Patient Blue
The Island

As it neared the rock strewn beach the raft overturned. Pete and Trude thrashed in the foaming surf trying to plant their feet on the shifting wave churned shingle and make it to solid dry land. The sea, although rough, did not feel cold and with effort they both made it ashore and collapsed onto the beach exhausted. They lay shivering and panting just above the tide line silent, contemplative and scared. Pete was the first to stand up and look around.

The island, although fairly small seemed larger than expected now they had landed and the hill that dominated the centre must have risen some three hundred feet above the level of the surf. A good look out point, thought Michael. The shack they had seen from the raft appeared totally abandoned and derelict. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

‘look there.’ Trude pointed to the three large dark shapes they had earlier noticed from the raft. ‘I think they are whales, beached, let’s look.’

As they approached, they could see that they were indeed beached whales. ‘Humpback’s, maybe Right’s,’ said Trude. Perhaps their navigation was affected, like the plane and they got confused and then stranded. I think they must all be dead.′

They stood by the nearest of the creatures whose vast barnacle encrusted body dwarfed them, a pungent aroma made their eyes sting. The whale lay silent and motionless, breaking waves lapped against its tail, it was obviously dead. Lying next to it was a far smaller whale, again obviously dead. ‘I think it may be a calf’, said Trude. The third whale, the largest showed some signs of life, there was the sound of air escaping and a thin high pitched whistle almost a scream came from the stricken creature. Its fixed staring eye although at first glance seemingly impassive, carried hints of something more, terror, pain, incomprehension and tragedy. A sudden loud exhalation of air erupted from the blowhole. Along with water vapor came blood that spurted in a fountain covering them both in thick dark red droplets, Trude, screamed in shock. The creature made no more sound and lay dead its fixed open eye now blank, all spark of life vanished. Trude was shaking and crying as they both immersed themselves in the surf, trying to remove all traces of the blood that had covered their faces and clothes. ‘I hate this place I want to go home, oh who will rescue us?’

Pete moved to her and held her in his arms. ’Please don’t cry Trude, we will be saved I promise and I’ll look after you keep you safe till it happens, look there’s the shack and I’m sure we’ll find food and water and I can go up the hill and keep a look out maybe light a fire so that they can see the smoke from a massive distance. The pilot said he thought we were in a main shipping lane it can only be a short matter of time. Trude clung to him and sobbed, ‘Thank you,’ she said through the sobs, it was one of the happiest moments of his life. Even if he died here on this Island of Dead Whales as he now called this speck in the vast Atlantic Ocean, at least he had experienced love. Not yet sex, but he had time to work on that and as long as there was available food water and shelter, he could live with not being rescued for a week or two, maybe even a month or longer.

The island appeared to have everything needed for a short, or if necessary, a more prolonged stay. Though the shack, which had presumably belonged to a group of fishermen or most likely whalers, when that was still a viable industry was very dilapidated, it did at least have four walls and a roof. Though it would offer little protection against strong winds or rain. The real surprise though, was the discovery of a large amount of canned food. This comprised mainly of corned beef from Argentina and tinned peaches. The labels were in Spanish but the cans had date stamps on the side that read 2015 and Pete decided this must be a best before date. Hidden beneath a tarpaulin were two crates of twelve one litre bottles of Red label Whisky. These must have been overlooked when the previous occupants had left, perhaps in a hurry for they would surely have taken this precious cargo with them.

There was some basic furniture in the shack, two wooden chairs a table and two bunk beds with mildewed sagging mattresses. As they walked around the structure, Trude pointed out a cascade of water pouring from somewhere close to the summit of the hill, already christened by Pete as Lookout Point. Also close to the summit was a large dark cave entrance. There were feral goats grazing on the grass just back from the beach and these observed them dispassionately, completely unafraid or even bothered. Pete also saw rabbits that likewise showed no fear at their approach. A vast number of sea birds, possibly Gannets along with gulls, wheeled above the cliffs where they nested in their hundreds.

As it grew dark that first night on the Island of Dead Whales, a full Moon huge and pastel hued rose slowly above Lookout Point and a breathtaking array of stars filled the dark void. Wisps of green, yellow and purple aurora floated across the sky. There was a gentle breeze, the sea hushed gently onto the beach. It was exceptionally hot. They decided to sleep on the floor considering the mildew covered mattresses on the old bunk beds were just too unappealing. In their foraging they had discovered along with the stash of food and alcohol some polythene sheeting and old cardboard boxes that contained empty plastic one litre water bottles. With the polythene laid over the flattened boxes, the resultant bed was adequate if not exactly cozy.

They opened a tin of corned beef and a tin of peaches, after sniffing the contents they decided they were edible and wolfed them down using their fingers to prise the goodies direct from the cans into their mouths. The peach juice was refreshing and Pete added some Scotch to his and christened it an island cocktail. It didn’t taste too good but certainly made him feel relaxed while quenching his thirst. In the morning they would explore, find fuel for a fire and a water supply, maybe visit the cave and survey their kingdom.

They lay together on their makeshift bed in the dilapidated whalers hut as the beautiful alien wisps of the aurora chased across the heavens, a portent of dark and dangerous things to come. All was silence save for the gentle hiss of waves on the beach. Pete, put his arm around Trude who did not pull away from him but snuggled in closer. Pete, emboldened by Scotch Whisky and suddenly sporting the hardest erection of his life, knew it would be now or never. He leaned over and kissed her and she responded parting her lips and thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He worked his hand under her sweat shirt and gently squeezed her breast running his finger around the hardened nipple. He attempted to remove her jeans but couldn’t quite manage and she obligingly helped. Pete, by now shaking uncontrollably and breathing heavily, pulled down her panties and she lifted her thighs from the makeshift bed to assist him. He delved at first warily between her parted thighs, feeling the wetness of her vagina, almost shocked, slightly unsure, not knowing if it felt right, but as this was the first time he had been near one since the day of his birth and that didn’t really count, he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure.

Soon enough he realized that it felt absolutely right, the most right thing in the whole world, the single greatest most beautiful thing he had ever felt. He became over excited and climbed on top of Trude, who lay on her back her legs open drawn up. After much fumbling and a couple of near misses and with help from the more experienced girl, he managed to enter her and she clamped her thighs around his waist and raked her fingers down his back. She moaned gently and said, ‘please don’t come inside me I can’t get pregnant.’ But it was already too late, as after about five seconds his full load was released deep inside her.

‘Sorry I couldn’t stop myself, next time’, then he added, ‘if there is a next time’ and he genuinely wasn’t sure there would be, ‘I’ll be less quick to come and I’ll pull out.’ But of course it was already too late and Pete’s lively liberated sperm were not to be thwarted or restrained by any mere inconvenience of location. This was their big chance, a chance that may never happen again and they were going to take it. And with exceptional fecundity and twins running in Trude’s family the outcome was already assured.

He pulled out of Trude and to the gentle sound of her sobbing next to him, Pete would have comforted her but was just so tired, he began drifting into a warm comfortable satisfied sleep. His last thoughts before oblivion were that when he woke up he would do it again and again and again. His only regret was that he couldn’t tell his mates that he had finally done it and he was great and she had loved it. But then he realized he wouldn’t have said that even if he could, because he really loved Trude and he would never upset her or hurt her in any way or disrespect her. No he would never do that.

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