Micah's Island (6 page)

Really—did it matter if we had sex? 
He’d obviously been here a long time.  I was probably stuck here too. I really
had nothing to go back to. Was it wrong for us to share our bodies? Who would
care? Who even knew we were here? I didn’t think we needed to live by the
restrictions that polite society places on people, especially if it was just
going to be the two of us for the duration.

I still felt like I had to find out more
about him first.  I had to see if he had a name. I had to know
something
about him before I was intimate with him. It was no longer a matter of
if
,
but
when
.  He was starting to get under my skin. A lot. In a very good
way.

He let me have the hammock that night. 
He slept just below me on the deck.  I don’t think I closed my eyes at all. I
kept staring down through the netting at the gorgeous naked man sleeping on the
floor.

Breakfast was coconut milk and some
other round, greenish fruit that I’d never seen before.  They were very good. Sweet
and juicy.

He cracked open the top of the coconuts
with a hatchet, which surprised the hell out of me.  Where had he gotten a
hatchet? 

I asked him, knowing I wouldn’t get a
verbal response, but this time I wasn’t giving up until I got some kind of an
answer.  I think he finally understood what I wanted, because he pulled me to
the edge of the deck and pointed down into the sand.

It was like his personal junkyard out
there, though I didn’t think it was junk to him.  There were boat propellers,
several old wooden trunks, various scraps of wood, bits of angle iron, rope, and
some chain.

“Where did you get this stuff?” I asked
him.

 He jumped down off the edge of the
deck, then reached up and took me around the waist, lifting me down beside him.
I wandered around looking at all of it, talking to him as I did so.

 “Do you have a name?”   I got no answer,
of course.  I tried a different angle.

I put my hands to my chest and said
carefully, “Gee-ah-na. My name is Gee-ah-na.”

A light seemed to come on in his eyes,
but all he could manage to say was “Gee.”

I felt like I was on the edge of a
breakthrough.

“Yes, yes!” I said.  “You can call me
Gee if you want to.  Gee-ah-na.  Gianna.”

“Gee”, he replied.

So far, so good! He was getting it!

I put my hands on his chest and said “Your
name?  Is it…David? George?  Robert?  Peter? Michael?”

He shuddered when I said the name
Michael.  His eyes grew wide, his lips trembled a little.

“Michael?  Is that it?  Is that your
name?” I was really excited now!

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me over
to an old steamer trunk, one corner buried in the sand.  Twisting the small key
in the lock in the front, he threw the curved lid up and looked up at me with
an expression that I can only describe as pleading.

“Is there something in here you want me
to see?”

He vigorously dug around in the trunk,
finally coming up with what looked like an old photo album.  There were a few
colored pages of construction paper sticking out of it.  It looked as though it
had gotten wet quite a few times.

I sat down in the sand.  He sat down
across from me, elbows on his knees, and leaned forward expectantly.

I slowly opened the book.  What I found
broke my heart.

There were many faded Polaroid pictures
of a man and a woman holding a small boy. Some of the pictures also had a
little girl in them. The boy in the pictures was clearly the man who sat before
me. 

“Is this you?”

He pointed at himself in the picture, then
poked his chest.  Yes, it was him.

“This is your mother and father? Your
sister?”

He didn’t understand that at all, but I
knew, given the proud smiles on their faces that they must be his parents. The
clothes they wore and their hairstyles dated the picture to sometime in the
early 1980’s. (The Chevy Citation in some of the pictures was also a good
clue!) That would make him at least 30 years old, probably more like 33 or 34.

“God, how long have you been here?” I
whispered. Was he the only survivor of a shipwreck?  Had the child raised
himself to manhood alone on this island?

He pulled at the edge of the
construction paper that was sticking out of the middle of the album.  I opened
the album to that page.

Various pictures, drawn in crayon by the
hand of a child, fell out into my lap.  One of them was a stick figure drawing
of a man, a woman, an older boy, and a younger girl.  A dog and cat completed
the family grouping. 

I caught my breath. Scrawled across the
bottom in blue crayon was a name. 

I looked up at him.  Goosebumps rose all
over me.

“Micah?  Is your name Micah?”

He grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled
me up roughly, and gave me the bear hug of my life. Everything that had been in
my lap tumbled into the sand as he squeezed the breath out of me.

He could hug me as hard as he wanted. He
finally had a name.  He was Micah.

~***~

He had a lot of interesting stuff out
there in his junkyard.  I found rusty spoons, knives, and forks, previously
waterlogged books, and a couple of old life jackets. Also a machete and a
smaller fileting knife—I thought those would be very useful. I was amused to
see he had a collection of fishing lures.  Poor guy probably didn’t even know
what they were. Empty bottles of various colors littered the sand. Amongst them
was the horn of an old Victrola record player.

 I wondered how he managed to stay clean
shaven.  Now I knew.  I found a broken mirror propped up against a palm tree,
and a box of shaving implements.

 The contents of the wooden box were
amusing. Represented within it was at least a hundred years of shaving; it was
like a shaving museum.  There were antique razors like my grandfather used to have;
the kind where you unscrew the bottom and the top flips open for a double edged
razor blade. I also found three salt-encrusted electric Norelcos from various
decades, and several dozen unopened packages of Bic disposables.  Now where in
the hell had
those
come from? And who taught him how to shave?  In any
case, finding the razors was a boon to me.  Now I could shave my own legs and
underarms.

 I also found a broken comb and a man’s
hair brush made out of tortoise shell. Sadly, I didn’t find any soap or
shampoo. For a while there, as I snooped through his stuff, I thought I was
going to be able to have my cake and eat it too.

