’ve got it. Why don’t you come down here?”
Nelson joked.
“Wish I could,” Rik said without a trace of humor in his voice.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
37
They concluded the conversation, agreed to talk the next morning
at the same time, and turned off the radio once again. They had gotten
dressed before eating breakfast, so all they had to do was decide what
gear to bring with them, load up, and go. Nelson checked the stewpot
once more, though, before they left. Then they headed to the lagoon.
They spent the morning exploring the waters, looking for shells,
taking pictures, and being careful not to get the cameras wet.
Throughout their morning at the lagoon, they kept looking up to see
what birds were nearby. Finally, a bit after noon, they decided they
had seen all they were going to see and headed back to camp. On the
way back, they passed a mango tree whose fruit was low enough to be
picked readily, and they brought an armful of mangos back with them
for dessert.
Sitting down to lunch, they discovered that the meat was now
bland and stringy from such long cooking. “Let’s cut up two of the
mangos and add them to the stew!” Nelson suggested. Each man
peeled and cut one mango, and they tossed the fruit into the stew. This
not only helped the dish’s flavor but also made the quantity larger.
They still had a mango each for dessert.
“How about a nap before we go coconut hunting,” Troy
suggested.
“Excellent idea!”
Once again they stretched out on the grass rather than in the tent,
and they slept for nearly an hour. Then Nelson belatedly washed the
lunch dishes and the stewpot before they took off to look for
coconuts.
There were not too many coconuts on the ground, and some of
those that were had obviously been invaded by insects. The guys
realized that was a good thing, however, as it would give them a
chance to study some of the native insects, so they brought back all
the coconuts they could carry in their arms and in the backpack. Back
at camp, they carefully drained the milk out of each coconut, cracked
them all open, and poured the milk into a big jug if there were no
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Diana Sheridan
insects inside. The ones that were infested they didn’t keep the milk
from but did study the insects carefully. There seemed to be three
kinds of insects, all of them small and none of them familiar.
“What do you know about making coconut wine?” Nelson asked
Troy.
“Well, I made dandelion wine about thirteen years ago. I suspect
coconut milk won’t actually make wine but some other kind of
alcoholic beverage. We could also try it with some mango juice.”
“Just leave it in a dark place, or what?”
“You need to add sugar.”
“You need to add sugar. I don’t know diddly squat about making
wine.”
“I’m not sure I’m straight with the specifics either.”
“I’m sure you’re not straight,” Nelson joked, and then as soon as
he’d said it he wondered if he’d hurt Troy’s feelings. “Sorry! No
offense meant!”
“None taken. I’m not straight. It’s a fact. I’m gay. I’m open about
it. I know you didn’t mean it as a nasty dig. Why should I take
offense, buddy?”
“Thanks, buddy. After it came out of my mouth, I regretted it. I
thought I might have offended you.”
“Not at all, but thanks for being thoughtful enough to be
concerned. Anyhow, what I was saying is that I’m not sure I know
how to make wine—or whatever kind of stuff you get when you
ferment coconuts or mangos—but I aim to try.”
“How long will it take to ferment?”
“At least a month. At least. But we’ll be here three months, so
we’ll get to enjoy it.”
“Unless they pick us up early because of the unrest, the bombings,
and all that shit.”
They hadn’t talked about the world affairs. It was the elephant in
the room that neither of them had wanted to mention up until now.
“Do you think the radioactivity will spread here?” Troy asked.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
39
“I hope not. We’re far from everything. I hope we’ll be safe here.
It’s my friends back home I’m worried about. Being here may be the
best thing that happened to us. We may have ‘gotten out of Dodge’
just in time. I can’t help wondering, though—okay, worrying—about
the possibility of somebody bombing America, or even just a
radioactive cloud killing people and poisoning the food chain and the
water… I have so many friends back home. We don’t know what the
latest developments are, or what’s going to transpire over the next
little while.”
“I’m worried about my friends, too—and my family. I’m also
worried about what kind of world we’re going to return to—whenever
we finally return. What if, instead of picking us up early, they have to
delay coming to get us?”
“Then, my friend, it behooves us to learn what is edible on this
island and how to best prepare it. Speaking of which, who’s going
fishing for dinner and who’s cooking it?”
“Suppose we both do both together,” Troy answered. “I’ll be
honest and admit I’m feeling a little nervous at the moment. I
wouldn’t mind company.”
Nelson put an arm around Troy’s shoulders and squeezed. “I’m
here for you, buddy. We’re in this together.”
“Thanks, buddy. That helps.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
They went fishing and caught more than they needed for dinner.
Two of the fish were an odd species, though, and Troy suggested
photographing and then dissecting them, rather than eating them. That
still left them with more than they needed, but the oversupply wasn’t
quite as notable. “Why don’t we eat just fish for dinner and fill up
with what we’ve got,” Troy suggested. “It’s not a well-balanced meal,
but it’ll save our other supplies.”
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Diana Sheridan
“I’m pretty sure I saw a lemon tree,” Nelson said. “Back between
here and the lagoon. Let’s walk over that way—it’s not too awfully
far—and we can squeeze lemon juice on the fish.”
“Excellent.”
“We’ll go together.”
Troy squeezed his arm. Nelson understood it was a gesture of
gratitude for his understanding, and not making light of, Troy’s fears.
They found the lemon tree, which was totally loaded with fruit,
and they brought back a stash of lemons. “They’ll keep a while, and
we’ll use them fast. Lemon juice livens up so many dishes,” Nelson
said.
“Yes. It’s a good thing we’re both passable cooks.”
“I’ve never been married or lived with a woman, as I told you. It
was either learn to cook, or eat out every night.”
“Or order in pizza or nuke frozen foods.”
“You mean you’re not Domino’s best customer?” Nelson joked.
“I don’t even have them programmed into my cell phone.”
“I salute you. I must admit I have them on mine. Both Domino’s
and a local mom-and-pop pizza shop.”
“Why both?”
“Mama Cecilia’s makes better pizza—much better pizza—but it’s
also much more expensive, and they don’t deliver. It’s strictly eat in
or carry out. If I feel like spending more and going out to get it, I call
in an order to Mama Cecilia’s. Otherwise, I dial Domino’s.”
“There’s method in your madness.”
Nelson smiled, happy to hear his buddy making jokes and hoping
that meant he felt more at ease.
When they’d gone to the lake to catch dinner it had still been
early, but now, after their walking to the lemon tree, picking the fruit,
and returning, it had grown late. The sun was low in the sky. Nelson
lit a fire while Troy skinned and filleted half the fish, and when
Nelson had the fire going he worked on the other half of their catch.
They needed two skillets to hold all those fish, and each man took
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
41
one. After they’d eaten, they washed the dishes together and then got
ready for bed.
Troy was too nervous to go to sleep right away, though. They lay
in their respective sleeping bags, which, without saying anything
about it, they had pulled closer together. Nelson had left the lantern
on low, too, to banish whatever specters haunted their minds in the
darkness of night.
