Marooned

"Hey mum," I said, "how do you know that stuff won't poison us?"

She grinned at me and said, "If you belong to my people you soon learn where and what the good tucker is. Pity we don't eat more of this at home, it'd save a lot of money and be better for us. When we get back – if we ever do – I might start using some of it."

"What do you mean, 'If we ever do'?" I yelped. "You don't think they'll leave us here to die, do you?"

"No, I don't think they'll leave us here to die, but suppose they search and can't find us? They might conclude that the boat went down in the storm and we drowned, then they'll give up."

"Aw, come on mum," I protested, "we're not all that far from the mainland – not more than thirty kilometres, we could paddle the boat that far if we had to."

"Yes, perhaps we could, but suppose a rough sea came up, and then we probably would drown."

I gloomily decided not to pursue the debate and changing tack I said, "Don't you think you should put some clothes in, you'll get sunburnt like that." With a skin like her's sunburn was unlikely and what I really wanted was for her to cover up a bit so I'd stop getting horny.

Mum laughed and said, "Finding it a bit hard seeing your mother naked? You might as well get used to it because we're not on the mainland now with all its false modesty. I like the feel of the sun and air on my body; you might try it yourself."

I wasn't going to risk removing my last defence against exposure of my manhood so I changed tack again and asked, "How do we cook the fish, we've got nothing to boil or fry them in?"

"Thank God I'm with you Frank or I'd have to be mourning a son who starved to death surrounded by food. That's what happened to some of those nineteenth century explorers who died in the inland. When their supplies ran out they didn't know there were things they could eat all around them. I suppose I should have taught you better."

Mum set about roasting the fish over the fire while I sat watching her. She was squatting beside the fire with her legs slightly apart and I could see her pubic hair, curly and bronze coloured like that on her head, and also revealed was the long, firm cleft of her sex organ.

I suppose of you're used to seeing people naked you don't take too much notice, but I wasn't used to seeing mum or anyone else nude, and my shorts were fighting a losing battle when it came to concealing my erection.

Mum seemed to have gone wild, or as the white people used to say in the old days, "Gone native." Always a very straight speaking person and simple in her wants, I was nevertheless amazed at how quickly she had shed the restraints of life on the mainland, especially in the presence of her son.

She must have been able to see the effect she was having on me, yet apart from that odd smile on her face when I had first entered the water naked earlier, she showed no further signs of interest, and certainly no embarrassment.

It was as if she was completely free. As she had said, if I'd been there alone I would have been at the mercy of the environment, but mother seemed to dominate it – no, perhaps not dominate – she was part of it, at home with it. She looked and behaved younger and I could see very clearly why dad had fallen for her.

I tried the water and it tasted better than our tank water at home, and certainly much better than the water I had tasted when we had gone to one of the cities down south. The fish, when it was ready, didn't appeal to me all that much, it was just burnt fish, and the berries were a bit tasteless.

The leafy looking stuff mum had collected we chewed on uncooked and that was okay, but the roots were a bit of a struggle to masticate and get down. Still, if you've got nothing else to eat it was food, or so mother said.

She took a look at the mussels I had collected and said something about roasting them later.

Then it was firewood collecting time, a task as I would soon discover, that never seemed to stop. Once that bloody fire went out mother would have to do her twirling thing again, so she made sure I kept the fuel up to date. To help out with this mother went back into the island and came back with some peaty looking stuff she'd carved out with a knife. At night this was put over the fire and it kept the fire damped down so it was ready to be stirred up in the morning.

The day had grown hot and still and after collecting fuel I was all sweaty. Mum had been cooking over the fire so we were both ready for another dip. I stripped off my shorts and made a dash for the water, mum pounding along behind me, her slender legs going like flails.

We swam about for a bit, and then mum seemed to go mad. She leapt on me and winding her legs round me she said, "We might as well get the inevitable over, because if we're here for some time either you'll rape me or I'll rape you."

