Island Girls

The following is a work of erotic fiction and includes scenes of sexual activity. It includes characters that are copyrighted by United Artists Television, Gladysya Productions and the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS). The story is intended for the non-commercial enjoyment of fans and should be considered a parody. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit will be made from the distribution of this story.

All characters in sexual situations are 18+

*****

Maintaining a slow but steady pace, the shapely redhead navigated the narrow path through the tropical foliage. Dressed in a white evening gown, she was hardly dressed for this sort of excursion, but the weather was warm and the breeze pleasant. Under a different set of circumstances, the small island around her might have been described as a little bit of paradise, but as much as she wished they were different, the circumstances were what they were, and even paradise could be a prison if it wasn't where you wanted to be.

Six weeks before, the actress had taken what was supposed to be just an afternoon cruise out of Honolulu, a little jaunt that she thought would help her prepare for a role in an upcoming film. But the three hour tour had turned instead into an unending nightmare when the tiny ship found itself tossed about in an unexpected storm, until, badly damaged and no longer seaworthy, it had washed up on the beach of this uncharted deserted island. In that moment, Ginger Grant, rising Hollywood star, found herself just one of seven castaways - marooned God knows where.

Feeling a slight tug on the side of her dress, Ginger paused a moment to free the material from where it had snagged on one of the shrubs that lined the way. Impractical as it was, the evening gown was pretty much the only clothing she had and it wouldn't do to tear it more than she already had. You didn't have to look too carefully to see a dozen previous small tears that had been repaired.

As it was, she had almost missed the cruise entirely, only making it to the dock minutes before the Minnow slipped its moorings. Her week in Hawaii had been paid for by a night club in Waikiki that had picked up the tab in exchange for two shows a night. She had finished the last performance a little after midnight, but instead of heading back to her hotel room, Ginger had spent the night with the Cuban bandleader who was the nightclub's other headliner. Nearly fifty, the former television star was a bit old for her, but charming as hell. He also had, he'd told her with a mischievous smile, a thing for redheads. When she'd finally woken up shortly before noon, there hadn't been time to go back to the hotel to change.

It was becoming more apparent by the day that their stay here on the island was going to be indeterminate, if not permanent. Any search for the Minnow had to have been called off weeks ago, and even if it hadn't, given how far they'd been blown off course, it would take a small miracle for a rescue ship to find them. No, the island and the six people she'd been stranded with were now her world and she was going to have to learn to deal with it.

And quite an eclectic bunch they were. First there was the Captain of the boat, one Jonas Grumby, who everyone just called Skipper. An ex-Navy man in his mid-forties, the slightly overweight sailor had a jovial attitude that helped keep the spirits of the passengers afloat as much as he had the tiny ship during the storm.

Then there was Gilligan, his gangly first mate, who didn't seem to go by any other name. In fact, Ginger still wasn't sure if that was his first or last name. Clumsy and accident prone, the young man nevertheless had a heart of gold and did all he could to make life on the island as bearable as possible.

The movie star had been surprised to find Thurston Howell III and his wife, Eunice, among the passengers. A man of his wealth owned yachts that made the little excursion ship seem like a dinghy. But it turned out the fifty-something business giant was considering acquiring an island tour company and had decided the best way to judge how people enjoyed rides such as the company offered was to take one himself. He'd chosen the tiny independent company to avoid advertising his plans.

Next came a science teacher named Roy Hinckley. About the Skipper's age, he also seemed to enjoy his nickname of the Professor instead of his given name. For a high school teacher, that might've seemed, at least at first, a bit presumptuous, but it turned out to be more than appropriate since he had advanced degrees in several sciences. It seemed that a day didn't go by that he didn't come up with some amazing gadget to make life on the island easier.