“So, why did you never get married?” Troy asked Nelson. “Or at
least live with a woman?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just never met the right one. What about
you? Gay marriage is legal in plenty of states now, but you’re not
even in a committed relationship—or whatever it is you gay folks
do.”
“What do gay folks do? Isn’t that the question you straights
always ask?”
“No!” Nelson said a bit defensively. “I mean, by now I think
everyone knows what gay guys do. You suck cock. You fuck each
other’s ass. You jerk each other off. And some of you are into the
more esoteric stuff, just like straights. BDSM and other ‘games.’ We
don’t have a monopoly on them, and neither do you.”
Nelson noticed his cock was rising, stiffening. He supposed
talking about sex could do that to anyone, though.
“Do you ever picture two gay guys doing it?” Troy asked softly.
“N–no.”
“Never?” he probed, his voice still soft though compelling.
“I suppose I’ve thought about it once or twice. Maybe when I was
younger. Maybe when I saw two obviously gay guys together.”
“Did you ever picture yourself doing it with another guy?” Troy’s
voice was so low it was barely audible.
“Never!”
“That was a pretty vehement denial. What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything!”
“You never worried that I would jump your bones?”
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Diana Sheridan
“N—uh—um—no, I never worried about it.”
“You never worried about it, but you thought about it?”
“What are you trying to make me say?”
“The truth, whatever it is.”
“I wondered about—well, you know—you and me being alone on
an island for three months, whether you would get so horny that you
would…you know…”
“Did you wonder about yourself? About whether you would get so
horny that you would…you know?”
Nelson thought he saw a twinkle in Troy’s eyes. Or was that just a
reflection of the lantern?
He didn’t answer the question.
“Does the term ‘situational gay’ mean anything to you?” Troy
asked.
“Nooooo.”
“It’s when guys are, for example, locked up in prison, and they
have no women. It’s either each other or their fists. And each other is
usually more attractive, not to mention more satisfying. Besides, you
can have a supportive relationship with another guy. When has your
fist ever been there for you emotionally?”
“Like you and me this afternoon?” Nelson blurted it out without
thinking and then felt himself blush.
“You’ve heard the term ‘fuck buddies’? Guys who are friends and
also give each other sexual relief.”
“But they’re really gay, not just—what did you call it?—
situational gays.”
“Usually, yes. But situational gays are a type of fuck buddy, don’t
you think? A buddy who’s a friend enough that he can help you out in
all ways, even sexual.”
“Are you suggesting that you and I become fuck buddies?”
“I think you just suggested it.”
“Me? No. I was just following where you were leading.”
“I think your mind was there some time before that.”
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
43
Nelson looked down at the floor of the tent, but in doing so he
couldn’t help noticing the “tent pole” in his sleeping bag. His dick
was up as hard and long as it ever had been.
“I think we’re already more than just buddies,” Troy went on in
his soft but compelling voice. “I think we’ve already shown each
other that we’re there for each other. More than just casual buddies.
Good buddies. Special buddies. At least. Maybe more.”
“Maybe…” Nelson agreed reluctantly.
“I think you’re as nervous about what’s going on back there in the
inhabited world as I am. You’re just stronger about it. Would you like
to share my sleeping bag? It’s big enough.”
“Is that an attempt to seduce me?”
“No. I’m scared, and I think you are, too. Of course, if anything
should happen to happen while we’re together, we could accept it as a
side benefit and enjoy it.”
Nelson was reluctant to get out of his sleeping bag and let Troy
see his hard-on, but Troy seemed to be one step ahead of him. When
Nelson stayed put, Troy said, “If you’re uptight about that erection
you’ve sprung, don’t be. I’ve seen you naked. I’ve seen your dick.
And I see now that you’ve got a woody. It’s normal. It’s natural.
Talking about sex is exciting, especially talking about any kind of sex
you think is ‘wicked’ or ‘forbidden’—and doesn’t that include gay
sex for many straights?’
Nelson nodded his head mutely.
“Now come here. And don’t be bashful. We’re buddies. We’re
friends. We’re partners in this adventure.”
Nelson could feel himself blush, but he awkwardly got out of his
sleeping bag and rushed over to Troy’s, not so much because he was
in a hurry to join Troy as because he was in a hurry to get under the
camouflage of the sleeping bag, where his hard-on wouldn’t be so
evident.
But as soon as he got into the sleeping bag, he realized he had
another problem. If he faced Troy, his hard-on would poke into him.
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Diana Sheridan
Yet he didn’t want to turn his back on him. Of course, he could lie on
his stomach, but that proved darned uncomfortable with his erection
so stiff and throbbing, so he rolled over onto his back, but now his
hard-on was tenting Troy’s sleeping bag insistently.
As he rolled over and rolled over again, Troy chuckled. “Is that
hard thing getting in your way? Forget about it! Just come here.” He
held out an arm to enfold Nelson, and Nelson, giving up and giving in
to the embarrassment his wayward dick was causing him, rolled over,
facing Troy and sighed with resignation. He soon discovered that
Troy’s dick was in the same condition his was—stiff, large, and
pulsating. It prodded Nelson’s belly and oozed droplets of crystalline
pre-cum syrup. The feel of that hard dick and its wetness against
Nelson seemed only to incite his own dick to further hardness and
more insistent throbbing.
“Just relax,” Troy said in a soothing voice. “Just relax and go with
whatever you feel.”
“But–but I’m still not sure what I’m doing here with you. You’re
a man. I’m a man. And I’m straight.”
“I believe all of us are partly gay and partly straight. There is
some of each in every one of us. It’s just that in some of us, the
attraction to the opposite sex is stronger, and in some of us the
attraction to the same sex is stronger. Given the right circumstances,
though, we can access the side we don’t usually recognize. This is just
another side of you, a side you hadn’t acknowledged up till now. It’s
part of who you are. You’re just exploring a dimension of yourself
that you hadn’t explored or even recognized before this.”
“What happens when we get back home?”
“You can go back to your previous lifestyle or continue to explore
this new one. Your choice. Nobody’s asking you for a forever
commitment to having sex with other men. You might even find that
you’re a true bisexual and that you enjoy the pleasures of both sexes.
All I want is for you to be true to yourself and go with whatever you
honestly feel and want, now and in the future.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
45
“Right now, you seem to be enjoying lying here with me. This
tells me so.” As he said “this,” he reached down and squeezed
Nelson’s hard-on. A shiver of pleasure ran right up Nelson’s spine at
the feel of Troy’s hand on his dick. When Troy let go, an involuntary
moan escaped Nelson. Troy returned his hand to Nelson’s dick, then,
and slowly began to jack it.
“Ahhhh,” Nelson purred at the feel of Troy’s hand moving the
skin of his dick back and forth. He still felt awkward, even guilty, at
enjoying this pleasure with his buddy, but there was no denying the
fact that he was enjoying it. Prickles of excitement raced through him,
and his balls buzzed.
Now Troy was nibbling at his neck, grazing it with cautious teeth.
Small thrills raced through Nelson, every single thrill ending up in his
pounding dick. “Let me show you something better than just hand
action,” Troy murmured. “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of women suck
you off, so this won’t be a totally novel experience, but I bet I do it
better than most of your past girlfriends.”