With that she let herself slide down my body and the next moment my penis was enveloped in something soft and warm. I didn't need to be told what it was; I was penetrating mum's vagina.

Her face was very close to mine and she kissed me softly and said, "That's what you needed, wasn't it?"

Since I'd been suffering an erectile penis for most of the day I could truthfully groan, "Oh my God, yes."

Her legs were wound round me, and with the water buoying her up and my hands under her buttocks, I began to lift her up and down on me. It didn't take long; I been so worked up for so long my testicles had no problem letting go of their heavy burden. I discharged into her like a howling animal, and although I don't think mum had an orgasm, I could hear her making soft little squealing sounds.

When I'd finished mum still clung to me, her big soft lips engulfing mine as she kept kissing me. When I could I asked, "You didn't come, did you?"

"No sweetheart, that one was for you to make you feel better and get you used to having sex with your mother. We're free here, we can live as we want to live, do what we want to do, with no one to know or interfere. If and when we're rescued they might guess, but they'll never know."

"But I might make you..."

"Pregnant? Yes, you might. It makes it all the more exciting, doesn't it?"

She laughed and went on, "I wonder how you'd cope if I did get pregnant and we were never rescued and you had to help deliver the baby?"

"But I couldn't..."

She laughed again and said, "Don't worry, women among my people know how to cope, and we keep the men right out of the way."

She pulled away from me and made for the beach. I followed her, trying to digest this new aspect to our relationship. "That one was for you," mum had said. Clearly that meant there was more to come.

One thing was for certain, that brief encounter in the water had given me a taste for more of her and I think she knew it. I'd heard that there are women with who, if you have sex with them; leave you wanting to have more and more with them. My other sexual experiences had never left me feeling like that, but those few moments with mum had certainly had that effect on me.

As I have said, she seemed to be in her natural environment; she could meet it on equal terms. I was in that environment with her but the terms were no longer equal. I realised that she had power over me, the power of a woman who could give or withhold, and if she chose to withhold my situation would be worse than it had been before we had copulated.

Already I was recovering from my ejaculation and knew I would soon be ready to come again. I wondered if I dared to approach mother, but as it happened, there was no need.

She walked up the beach towards a place where some rocks gave some shade from the sun and lay down. As I approached she extended her arms to me and said, "Now make love with me properly."

Needing no second invitation I came beside her and her arms wound round my neck. "Kiss me," she said. Our mouths met and her tongue thrust into mine, exploring and penetrating as she seemed to be trying to get down my throat.

I reached for one of her small, round breasts and began to stroke it, moving from its base up to its golden nipple. I gently pinched the nipple and mother said, "That lovely, darling, do it again."

I repeated my action several times, then did the same with her other breast, as I started to suck the nipple of the breast I had just relinquished. She had the smell and taste of the sea on her, fresh and clean, and this spurred me on.

I wondered if I dared risk it...whether she would accept it. I took the chance, and moving so as to position myself kneeling between her legs, I put my hands under her buttocks and raised her sex organ as I bent to kiss it.

She made no objection, only emitting a contented sigh. I started to lick her inner lips, and then pushed my tongue into the canal beyond them.

She tasted sweet and smelt of aromatic wood smoke.

Her sighs became soft little cries and as I began to suck her clitoris these cries increased. She began to tremble and clasped my head to her. For a moment she went rigid; she gave a scream, and then loosened up again as she jerked her sex organ over my face in a frenzy of weeping shrieks.

The noises she made startled seabirds roosting among the rocks and they rose squalling and squawking. I struggled to remain in contact with her as she jerked and jolted to the rhythm of her orgasmic shock waves.

I felt her pass the climax, but she continued to writhe her sex organ against my mouth for a long time as her tremors diminished.

When she finally released my head I moved away from her she looked up and me and smiled. "You do that beautifully, darling," she said softly, "Now come into me." She gave a weak giggle and went on, "See if you can make me pregnant."