The last member of their little community was a nineteen year old store clerk named Mary Ann Summers. Born and raised on her parents' farm, the five foot four brunette had won a trip to Hawaii in a contest, the sightseeing tour being the final item on her itinerary. Afterwards, she planned to take a cab right to the airport for the flight back home to Kansas. That plan had proved fortunate indeed for her as, having brought her suitcase aboard, she'd been left with several changes of clothing. Mr. Howell had also inexplicably arrived dockside with several suitcases and storage chests, all of which he insisted come on board with them. He later explained that he'd done so just to see how the crew dealt with overly demanding passengers.

In an act of generosity, Mary Ann had offered to share what she had with Ginger, even though the older woman was half a head taller and much more endowed. Still, the farm girl was sure some items could be altered, and further suggested that Mrs. Howell might be persuaded to donate a few articles as well, being closer to the actress in height if not figure.

Thankfully, the weather had held up the month and a half they'd been stranded, because acquiring better clothes for Ginger had taken a back seat to the more immediate concerns of food and shelter. In that regard, they had been amazingly lucky. The diverse group brought with them a skill set that seemed practically tailor made for building their little community - almost as if they had all been cast in some Hollywood production.

The Skipper and Gilligan had served together in the Pacific, bringing with them, among other talents, the ability to build native shelters which, while not overly luxurious, did give them a place to live that was dry and comfortable. At first, they had concentrated on just building one large communal hut, but the experience gained there allowed them to add four more smaller structures, giving the passengers a bit more privacy.

Aside from his vast scientific knowledge, which allowed him to repair at least the receiving end of the radio, the Professor had also been a long time scoutmaster with vast experience in camping in the wild. Additionally, his ability to come up with gadgets, using nothing more than what nature provided, was nothing short of phenomenal.

The farm raised Mary Ann was a wonder in the kitchen -well, at least what they had been able to make of one. Even though a great part of their diet consisted of fish, coconuts and assorted fruits, mixed with the occasional wild game one of them managed to catch, she ensured their meals were enjoyable and not just necessary for survival. She even managed to make a sort of banana cream pie that quickly became everyone's favorite.

As for the Howells, well, a lifetime of having others do everything for you ill equipped them for roughing it, but surprisingly they were willing to chip in as much as the rest of the band, sometimes a bit reluctantly perhaps, but eventually doing their share. In the end they developed a certain satisfaction in actually doing things for themselves for the first time.

Ginger herself was surprised at her own resilience and the veritable treasure trove of knowledge she had acquired over her acting career. Who would've thought that the years she'd spent on television and movie sets would've prepared her so well for life on a deserted island? Even in the short month and a half they'd been here, she'd made more than a dozen helpful suggestions based on the plot of some show she'd once been in.

But now, with their immediate survival and even some level of comfort assured, Ginger's mind had begun to address secondary needs - one in particular that she viewed almost as essential as food and water. Accepting the prospect, however unpleasant, that she might never return home to civilization, what was she going to do about sex?

The question had been brought to the forefront of her thoughts last night when, unable to sleep, she had gone for a late night stroll. Passing behind the Howells' hut, she had been surprised by the sounds she heard coming from it - sounds quite familiar. Not even the professor's wizardry could make glass for the windows, so it was easy enough to glance inside to look.

There, laying on the bamboo framed bed, Mrs. Howell was getting what could only be described as a first class screwing from her husband. Illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through the equally open windows on the other side, Ginger could see that the millionaire had certainly brought something more than money to their marriage. Having gone without for longer than she'd ever done since the night she'd first given it up, the redhead let out a low appreciative whistle, even as she felt a bit of envy that she wasn't laying there in the older woman's place.

Returning to her own hut, Ginger was careful not to wake Mary Ann, who shared the dwelling and slept only a dozen feet from her. Other than in the case of the Howells, who were after all married, the huts had been assigned by gender, with the Skipper sharing one with Gilligan and the Professor having one to himself. Originally, all three single men were going to share a hut, but after Gilligan ruined one of the Professor's experiments, it was decided to build another one where he could work in peace.