Burrowing down into the sleeping bag, Troy licked his way down
to Nelson’s dick, his tongue blazing a path from Nelson’s chin down
to the hollow of his neck, and from there to his chest. At the midpoint
of Nelson’s breastbone, Troy’s tongue took a detour and slithered
purposefully to Nelson’s nipples, first the left and then the right. At
each nipple, he swirled his tongue around the flat expanse of the
areola, then twiddled the nipple itself, working it rapidly back and
forth, flicking at it, flipping it up and down.
Nelson felt his nipples stiffening and wondered whether his nips
had always been so sexually sensitive. No woman had ever paid
attention to them before, nor had he ever teased them himself while
jacking off, and he wondered if they had always been this receptive to
stimulation without his realizing it. How long had he been missing out
on this pleasure? And were there other parts of his body that were also
pleasure centers he was ignorant of?
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Diana Sheridan
From licking, Troy now turned to nibbling, grazing his teeth over
the doorbell-like protrusions of Nelson’s nips and even lightly
chewing on them. Nelson emitted little “Uh-uh-uh-uhs” that indicated
how inflamed his sex nerves were and how hot he felt. His body was
on fire. He felt as if his entire being was one huge sex organ. There
wasn’t a part of his body that wasn’t consumed by the flames that
roared through him.
At last, Troy licked away from Nelson’s nips and resumed his
downward course. Nelson felt a mixture of emotions at that, a pang of
regret at losing out on the wonderful tit stimulation, and, at the same
time, huge excitement about what he felt was about to happen next.
The farther down Troy’s tongue slithered, the more the blood
pounded in Nelson’s head. His head was positively buzzing now, as if
a swarm of bees had invaded his cranium. Troy’s tongue was almost
to his pubic bush, and then suddenly Troy switched tactics again and
was nibbling at Nelson’s pubes, tugging at the hairs with his teeth,
creating yet another new and delightful sensation that Nelson had
never experienced before. With each tug, his blood pressure shot up,
and his already-bloated dick seemed to become impossibly further
inflated.
Now Troy’s teeth let go of Nelson’s hairs, and suddenly his
tongue was touching the base of Nelson’s dick, flicking at it, taunting
it, teasing it, and toying with it. In and out of Troy’s mouth that
tongue flickered, tantalizing Nelson’s randy cock. Finally Troy began
a slow if inexorable tongue-march up Nelson’s throbbing cock,
inching his way upward, but at the halfway point or thereabout, he
stopped his upward progress, reversed course, and tongued his way
back downward again.
Nelson emitted a groan of total frustration and utter despair. Troy
chuckled and suspended his mouthwork long enough to say,
“Patience, my friend, patience. The best things in life are not to be
rushed through—especially your introduction to man-to-man sex. The
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
47
best things in life are to be savored, slowly and appreciatively. Enjoy
it, my friend. Don’t rush it.” Then he resumed his downward track.
At the base of Nelson’s cock, Troy wrapped his lips around
precisely half of Nelson’s shaft, as if playing the flute, and then
mouthed his way back upward again, but this time his progress didn’t
come to a halt at the halfway point. This time he continued upward
until he’d reached the tip. Moving his head so that his mouth
encompassed just the crown of Nelson’s dick but held it all from the
top, not just half from the side, Troy turned on the suction and seemed
to be trying to sip out Nelson’s jizz, as if through a straw.
Nelson exhaled with pure pleasure.
Now Troy’s tongue came back into play, darting across the tingly
surface of Nelson’s corona, swabbing the skin and dipping into the
slit intermittently. He licked and lapped and laved, swirled and
swooped, and Nelson discovered a raft of nerve endings he’d never
been aware of. No woman had ever given him quite this much oral
attention or this kind of treatment, and no woman had ever elicited the
heights of response within him that Troy was bringing forth.
Troy began now to work his tongue in circles around the flange of
Nelson’s dick, rubbing it as he ran his tongue around and around.
Then he upped the ante by exhaling his moist, warm breath onto the
corona and sending sparkles of pure heat and excitement throughout
the corona that flashed straight down the shaft of Nelson’s dick.
Finally, finally, finally, he tightened the grip of his lips around the
fat, throbbing shaft and began to inch his way downward in the tiniest
of increments. Sometimes it seemed to Nelson that Troy’s lips
weren’t moving downward at all, but merely squeezing tightly around
his cock and hugging it. No matter how it seemed, however, there was
no question that his mouth was holding ever more of Nelson’s cock,
that more and more of Nelson’s dick’s flesh was encompassed in the
exciting warmth of Troy’s mouth, and that Troy was sucking harder
and harder as if to draw out Nelson’s cum by sheer force.
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Diana Sheridan
Then, all of a sudden, Troy took Nelson totally by surprise,
zipping the rest of the way down his shaft, in one swoop that landed
his lips at the base of Nelson’s dick, and squeezing tightly there.
Nelson shivered and thrust his pelvis forward as if he could jam his
dick even farther down Troy’s throat. But there was no more to give.
Troy had it all.
As he started letting Nelson’s dick back out of his mouth, Troy
worked his way upward slowly but steadily. This was not the
agonizing, excruciating slowness with which he had worked his way
down the upper half of the shaft. It simply was a measured but
discernible upward march.
When he got to the top, he stopped to swab the corona again.
Nelson could feel his syrup exiting his slit at a rapid rate. Yet he was
not on the verge of orgasm at this point. As hot as he was, something
was holding him back from coming. It might have been a desire to
make this experience last as long as possible. This was certainly the
hottest he could ever remember feeling. He suspected, however, that it
was a certain residual reticence about giving himself over
wholeheartedly to gay sex. Was he enjoying it too much? Was there
such a thing as “too much”? If he came in Troy’s mouth, would that
seal his labeling as gay—or bi or whatever label would be applicable
at that point? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
He tried to clear all thoughts, doubts, and questions out of his mind.
He tried to just focus on what was happening to him and what he was
feeling. And it was easy to do that. The sensations flooding his body
were certainly compelling.
Troy was gearing up into some serious suction now, running his
mouth insistently up and down Nelson’s dick, sucking hard as he did,
and now his tongue began trilling up and down the underside of
Nelson’s dick, licking and tantalizing, trailing and tempting, adding to
the welter of sensations that flooded not just Nelson’s dick and balls
but all of his body.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
49
It all was bringing Nelson to a rapid boil. At this rate, whether or
not he wanted to delay his orgasm so as to enjoy these sensations for
as long as possible, whether or not he was willing to fully seal his
labeling as a possibly gay or bi man, he was approaching climax.
Within a short while, he was about to explode down his co-explorer’s
throat.
His co-explorer? His buddy. His buddy? His friend. His friend?
His lover! Surely they were more than just buddies now that Troy had
latched on to Nelson’s dick with his voraciously sucking mouth, now
that Troy was about to get a mouthful of Nelson’s cream down his
gullet, and now that Nelson was about to return the favor…
That thought stopped Nelson cold. It even slowed down the
onward rush of his orgasm. Return the favor? He wondered what he
would be asked to do. Surely more than just give Troy a hand job.