I don't think I was much concerned whether I made her pregnant or not I was so worked up by what I had just done to her. As I slipped into her warm moist depths she started to kiss me, the giggling again she said, "Mmm, I do taste and smell nice, don't I; I'll have to find out of you taste and smell as nice later."

I had my full length in her when she gripped me with her vaginal muscle. This dragged a howl from me. I'd never experienced anything like this before, it was so powerful. I thought she would suck me right inside her, making me a part of her, and after all, I'd been part of her long ago.

She seemed to instinctively know my needs and worked rhythmically with my thrusts into her. Each time I penetrated she made soft sounds like, "Ha...ha...ha..." Then she went rigid again and screamed out, "Come now...now...," and then began the howling cries as I unloaded into her.

I seemed to be lost out in space for a while, but was intensely aware of my sperm pumping out of me and into her depths.

As I returned to the world around me I looked down at her. Her eyes were liquid shining brown and her skin seemed to glow. She was so alive, so vital; she was unlike other sex partners I'd had who usually suffered from post-coital feebleness. Sexual intercourse seemed to energise rather than debilitate mother.

There was no doubt about it, she had me hooked, I was in her world and as the days passed I loved it. I stopped wearing clothes while the weather was warm, only putting them on when the temperature dropped at night. Even then, if the temperature remained reasonable mother and I would go to sleep cuddled up together, but if you think it was a sexual free for all you'd be wrong.

Survival came before sex, and so it was a daily round of food and fuel gathering, and keeping watch from the cliff top for any signs of rescue.

We no longer tried to count the minutes or the hours, our only clue to the passing of time was the movement of the sun and the rumbling in our bellies. Nevertheless mother and I had no inhibitions about approaching each other for sex, nor the manner in with in which we engaged in sex.

I knew the time must have passed when father would have returned from his trip down south and if it hadn't been started before, the hunt for us would be on in earnest. I had become so embedded in our environment and most especially my sex life with mother that I began to dread our being found. Daily I would do my stint on the cliff top as lookout, and I wondered if, when I did sight something, whether I would choose to let it pass.

Only once was the bonfire lit, and that was when I thought I heard the sound of a light plane. I yelled from the cliff top to mother down on the beach "The torch." She lit the bundle of twigs and came running up to the cliff top like a gazelle. We lit the bonfire and when it was burning fiercely we threw on the wet stuff. A cloud of white smoke arose like a pillar into the sky, but by then the plane, if there had been one, had gone.

Unlike Robinson Crusoe we had made no marks to record the passing of the days, mainly I suppose, because we anticipated being found fairly quickly. When we finally realised that we were not going to be rescued as soon as we had thought, we no longer cared about the passing days.

We were kept busy each day and when we relaxed it was often to enjoy sex with each other. This seemed to take place quite naturally, usually beginning with simple touching and explorations of each others' bodies, with little of the frenetic anxiety that seemed to be present when I had copulated with girls on the mainland.

It might start with me touching mother's breasts or sucking a nipple; or mother might start to masturbate me and then end up giving me oral sex. How we did it didn't seem to matter because we knew next time it might be different. We could just enjoy each other and not complain because one or the other of us didn't orgasm every time.

The life we led seemed to increase our sexual desire, our libidos energised. I often thought that if Robinson Crusoe had a woman such as mother with him on his island he might never have wanted to leave it.

The relationship of mother and son also changed. Whilst I was still aware that she was my birth mother, now she was more a lover to me. I knew what we were doing was incest, but on the island it didn't seem to matter.

I'd heard people talk about "Island paradises." I certainly wouldn't say our island was paradise because it was a constant round of food and fuel gathering, plus keeping a lookout. But I noticed in myself and I thought in mother, certain casualness about keeping lookout. It was as if we didn't want to be found.

It was therefore a surprise and a disappointment, when one day mother said, "We have to get back to the mainland."

"Why...how?"

"In the boat."

"But you know we've got no fuel and we can't paddle all that way."