Sleep had continued to prove elusive the rest of the night and come the morning, after helping clean up after breakfast, Ginger had decided to go for a walk to consider her options. She didn't have to go far to come to the conclusion that they were extremely limited.

Ginger didn't consider herself promiscuous, at least not by Hollywood standards, but she enjoyed a sex life that could be described as adventurous and varied. The concept of monogamy held little appeal and celibacy even less. The Sixties might be a new decade with new perspectives, but society still frowned on women playing the whore, at least in public. And in a community as tiny as theirs, that would be a secret not long in keeping. Resistant to the idea as she might be, it was obvious that if she wanted a sexual partner, it was going to have to be along more traditional lines. The question was, who would it be?

Despite having been impressed with his package, having watched his prowess for far longer than she really should have, Mr. Howell was immediately discarded as a prospect. While it had been her experience that most men in his position doubtlessly got a little on the side, she couldn't take the chance that his wife, dizzy as she sometimes appeared to be, wouldn't find out about it. In Hollywood, most wives just looked the other way, or even had something going on for themselves. Mrs. Howell, however, didn't strike Ginger as either kind.

Next up was the Skipper, not the best physical specimen but, as they say, beggars can't be choosy. After all, during her early casting couch days, she'd certainly shared her bed with worse. The memory of those days reminded her of a fact she'd almost forgotten. Almost without exception, a good number of those pudgy producers and directors had been lacking in the manhood department. While it hadn't been universally true, it was common enough to give her pause. What if she picked the Skipper and he didn't have the tools to get the job done?

Actually, that was a risk she was running with all of them, she realized. Unlike back in the real world, she wasn't going to be able to take any of them out for a test drive.

While also not big in the looks department, Gilligan had the advantage of youth, and hopefully stamina. Not exceedingly bright, he could be taught what he needed to do. The problem with Gilligan, she considered, was his attachment to the Skipper. How to break that?

After all, from what they'd told the passengers, the two of them had been best buddies since their Navy days, and when the Skipper had retired and started his own business, he'd taken Gilligan along. The why of that was something the redhead had wondered about, especially seeing how inept the younger man could be at times. Could there be something more there than they wanted to admit?

If that was the case, then it left the Professor, admittedly the best looking of the bunch. The problem with the school teacher was that he didn't seem all that interested in anything other than his books and test tubes. Just a week ago, Ginger and the Professor had been gathering bananas when they'd been caught in a downpour, soaking them both to the skin.

The rain had caused her dress to become not only like a second skin, but practically transparent, giving the Professor a clear view of what was underneath. Even a priest would've taken a look, Ginger thought, but Roy didn't even seem to notice the nipples pressing their way through the wet fabric, preferring to calculate how long the shower would last.

So, all in all, her prospects seemed rather slim, she had to admit. Still, there had to be something she could do.

The path began to widen and a few familiar landmarks told Ginger she was near her destination. On one of their first forays to explore and map out the island, they had found a beautiful waterfall that emptied into a large pool of water. The Professor theorized that the pool drained into the sea through an underground conduit. An interesting fact, but not as important as that the pool was certainly large enough to swim in - away from prying eyes. Not that Ginger cared about that, but it seemed to matter a great deal to Mary Ann.

The first time the two girls had come here to swim, Mary Ann had turned beet red with embarrassment when, not having a swimsuit to wear, Ginger simply stripped off her dress and jumped in naked. The water was so warm and pleasing that she had suggested the younger girl follow her example. The brunette had declined and, slipping behind a tall shrub to change, donned the suit she'd bought for her vacation.

The night they completed the common hut, the Skipper had managed to put together a home brew out of ingredients found in the jungle. He called it Kickapoo Joy Juice after a similar concoction in an old comic strip. The secret recipe, he said, had been taught to him by an old petty officer he'd known in the Navy.

Whatever was in it, it certainly had a kick, so much so that it didn't take all that much to make everyone a bit tipsy. Holding it better than her roommate, Ginger had used the opportunity to learn a bit more about the young brunette than she might've normally been willing to share.