Was he going to have to take Troy’s cock in his mouth? Would he be
able to do it? Was it possible he might actually enjoy it—the way he
was, to his great surprise, enjoying this?
Suddenly he was brought back to the here and now—Troy had
ratcheted up the action a notch. His hands had latched on to Nelson’s
nipples and were tweaking and teasing them. As his fingers pinched
and twiddled the stubby nubbins, his mouth continued ravenously
devouring Nelson’s throbbing hard-on. Now there was no question
but that Nelson was about to catapult into orgasm. It was imminent. It
was inescapable. It was—ahhhhh! His balls pulsated, contracted, and
powered out a healthy splash of thick jism.
Nelson felt the motion in Troy’s mouth as his throat muscles
guided the jizz down his gullet, and he sucked harder, as if that would
help drain more of the cum from Nelson’s balls. Could I do that?
Nelson wasn’t at all sure he could swallow another man’s cum, and it
seemed he was likely to need to find out anytime now. But just a few
minutes ago, he had been concerned about whether he could even take
another man’s dick in his mouth, and now he seemed to be accepting
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Diana Sheridan
that as a given, accepting as a fact that he was about to do just that
very thing.
He tried to put the worry out of his mind. He was enjoying the
postorgasmic glow and the languor that accompanied it. Troy let
Nelson’s now-limp cock flop out of his mouth, but he kissed it as it
lay flaccidly against Nelson’s thigh, and he pillowed his head on
Nelson’s belly and lay there comfortably, curled within the confines
of the sleeping bag.
They rested that way for a few minutes, Nelson still bathed in the
glow and Troy patiently relaxing. Then at last, Troy lifted up his head
as far as he could within the cramped space and said, “Do you think
you’re ready to return the favor?”
“I–I don’t know. I’m willing to try. How do you keep from
gagging?”
“Practice. That’s all. Try to relax your throat muscles, but really,
it’s just a matter of practice. You’ll get used to it in time.”
In time. You’ll get used to it in time. Then Troy expected Nelson
to keep on doing this with him. It wasn’t a one-time thing. Somehow
that thought was frightening and comforting and exciting, all three at
once. What a jumble of emotions!
Troy rearranged his body until he was lying in a normal sleeping
position in the bag, and Nelson took a deep breath and wiggled his
way down inside. He kissed his new lover’s chest, continued kissing
as he worked his way down, and finally reached Troy’s pubic forest.
He wasn’t sure he was up to tugging at the hairs with his teeth, as
Troy had done to him, but for some reason he felt drawn to Troy’s
balls. He had had women kiss and lick and suck his own balls and
knew it felt good, at least to him. Maybe Troy would enjoy some of
that treatment, too.
Cautiously he approached Troy’s sac. It smelled masculine but in
no way off-putting. Just as cautiously, he eased his tongue out of his
mouth and prodded the sac. It gave way under his poking. Troy said,
“Mmmm,” in a way that signified pleasure, which in turn pleased
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
51
Nelson. He wanted to please Troy. He wanted to make his new lover
feel good.
Inspired, Nelson suddenly buried his nose and the whole lower
half of his face in Troy’s balls. He pushed inward and found he was
actually enjoying the squishiness of the sac. Poking his tongue out
once again, he, at the same time, took as deep a breath as he could,
relishing the pheromones that emanated from Troy’s balls. Then he
spread his mouth as wide as he could and sucked a portion of those
balls into it.
Cautiously he sucked, prodded, and otherwise used his mouth to
bring pleasure to Troy by way of his sac. And from the way Troy was
reacting, groaning, and thrusting his body up and down in fuck
motions, Nelson’s mouthwork was having the desired effect. But
Nelson was mindful that up around his forehead, Troy’s swollen dick
was bobbing about, rigid and tall and eager for attention. Can I do it?
Well, he had sucked Troy’s balls—why not his dick, too?
Slowly he released his mouth’s grip on the swollen sac, but he
kept his lips in place and roughly kissed the wrinkled surface, then
continued kissing as he worked his way up and up the hair-sprinkled
skin until his lips were at the base of that towering cock. It was now
or never. It was time to see what he was capable of. But as nervous
and afraid as he was, he wanted to please Troy. He wanted to badly.
Steeling himself, he moved his lips a half inch farther, until they were
no longer on Troy’s balls but on the very base of his shaft. Then he
kissed his way upward, up and up and up, slowly doing it, seeing that
there was nothing revolting, nothing upsetting, and nothing in any
way negative about kissing a cock. Well, Troy’s cock, anyhow.
When he reached the halfway point, his lips still firmly touching
the vein-ringed shaft, he hesitantly thrust his tongue out, so that just
the very tip was touching the spongy shaft, and took a cautious taste.
It was, he decided, salty, like sweat, and a little bit metallic, but once
again there was nothing off-putting about it. Relieved and relaxed, he
touched more of his tongue to the shaft, not just the tip now but the
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Diana Sheridan
flat of his tongue as well, and licked his way slowly but steadily up
the shaft until he’d reached the tippy-top.
Now came another challenge. Troy’s cockhead was leaking pre-
cum, and Nelson wondered how it would taste and whether he could
handle it. If he could, he thought, maybe he wouldn’t be turned off by
Troy’s jism, either. Very, very cautiously, he let the tip of his tongue
dip into the pool of welling syrup. Well, the consistency was like
syrup, but the taste, he found, was rather on the bland side, with just a
hint of saltiness. It was not, however, in any way a turnoff. Much
relieved, he dragged his tongue across Troy’s cockhead, making sure
the raspiest parts of his tongue, on either side, made contact with the
corona. He knew that would give a better and hotter sensation, and he
so very much wanted to make this good for Troy.
Back and forth and round and round, he swirled his tongue on
Troy’s corona, while Troy groaned and threw his body around as
much as he could with Nelson’s face on top of him and the sleeping
bag confining his movements. Then at last, Nelson knew that it was
time for the main event—sucking. Though he was still skittish about
taking Troy’s cock in his mouth, he was determined he could do it, he
would do it, and he would do it now.
Cautiously spreading his lips, he encompassed the cockhead
within his lips’ grip and tightened his grip on the flange. Then he took
a breath and turned up the suction, simultaneously working his way
down the shaft.
Surprise! It felt good! It seemed natural. It seemed so right to take
his new lover inside him, to blend their two bodies together by
swallowing down his meaty dick and letting it slide as far down inside
him as he could. Voraciously, he attempted to engulf the entire thing
at once.
Of course, he gagged and choked. He mentally berated himself.
He should have known that would happen. “Slow” and “cautious”
were the key words. He knew he shouldn’t be so eager, so greedy. He
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
53
knew he should have taken it a little at a time. But he’d been so
desirous of doing it all, now that he’d found he could.
“Take it slow, babe,” Troy spoke up. “Easy does it.”