"We won't need fuel, I can rig a sail. When the winds right we'll make it."

It seemed certain that any attempts to find us would have been given up by then, but I repeated, "Why do you want to get back to the mainland, we're okay here?" Mother just replied, "We must."

After that she went very quiet and hardly spoke at all.

I was sent into the scrub to find a couple of long sturdy branches. Mother set too with them, the sheet and the rope and cord I'd originally brought for the boat. It was a pretty improvised set up, but in the end there it was, a sail. Then we waited.

One morning mother said, "The winds right today," and that was that. She put some dried fish and the water bottle on board and we paddled out of the cove and round to the mainland side of the island. Then mother let go the sail and I simply use a paddle to steer.

Much sooner than I expected the mainland came in sight, and I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I didn't want to go back, largely because I knew my relationship with mother would revert back to what it had once been.

It took us hours to reach the coast, and when we did it was nearly dark and we'd landed a considerable distance from our house. For all her bush know-how mother decided we wouldn't go any further that night, so together we hauled the boat up as close to the beach as possible and dug the anchor in.

That night we clung close together, copulating several time as a sort of farewell to all that. In the morning, our shorts and skivvies now restored, we walked the distance to the house.

When we got to the house no one was there, but mum said, "My God I could do with a cup of tea." I think that was one of the things she missed most on the island, tea.

She prowled round the house that showed all the signs that dad still lived there, and eventually we heard the thump of the diesel motor. The motor stopped and we knew dad was tying up at the boy. Then came the putter of the auxiliary boat's outboard and we knew dad was on his way to the beach.

Mum and I looked at each other, and without a word we made our way down the track to the beach. Dad was just hauling the little aluminium dinghy onto the beach as we got there.

He didn't see us at first but when he did he went white and looked as if he was going to faint. "Bloody hell," he muttered, "bloody hell," you're not dead; Christ we gave up long ago, "Oh my God."

Mum went to him and put her arms round him and kissed him. He hung on to her wailing, "Six months, it's been six bloody months...where the hell have you been?"

There were long explanations and tears. It seemed that once dad had got back from down south and found the boat missing, and some of the locals told him about the storm, it was anticipated right from the start that we'd drowned. A search was made, but they were looking for bodies, and made no attempt the search the islands, never thinking we would be out that far. Oddly although they had not landed on the islands they had circled them looking for any signs on life, including Bundoogle. Mum went very silent and I've often wondered since if she...no, I'd better not put down my suspicion.

That night I had the agony of hearing dad fucking the life out of mum. Next day he took me along the coast in the auxiliary to where we'd left the runabout. All the way he kept asking me how we'd survived and how we'd got on being alone and isolated. He never said anything directly, but I've often wondered just how suspicious he was.

We refuelled the runabout, and after a bit of a battle got it started, and I took it back.

Once the shock and news of our return had subsided life got back to normal, with me going out fishing with dad. It was some time after our return that it became clear to me why mum had insisted we leave the island; she showed all the signs of being pregnant.

Again nothing was ever said, even when little Julie was born more than a month premature, but showed all the signs of not being premature. Perhaps dad knew what had happened between mum and me; after all, it was hardly surprising, a man and a woman marooned for six months.

And that's another thing; at the last mum had rigged the boat so we could get back, so why hadn't she done that in the first place?

I thought our sexual relationship was over, but it didn't prove to be the case. Mother and I had no sexual contact for the whole time of her pregnancy and for a log time after she'd given birth, but dad still made his trips down south to see his parents and tie up odd bits of business, but always with stern admonitions not to go out in the runabout while he's gone.

One day during one of those absences mum said to me, "Let's take the runabout and go to Bundoogle, we can stay for a few days."

We went taking Julie with us plus plenty of jerry cans full of petrol. We went native again and despite my avid copulating with mother she's never got pregnant again. We always make a point of going to the island whenever we can, but unfortunately we're never marooned.