Ginger was greatly surprised that Mary Ann had a boyfriend back home, one Horace Higgenbotham from Horners Corners, which Ginger learned was the next town over from Winfield where the store clerk lived. Despite being pretty, in that girl next door sort of way, and having a figure that while average was still nice, the girl seemed almost clueless about the things men and women did together. Oh, not the basic physical aspects of course - she had after all grown up on a farm - but the more interesting practices that separated people from animals.

After another round, Mary Ann even admitted to being a virgin, which was hardly surprising to Ginger. They might have only a half decade's difference in age, but in that span was a lifetime of experience. In a way, Ginger now mused, not being experienced might be thought of as a blessing in disguise for the younger woman. After all, you can't miss what you never had.

Stepping out into the clearing just before the falls, Ginger moved a few feet further down the path, but then stopped short when she realized that there was someone there ahead of her. She couldn't see the figure clearly at first, partially hidden by a few large bushes, but once the sun came out from behind a cloud and highlighted the calico dress, the redhead identified it as Mary Ann.

Recognition brought relief as the passengers had been cautioned early on by the skipper that, while their island did indeed appear to be deserted, that couldn't be said for others in the area. He and the professor had already found evidence of past visits by hunting parties.

Glancing over her shoulder, then to her right and left, Ginger expected to find Gilligan, the Professor, or even the Skipper, one of whom usually accompanied the young woman when she ventured out into the jungle. Yet, try as she might, there was no sign of any of them. As unlikely as it seemed, Mary Ann was indeed alone.

Curious as to what brought her out this far, knowing that she wasn't foolish enough to have come to swim alone, Ginger began to again move forward, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the soft dirt. She advanced about a ten feet when, now having an unimpeded view of her roommate, she abruptly stopped again.

Her hand shot up to her mouth to stifle an involuntary gasp, generated by the totally unexpected image before her. She shifted a few feet to the left to get a better view, one which made it even more apparent as to what was happening.

'Oh my God,' Ginger thought as she slowly removed her hand, 'she's masturbating.'

Sure enough, the shoulder haired brunette had the bottom of her dress up around her waist and, with eyes tightly closed, one hand down inside her simple white panties. It was a sight that Ginger found even more captivating than the one through the window of the Howells' hut the night before.

A smile filled Ginger's face as she watched her roommate for a very long minute. Then, as quietly as she could, she began to retrace her steps back the way she'd come. She'd got about four feet when she stepped onto a slippery patch and went flying through the air, landing hard on her ass, a cry of unladylike expletives shattering the morning calm.

It took a few moments for her head to stop spinning, but when Ginger opened her eyes, she saw Mary Ann standing over her, a look of concern on her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Ginger took a moment to check, quickly satisfying herself that while she was probably bruised, nothing was broken. Accepting a helping hand from the shorter girl, she climbed back up onto her feet.

"I'll live," she said with a smile, which turned to a frown when she noticed the long, jagged tear in the seam of her gown, "but it looks like I tore my dress again."

The rip bared the side of Ginger's left breast, reminding her that in her haste to make the Minnow's departure she had misplaced her brassiere in the Cuban bandleader's hotel room. If she'd taken the time to look for it, she'd probably be on a movie set back in Hollywood right now.

"Oh I can fix that easily enough," Mary Ann assured her, placing the ripped material over the exposed flesh to see if it could be mended. She'd already demonstrated her skill with a needle and thread many times, while Ginger had a hard time just threading a needle.

"You have to watch where you're going," Mary Ann said, her face reflecting her relief that the taller woman was okay, "especially way out here. I don't see how you could've missed a patch of leaves, it's as big as ..."

"I was walking backwards," Ginger interrupted. "I wanted to give you some privacy."

The look that flashed across Mary Ann's face, replacing the one of concern, told Ginger that was the worst thing she could have said. It was a look of horror mixed with embarrassment.