Nelson backed up to the tip, took it into his mouth, applied
suction, and began moving down slowly and steadily. When he got to
the point where he felt his gorge rising, he quickly backed off and
sucked his way up again until only a little more than the cockhead
remained in his mouth.
“Attaguy,” Troy said encouragingly. “That’s the way.”
Emboldened by his success, Nelson sucked his way back down
again. This time, to his surprise and pleasure, he found he was able to
take more in—in fact, a little more than three-quarters of it. When he
got to the point where he was starting to feel ready to gag, he reversed
direction and sucked upward again. Then back down. Up. Down. Up.
Down. Up and down and up and down. He had established a regular
rhythm now, and he was getting very comfortable with it.
Troy was bouncing up and down beneath him, fucking his mouth,
no longer holding back. He grabbed Nelson’s head on the sides but
didn’t in any way hold his head down or force him to take any more
of his cock than he was comfortable with. Nelson put one hand
beneath Troy’s balls and began to squeeze his sac as he sucked.
Rhythmically sucking and squeezing, he incited Troy’s balls to riot,
and in no time Troy was huffing and puffing and then warning
Nelson, “I’m gonna shoot. I’m gonna give it to you. Are you ready?”
Without letting go of his mouthful of cock, Nelson answered,
“Mm-hmm,” and he nodded his head up and down. He wasn’t really
sure he was ready to swallow a load of sperm, but he was sure he was
ready to try.
Troy uttered a strangled, “Uhhhh!” and his body thrust upward
one last time and stiffened totally, as if he were made of lumber. Then
Nelson felt a warmth pooling in his mouth on the back of his tongue.
He swallowed that first spurt quickly, as if it were bitter medicine that
he had to force down as quickly as possible without tasting it. When a
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Diana Sheridan
second spurt erupted onto his tongue, though, he became curious.
Since the first spurt had gone down without upsetting him, and since
the pre-cum he’d tasted had not been offensive, maybe he wouldn’t
object to the taste of this, either.
He let part of Troy’s cock ease out of his mouth, so that he could
more readily roll the jizz around in his mouth and cautiously taste it.
Actually, it didn’t have that much taste. It had more texture than
flavor. What flavor it did have was, like the pre-cum, slightly salty,
and slightly—well, he decided he’d call it mineralish. It was a bit
strange, and not what he’d call delicious, like a steak or ice cream, but
there was certainly nothing unpleasant about it. He decided it was an
acquired taste, but one that he could acquire.
He let it cross his tongue a few more times for good measure, but
now the jism was getting so mixed with his own saliva that it hardly
had any discernible taste anymore. It was almost with reluctance that
he finally swallowed it down. Nelson sucked greedily at the quickly
wilting cock, trying to elicit any last drops from it, but there was
nothing more left. With great sadness, he let that small part of Troy’s
dick that still remained in his mouth slide out and heaved a sigh as he
did.
“Did you want more?” Troy asked.
When Nelson answered, “Yes,” surprising himself in the process,
Troy chuckled.
“There’s plenty more where that came from. We’ll be here for
three months.” Not only did the prospect of three more months of this
fill Nelson with elation, he realized his dick was once again fully
inflated. Since it was poking into Troy’s leg, Troy noticed it, too.
“Feels like you’re ready for more action,” he observed, reaching
down to Nelson’s swollen cock to make his meaning clear. “Too bad
we didn’t bring any rubbers with us.”
“Actually, I had a test after my last girlfriend broke up with me,”
Nelson said. “I’m clean. But we just had sex without rubbers. What’s
the issue now?”
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
55
“I’m tested and clean, too,” Troy reported jubilantly, “and I
wasn’t thinking of more sucking. There are other things guys can do
together, too, you know.”
Yes, he did know, now that he thought about it. Once again,
though, he was reluctant. While the ick factor didn’t figure into anal
sex the way it did with oral sex, what about the pain factor? Troy
momentarily assuaged his fears by saying, “You’ve got the hard-on.
You do the honors. My ass is at your disposal. But we didn’t bring
lube with us either—or at least, I know I didn’t, and I assume you
didn’t either.”
“Uh-uh,” Nelson confirmed.
“We’ll have to use natural lube, then,” Troy said, and when
Nelson said, “Huh?” Troy replied, “Spit. If you aren’t comfortable
licking my asshole, use your finger to transfer it.”
Well, Nelson’s father had had an expression he had often used,
“In for a nickel, in for a dime,” meaning, “If you’re doing something
halfway, you might as well do it whole hog.” His dick was not only
up as hard and swollen as ever but was leaking pre-cum at a rapid
rate, yet he somehow suspected that would not be enough lube to ease
his way into Troy’s asshole without an unpleasant burning sensation,
and perhaps not only for Troy but for himself as well. Yes, spit was
definitely called for, and if his father’s way of looking at things was
right, he might as well deposit the spit there himself directly, without
using his finger as an intermediary.
He was still under the covers of the sleeping bag, not having come
out from within its confines after swallowing down Troy’s jizz. Just
as Troy had done with him, he had rested his head on Troy’s belly
after swallowing down Troy’s jism. “Roll over,” he said in a husky
voice, lifting up his head to allow Troy the freedom to move.
Instead, Troy crawled out from the sleeping bag and lay atop it. “I
don’t think there’s room enough inside there for you to fuck me,” he
said, laughing. “But if you want to do anything to me now, have at it.”
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Diana Sheridan
Slithering out from the sleeping bag himself, Nelson hesitantly
positioned himself adjacent to Troy’s butt. In the soft glow of the
lantern, Troy’s pale ass cheeks glowed almost white. Nelson looked
down at them, parted the two globes with his hand, and slowly,
cautiously approached the cleft between them. Extending his tongue,
he barely touched down on Troy’s asshole. Immediately on making
contact, he quickly withdrew his tongue and held it perfectly still in
his mouth to give himself a chance to react to the taste.
It was tangy but by no means offensive. Much relieved, Nelson
thrust his tongue out more boldly this time and took a good solid
swipe across Troy’s asshole, once again pausing to acclimate to the
taste. Once again he found he was okay with it, so now he set to work
endeavoring to lube Troy up properly. Gathering saliva in his mouth,
Nelson put his tongue to Troy’s puckered opening and deposited the
saliva there. Then, emboldened, he started trying to work the saliva
into the wrinkled entrance.
As his tongue darted in and out of the clench of Troy’s puckered
back door, Troy squirmed in heat. Faster and faster, stronger and
stronger, and ever more insistently, Nelson’s tongue delved into
Troy’s butthole. Finally he deemed him ready for entry. “What’s the
best position for this? I think you’re ready,” he said to Troy.
“Usually either doggie or with the guy on his back who’s getting
fucked. I’m good either way. Do you have a preference?”
“How does it work with you on your back? Won’t you be lying on
where I need to get into?”
“I lift my legs up, like this.” Troy rolled over onto his back, lifted
up his legs, and grasped his thighs with his hands to hold them up in
place. His winking puckerhole came into view.
“I guess that’ll work,” Nelson said, positioning his dick at Troy’s
anal entrance. He pushed gently, but it was like he was pushing
against a brick wall.