A wicker sewing basket half buried in
the sand caught my attention. It was full of old ivory and bone buttons of
various sizes.  At least a dozen old-fashioned wooden spools of various colors
of thread were tossed around inside. I also found some very rusty needles. I
could use them if I had to.

I was ecstatic to find an old trunk full
of clothing.  I pulled out a beautiful blue length of fabric printed with
hibiscus flowers—a sarong!  I chortled with glee and did a happy dance in the
sand.  Micah jumped down off the deck, took my hands, and danced with me.  I
threw my arms around his neck, and hugged him hard before I wrapped the sarong
around me.

Micah was an adorable man.  There was no
pretense in him at all.  He was completely without guile, no head games, no
how-fast-can-I-get-her-out-of-her-clothes-then-dump-her
bullshit.  Any man who looked like him back on Tiago was conceited as hell.
Not Micah. He wanted nothing from me but my company. He was the sweetest thing,
and a welcome breath of fresh air to me. I’d seen enough of the dating game
meat grinder back on Tiago.

He must’ve enjoyed my kisses on the
beach.  He kept stepping in front of me, and staring at my mouth.   I gave him
a couple more, but nothing too wicked.

 It had truly been a wonderful day.  I
decided I had a surprise for him later. I was going to take a peek into
Pandora’s Box.

~***~

I sat next to him under the arbor as the
sun disappeared on the horizon and a bright silver moon took over the sky. I
could hear the surf pounding on the beach, a few birds continued to chirp in
the palms.  On a night like this back on Tiago, I might have gone to the beach
alone with a piña colada to collect my thoughts. 

 I was so glad I wasn’t alone.  Micah
had quickly become my anchor in a world gone mad. Knowing his name completed
things for me. He was mine now.  

I wanted him badly, but I thought I
better start small.  What would sex seem like to someone who didn’t know a
thing about it?  I didn’t want to freak him out. 

The night was black; the moonlight gave
luster to outline but not detail.

I took the sarong off and moved to sit
between his legs.  He allowed me to do so. He grunted a little, a question.  I
pulled his arms around me and cuddled up against his chest. He was warm; he had
a musky male scent, and I inhaled him deeply into my nostrils. 

I turned a little in his arms and began
to run my hands over his chest and abs. I could hear his breathing quicken. I
dug my nails in just a little, before I flicked my fingers over his nipples. 
He grunted again and shifted under me.  I could feel his hardness against my hip. 

Slowly, deliciously, I slid down his
body.  My hand found his cock, and he jerked as though he’d been shot. He
didn’t stop me though. 

I slid the rest of the way down and
turned my head between his legs. He opened them a little wider with a slight groan,
giving me plenty of room to work.

 The pungent scent of him was especially
strong near his balls.  I ran my nose up the little line that separated his
sack and inhaled again. God, I
love
that smell. He jerked and quivered;
I smiled in the darkness. I was about to give him a night he’d
never
forget.

He was really gasping now. His hips
bucked under me as I ran my tongue slowly around his balls.   He put his hands
on both sides of my head and tried to pull me down on him, but I resisted.

“Easy, gorgeous man,” I whispered. “You
have to be patient.”

I cupped his sack gently in my hands as
I ran my tongue up and down the length of him.  His balls were full and heavy
with cum for me.  I was going to make sure I drained him of every delicious
drop.

I knelt in front of him, gripped him
with both hands, and took him into my mouth, running my tongue around and over
the head of his cock.  He made the loudest sound I’d ever heard him make,
somewhere between a moan and a cough.   

He flung his legs out straight, tipped
his hips up to me, and went limp, his head falling back against the arbor post.
He put one hand lightly, almost weakly, on the top of my head as I sucked him.

I took my time with him. I got into the
rhythm ever so slowly, up, down, up, down, wet and warm. I fondled his balls as
I sucked him. He sounded like he was dying. I chuckled a little around him.

I know the physical signs of a man
getting ready to explode. They get just a little harder, a little fatter in
your mouth; their balls draw up slightly into their body.  He wasn’t going to
be able to stand much more of me.

I sat up just as I felt him pulse in my
mouth.  He cried out, his hips lifting off the deck as I jacked him; hot cum
shot out like a geyser all over his stomach and down my hand.  He collapsed,
his breathing hoarse and labored.

I was really,
really
wet.  I
slipped my hand down between my legs, content to give myself a quick O. I never
had the chance. He jumped up on his haunches, grabbed me by the shoulders, and
pushed me down flat on my back.

He was a quick study, my Micah. One hand
went unerringly to my pussy.  He dipped into my wetness, playing and pushing
over my folds.  His other hand lightly caressed a breast.  He dropped his mouth
down over mine just as I’d done to him the night before. Roman candles went off
in my head, sparks flew behind my eyes. It felt so
fucking good
. You can
bet it didn’t take more than a minute for me to arch my back in a screaming
orgasm myself.

He was gasping. I was gasping.
Holy
shit, what the hell was
that
?
I thought. 

Pandora’s Box, indeed. I’d opened it,
alright. He didn’t want to let me go. He literally
physically
did not
want to let me out of his arms after that.

We spent the night together in the
hammock, embraced in a tangle of limbs, smelling like sex. He gave me another
good going over with his hands and fingers, finally falling asleep with his
face buried in my hair. I drifted off into blissful slumber as well.

The next morning we woke up, nearly strangled
ourselves getting out of the damned hammock, and had a breakfast of fruit,
fruit, and more fruit.  I was jonesing for a rib-eye or something.  French
fries.  Pizza!

I wrapped the sarong around me, and we
walked to the pool. We played and splashed for what felt like hours.  He was
laughing out loud more and more. It was a delightful sound, and my heart soared
every time he did it.