“Push harder. Don’t be afraid. You won’t hurt me—or yourself.
I’m used to this, and your dick is a lot stronger than you think. Put the
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
57
tip of your dick right up against my asshole and then push inward.
You’ll get it.”
Nelson followed instructions and, with a great deal of effort,
managed to get the corona of his cock inside the tight grip of Troy’s
sphincter muscle.
“That’s it,” Troy encouraged. “You’re in. Now you just have to
push the rest of the way in and then fuck me. Do it.”
Again following instructions, Nelson pushed inward and buried
his cock to the hilt inside his fellow explorer. He felt a bit of
trepidation now. When he pulled his dick back out, would it look
dirty? But it didn’t. It was quite clean-looking. Much relieved, Nelson
fucked back inward again, then out and in and out again steadily.
Troy’s ass was warm and welcoming, and the tender tissues clung
to Nelson’s marauding dick as he thrust inward over and over again. It
was tighter, hotter, and more exciting than any pussy he had ever
fucked. With every push in or pull outward, Troy’s sphincter
squeezed his dick tight, and his inner walls rippled as they hugged his
plunging cock.
Nelson realized that in this position he could easily reach Troy’s
nipples to tease and toy with them. Balancing on his left arm, he used
his right hand to tweak Troy’s left nip. He pinched the tender nubbin
and flicked his fingertip rapidly back and forth across it. Troy
moaned, grimaced—though clearly not in pain—and hunched his
body faster beneath Nelson’s fast-fucking body.
As his face contorted with heat and need, his changing expression
caught Nelson’s eye. Nelson found himself looking into his new
lover’s eyes and felt a warmth stirring in him that came from their two
souls connecting. It was not lust but a deeper emotion, and the
suddenness of it took Nelson completely by surprise. He knew he had
been feeling a closeness with his buddy that came from being alone
with him on an island, far from civilization, and interdependent. As
well, their connection as buddies had deepened over their many
months of working together back home before coming to Honlera. He
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Diana Sheridan
also recognized that he’d been experiencing warmer and more heart-
stirring feelings for Troy lately, but the suddenness and intensity of
what rose inside him now caught him totally by surprise.
As a result, he felt as if he were falling through Troy’s eyes and
into a place somewhere deep in his soul as he fucked him with fervor.
Troy looked up at him and, despite his twisted expression, born of
a strong need, Troy’s eyes bored into Nelson’s soul, and Troy smiled
warmly at him. “Feeling good, babe?” he asked.
“Feeling good,” Nelson affirmed, grunting with exertion as he
spoke.
Troy rocked beneath him. The position precluded strong motions,
but Troy fucked up and down as much as he could, while Nelson
drove into him determinedly, still tweaking Troy’s nips. Troy was
growing a renewed hard-on. It was stiffening, straightening, and
growing ever fatter under Nelson’s fascinated gaze. Was getting
fucked just as erotic as fucking? It certainly appeared that way!
Nelson would have thought it would hurt, but it was clear to him that
Troy was getting very hot from having his ass plumbed by Nelson’s
dick.
Nelson was certainly blazing hot himself. He had no doubt that
the tightness with which Troy’s sphincter gripped him had something
to do with it, but he was hotter than that alone could account for. Did
it have something to do with the current that was flowing between his
eyes and Troy’s, between his soul and Troy’s?
If he wasn’t sure of the answer to that question, he was dead
certain of one thing—his orgasm was imminent, and it was going to
be a doozy! He was starting to see red splotches before his eyes,
which kept closing despite his best efforts to keep them open. He
didn’t want to stop looking into Troy’s eyes. He didn’t ever want to
stop looking into Troy’s eyes. But it was getting harder and harder to
keep his own eyes open. Finally he stopped fighting it and let his eyes
close, as they insisted on doing.
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
59
His balls rumbled, then contracted. He felt them draw up into his
body, and then he sensed his cum rushing through his dick and out,
spraying within Troy. Unable to hold himself up on one arm any
longer in his postorgasmically weakened state, he collapsed on top of
Troy, who lowered his legs, put his arms around Nelson, and held him
in an embrace that, to Nelson’s surprise, he welcomed and did not feel
at all strange about. In fact, he felt impelled to kiss Troy. He kissed
him on the chin, not on the lips, but still it was a display of affection,
of emotion, not of lust.
As he relaxed on top of Troy, contented in his lover’s arms,
Troy’s hard-on twitched and throbbed where it lay trapped between
their two bodies. Nelson felt it swelling, felt it drooling pre-cum, and
felt it pulsating randily between them. He wondered if Troy meant to
do to him next what he had just done to Troy, and if so, how badly it
would hurt.
As if he were reading Nelson’s mind, Troy murmured, “You
know what’s next, don’t you?”
“You fuck me?” Nelson, hearing the quiver in his own voice,
realized just how nervous he was at the prospect.
“You win first prize with that lucky guess!” Troy teased. Then,
sounding much more serious, he asked, “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Get in position, then.”
He opted for the same position Troy had chosen, for the simple
reason that it would enable him to look into his lover’s eyes while
Troy was fucking him. Maybe if he fell into their depths again, it
wouldn’t hurt as much when Troy entered him, or at least he wouldn’t
mind it as much if it did hurt.
Troy lay flat on his belly with his face adjacent to Nelson’s
asshole and thrust out his tongue to lube that sphincter up. Unlike
Nelson, Troy had no hesitancy and got right to it, lapping at Nelson’s
wrinkled sphincter and laving it eagerly. Nelson wriggled at the
incendiary feel of that snake of a tongue touching down on his pursed
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opening. Whether or not getting fucked would hurt, getting licked was
certainly hotly exciting.
Next, the serpentine tongue intruded within the grip of Nelson’s
sphincter, touching the nerves inside. It fucked in and out of his tight
asshole, getting him good and wetly lubed all over. Then the slithery
tongue withdrew, and Nelson clenched his thighs with his fingers
tightly in apprehension of what would be next. Troy rearranged
himself on the bed, and then Nelson felt the head of his dick poke and
prod at his newly wet opening.
At that, Nelson tightened up. Troy apparently either felt it or saw
it or sensed it. “Relax,” he urged him. “It won’t be that bad, but it’ll
be easier if you don’t fight it. Now, it’s going to burn when I push it
in, but just ride it out. I promise the pain will ease up.”
Nelson decided he had to trust Troy, and he tried to relax as much
as he could, which was easier said than done. Troy gave a sudden
lunge and buried the leading third of his dick up Nelson’s asshole.
Whoo! It smarted for sure! It burned like a son of a bitch, he thought.
But Nelson focused on relaxing, and just as Troy had told him, the
burning pain began to recede, to ebb, and to calm down. Troy
cautiously pushed what felt like another couple of inches inside
Nelson, but that didn’t burn nearly as badly. “How are you doing,
babe?” he asked solicitously.
“Okay. Okay.” And he meant it.
With that reassurance, Troy began to slowly pump in and out of
Nelson’s ass, his fat cock spreading Nelson’s sphincter wide and
rubbing nerve endings Nelson had never imagined he had. As Troy
plunged deeper with every instroke, Nelson looked in his eyes. This
doesn’t hurt much now, and on top of that, it actually feels good. I am
with someone I really care about, and that makes it all right. It’s
almost like I love him. A little pain isn’t that awful, and besides, it
really doesn’t hurt much at all now.
After his having gotten off twice in the last short while, Nelson’s
dick wasn’t inflating again, but despite the fact that he didn’t have
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
61
another hard-on, he was feeling very good indeed. As Troy stuffed his
ass with his fat cock, Nelson rocked back and forth beneath him. Then
Troy surprised him by leaning down and kissing him right on the lips!
A second later and Troy’s tongue was intruding into Nelson’s mouth,
darting in and out in fuck motions.
That caused Nelson’s dick to stir. Although still mostly flaccid, it
was showing some signs of renewed life. But before it had a chance to
fully inflate, Troy began showing every sign of being on the verge of
orgasm. His breathing became short and shallow, he began emitting
little grunts and groans of effort, and his eyes became glassy, as if
they no longer saw Nelson. Nelson felt he could no longer see into
their depths. “I’m gonna–I’m gonna give it to you,” Troy said with
labored breaths.
“Do it!” Nelson urged him, digging his fingernails into Troy’s
shoulders. Having let go of his thighs to grab Troy’s shoulders, he had
to keep his legs up on their own, without his hands holding them, but
he was limber enough to manage. Then Troy let out a mighty groan,
threw himself forward, and collapsed on top of Nelson. Nelson could
feel Troy’s dick pulsing inside his anal passage. It was an odd
sensation, but he found he liked it. Although he knew Troy’s dick was
spending its jizz, he couldn’t actually feel the liquid spurt out, but it
was enough just to know. He felt it bonded him and his lover closer
together. He had something of Troy’s inside him now, something that
would remain behind even when Troy’s dick exited his ass. He threw
his arms around Troy and hugged him tightly to him.
Afterward, they crammed together in Troy’s sleeping bag for the
night, having mutually agreed that they wanted to remain physically
close for the entire night. “What was your first time with another man
like?” Nelson asked.
“Different from yours,” Troy replied. “I always knew I was gay. I
didn’t have such a hurdle to overcome as you did. But I’m proud of
you.”
“Are you saying I’m gay?” It was a question, not a challenge.
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Diana Sheridan
“Gay, bi, straight—they’re just convenient labels that make it easy
to pigeonhole people, or ourselves, but sometimes they can be too
restrictive. I told you before, I think we’re all partly gay and partly
straight. It’s just a question of degree, of which side of you is
stronger. It can also be a matter of circumstance. Right now, the gay
part of you had an opportunity to be true to itself. That doesn’t
necessarily mean you’ll never fuck another woman again when we get
back to civilization. On the other hand, maybe you won’t.”
“Maybe I won’t,” Nelson echoed. “I think that’s going to depend
on where you are. If you’re still around and if you’re still interested, I
think I want to be with you.”
“That suits me to a T,” Troy said. He already had an arm around
Nelson, and now he gave him a one-armed hug and held him tight.
Nelson basked in the outpouring of warmth he felt—warmth and, dare
he think it, love?
“What if the whole world blows up?” Nelson asked, voicing a fear
that had been gnawing at him since they’d talked to Rik over the
shortwave that morning.
“Then at least we’ve had this night together. I always live each
day as if it might be my last because I know one of these days, even if
it’s fifty years from now, I’ll be right. I don’t postpone
responsibilities, and I don’t postpone pleasures—as long as they’re
not at the expense of anyone else. Don’t you agree that’s wise? I think
you do. I think that’s part of the reason you let me make love to you
tonight.”
“Maybe,” Nelson said, thinking it over carefully. But it was hard
to think when he was suddenly so sleepy. All that sex had been both
tiring and relaxing, and now, though he fought it, he was falling
asleep. He wanted to remain awake a while longer, though, aware of
the closeness of Troy’s body, aware of Troy’s arm holding him close,
aware of Troy’s rhythmic breathing so close to his ear, aware of the
fact that he had just done something that he now thought was bold and
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63
brave. If he were alone in his own sleeping bag, though, it might
strike him as foolish.
“When we get back home, you’ll still be—we’ll still be together?”
Nelson asked.
“I’ll always be with you, and I’ll always be there for you.”
“And I’ll always be with you and always be there for you. I know
I can depend on you. You’ve shown me that all along, starting back
home when we were working together. I knew that about you all
along.”
“I feel the same about you,” Troy answered, “and that’s a good
basis for a relationship—any kind of relationship—friend, best friend,
relative, or lover.”
“Mm-hmm,” Nelson answered and finally succumbed to his
sleepiness, drifting off in Troy’s embrace.
Nelson slept straight through until morning, when he woke up to
find himself still with Troy’s arm around him. He remembered the
events of the night before, and though he had one momentary flash of
panic, thinking, what have I done, the feeling was almost immediately
replaced by a growing glow of warmth toward the man he was lying
with, a growing glow of an emotion that Nelson felt had to be love.
He lay there until Troy stirred, opened his eyes, and kissed him
good morning. It was still dark out, but they’d left the lantern turned
low all night, and it cast enough light for Nelson and Troy to see each
other. They got up then and made ready for breakfast, fresh-caught
fish from the ocean this time, rather than from the lake. Once again
they fished together and then cooked together, rather than dividing up
the chores. It just seemed so much more companionable this way.
At the appointed hour they gathered at the shortwave radio, almost
afraid of what they would hear. It was worse than they had feared.
They couldn’t reach Rik at the base at all, though they did manage to
learn, from other sources, that North Korea had bombed San
Francisco and Los Angeles, the whole Middle East was engulfed in
war, anarchists had set off bombs in Washington DC and New York,
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Diana Sheridan
and a militant Islamist faction had set off “dirty bombs” in
Minneapolis, New Orleans, Denver, Boston, and Miami.
“And I always thought Cuba would destroy Miami first,” Nelson
commented with a humorless laugh.
“Let’s stay close to the radio today,” Troy suggested.
“Just stay here and monitor it all day, or go out and do our work
but come back often and check?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I think I’m scared,” Nelson admitted.
“We still have each other,” Troy reminded him. At that, they
kissed, but Nelson’s fear was in no way diminished. No matter how
much he loved Troy—and yes, he was willing to concede to himself
now that he loved his fellow explorer—that didn’t make up for the
fact that their world was crumbling.
“What if they never come to get us?” Nelson asked, his voice
quavering slightly.
“We have the inflatable raft,” Troy reminded him. As a
contingency measure, the expedition’s planners had included that item
among their supplies, and it lay in the supply tent now.
“Yes, but do you really think we can cross the whole big ocean in
it?”
“Debatable.”
“More to the point, we’d be sailing right into the radiation zone.”
“You think the radiation clouds won’t come here?” Troy asked.
“I can’t say for sure. It depends on which way the upper level
winds are blowing. But I’d say we have a fair shot at avoiding them.
We’re so far from any of the places that were bombed, we might just
escape the radiation.”
“You mean we might be safer staying here for awhile?”
“Or even indefinitely.”
“Our future looks very uncertain,” Troy said.
“Our future is the two of us together. My future is you.”
“My future is you.”
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
65
They set about trying to get a few things done. There were the
breakfast dishes to wash, and they’d decided it was laundry day, too,
so after they did the dishes in the lake, they washed out their clothes
in the ocean and hung them to dry on the nearby bushes. Then they
checked the radio again. The news was not good. A total melee had
erupted across the world. Even Switzerland, neutral Switzerland, had
been attacked. And they still couldn’t reach Rik or anyone else at
base.
“Let’s catch some fish for lunch,” Nelson suggested, though it
was only ten fifteen and hardly time for lunch yet. But they were too
nervous to do any of the work they had come to Honlera Island to
accomplish, and sitting there listening to the reports on the shortwave
radio was only exacerbating their agitated, fretful state.
As if Mother Nature was showing them the abundance they could
count on as long as they stayed on Honlera, the catch was
exceptionally good. They caught enough fish for lunch and dinner
both, and they left half of them on a line in the lagoon, to be retrieved
when it got close to dinnertime.
“I don’t suppose the coconut wine or mango wine is fermented
yet?” Nelson said hopefully.
“Not a chance,” Troy answered.
“I sure wouldn’t mind a little of that right now.”
“Neither would I, but forget it—you’re at least a month too early.”
They returned to the shortwave radio. Once again, though, the
news was not good. Detroit was in flames. Rioters, their actions
incited by the worldwide carnage, had taken over the city and were
burning it down. Thousands of people were dead, including many of
those who had started the trouble in the first place. Overseas, bombs
had decimated Rome, Berlin, Bonn, Madrid, Lisbon, Paris, London,
and, according to the fellow in Australia with whom they had made
contact and who was feeding them the information, Tokyo.
“Tokyo?” Nelson asked incredulously. “How did they get
involved?”
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“China bombed them,” said the Aussie. “Everybody has gotten
into the act. The US bombed Beijing two hours ago. Nobody has
bombed any part of Australia yet, but I suppose we’re next. It seems
almost inevitable. The whole world has gone mad.” He sounded glum
and resigned. “The information I’m getting is sketchy. It’s
increasingly hard to make contact with anyone. The Internet seems to
be totally down. Very few phones are working—and that goes for
both cells and landlines. Of course, Skype and all the other internet-
based phones went down with the internet.”
“Oh my God,” was all Nelson could say.
By now it was one thirty, and they hadn’t had lunch yet, but they
were glued to the shortwave radio. Finally Nelson said, “I’ll go make
lunch. You stay here and monitor the reports.”
He went out and picked up the half of their catch that they’d
brought back from the lagoon with them, and he skinned and filleted
the fish, started a fire going, and cooked them in the skillet. Two
potatoes, which he home-fried in a separate pan in a little oil from the
supply tent, completed the meal, and when he had it ready, he brought
two plates into the tent so that he and Troy could listen to the radio
while they ate.
“Any news?” he asked as he sat down in one of the camp chairs.
“More of same,” Troy replied, sounding utterly depleted of hope.
“We’d better start learning which of the vegetation on the island is
edible,” Nelson observed. “I have a strong feeling we’re not going to
be picked up on time.”
“I’m not sure we’re going to be picked up ever.”
“If we can’t make contact with Rik—well, how many days do we
wait before we give up and try to make contact with someone else
who can come for us?”
“You mean, put our proverbial thumbs out over the shortwave and
see if we can hitch a ride back to civilization with someone else?”
Troy asked.
“Do you have a better plan?”
Survivors Stranded in the South Pacific
67
“Where in civilization will we be safe from the radiation?”
“Suppose we find out and go there? It sounds like Australia at
least hasn’t been bombed yet.”
“But are we sure they’re not in the path of the radiation?”
It turned out to be a moot point. The next time they tried to make
contact with the fellow in Australia, he wasn’t there.
“Maybe he went to bed or to the bathroom or out to pick up some
take-out food or to work or…” Troy said, but every effort to contact
him throughout the rest of the afternoon proved fruitless. They did
pick up a transmission from someone speaking a language that might
as well have been Swahili or Croatian for all they could understand of
it. Then he, too, fell silent.
By dinnertime the radio was completely silent, and the couple ate
their dinner morosely. Troy briefly mentioned the inflatable raft
again, but Nelson said, “Even if we could safely sail all the way to
civilization—or what used to be civilization—and even if the
mushroom cloud didn’t get us, what are the odds of our finding
anyone alive?”
Troy had to admit he had a point.
They monitored Rik’s frequency and the Australian dude’s
frequency with no luck. They scanned the rest of the dial with a
similar lack of success. It was past their usual bedtime when they
finally gave up and went to bed, though they left the radio turned on
in case any voices would filter through the night and wake them up.
None did.
In the morning they got up and, looking ahead to lunch, decided to
shoot some animals for a change from all the fish they’d been eating.
Troy went fishing for breakfast while Nelson went hunting for lunch.
They met back at the campsite, and Troy skinned and filleted the fish
and then cooked them, while Nelson skinned and gutted the animals
and set up the stewpot, ready to go on the fire when the skillet came
off.
68
Diana Sheridan
There was no sign of civilization on the radio. None at all. Had the
whole world blown up? Was all of the world’s population wiped out?
They didn’t know, and they had no way to find out.
“We’ll keep monitoring the radio till we run out of batteries for
it,” Nelson said firmly, “and that won’t be for quite a few months at
least. We may be able to pick up someone on the radio who can come
and get us or can send someone else who can.”
“Maybe Rik will yet pop up,” Troy said, though Nelson could tell
his cheery voice was filled with false bravado.
“We have enough food and water to last indefinitely if nobody
comes to get us,” Nelson put in.
“And we have each other,” Troy added, standing up next to
Nelson and slipping an arm around his waist.
“Yes, we have each other.”
“If we’re stranded here, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be
stranded with,” Troy said, squeezing Nelson’s waist.
“Me, too. Maybe someone will come to get us yet. It isn’t
hopeless. But if nobody does, we’ll still have our own little paradise,
and we’ll still have each other.”
“Yes,” said Troy, and he turned to face Nelson for a full-on kiss,
which Nelson returned enthusiastically.
“We’ll still have each other, no matter what the future brings us.”
“Always,” said Troy. “Always.”
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
No stranger to male/male stories, Diana Sheridan edited gay male
sexzines for the better part of two decades under the nom de plume of
“Dan Maxwell.” Though “Diana Sheridan” isn’t her true name either,
it does reflect her true gender. In her own name, she has had
numerous books published both in print and as e-books, is an
accomplished editor of both books and magazines, and is comfortable
switching gears to go from serious nonfiction to erotica in her work.
Diana lives with her Significant Other, who is fully aware of and
supportive of the many facets of her career.
For all titles by Diana Sheridan, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/diana-sheridan
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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