Island of Desire

"What do you think of Tahu?"

"Seems a decent guy," he shrugged. "Doesn't say much, but when he does, it's worth listening to." He paused, then added, "He asked me to come out for his rugby team."

"Really?" Brigid seemed surprised. "He must think highly of you, then. They're all nuts for rugby here. Each island has a team. Except for Alohilani, which has three.

"Connor," she said, her face serious. "We have to talk. And this is important."

He raised his eyebrows. "Okay."

With short sentences, she explained the celebration and ceremony that was to take place the next evening. Her face turned beet-red in the dim light as she explained that the party would be not clothes-optional, but clothes-forbidden. And that also, at some point, they would each have the opportunity to choose a bed-partner for the night, as a symbol of their union with the islands.

When she was done, he blinked. He took a deep breath. His sister, he could sense, was not in a mood for jokes.

"These are...volunteers?"

"That's what Elenoa said." She made an irritated gesture. "Apparently there will be representatives from all nine of the inhabited islands. We're lucky, actually. If we were moving from one island to another, we would be asked to choose from every eligible man or woman on the island we were moving to.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to, Squirt. If it makes you uncomfortable, just say the word."

He shook his head, looking up into the night sky. In the blackness, he could just make out a dim light, moving slowly amongst the pinprick-fine stars. A satellite, maybe, beaming news and weather reports to billions of his fellow human beings. Here, the modern world seemed very far away. "I'll do it."

"Connor..."

"I said I'll do it. I don't want to make things more difficult for you than they already are.

"Hey," he said, changing the subject. "Did I tell you what I found on the balcony off of Shaw's rooms? A propane grill, first class. And the old fart had apparently decided to stockpile beef and pork in case there was ever a nuclear holocaust. He must have an entire cow in the freezer. And God knows how much bratwurst and ham and pork steaks. We get us some potatoes in here, and we can live like kings."

"Potatoes? We're living in an island paradise, and you're worried about potatoes?"

He gave her a pitying look. "We're Irish, Brigid. If we don't have potatoes, we'll probably die."

"Well, good luck. By the time they arrive from the States, they'll be all wrinkly and moldy."

"Are you kidding? I'm going to order some seed potatoes and grow them here. Maybe onions, too. Have you seen the soil? Mom would have killed to have a garden like this. I swear, Brigid, if you plant a penny in the ground you'll be harvesting nickels by the end of the week." He stood up. "Speaking of food, I'm starving. Let's see if dinner is ready."

*****

After the meal, Brigid went back upstairs to her rooms. She puttered around for a time in the living room, then went to her bedroom, intending to finish her unpacking.

She was putting away a set of cotton panties when she found it. A carved dildo, made from some dark wood, rolling at the bottom of a drawer in her bedside table.

She pulled it out. It was life-size, and amazingly lifelike. Her fingers could feel the veins, the ridges. There was a carved slit at the top, exactly the size and shape of a man's urethra. There was even a hint of silky skin, as if the wood had been oiled to reproduce the way a cock was both soft and wonderfully hard at the same time.

She swallowed through a throat gone strangely dry. She was no fool. She had known she might have to be celibate for some time when she took this position. Any attempt to take a lover from among the inhabitants of the islands would put her integrity at risk. In her luggage was a pink vibrator, with a goodly supply of batteries, to keep her company when the nights got lonely. But this object spoke to her. It was more primitive, but also more primal.

Before she knew it she was on the bed, slipping down her shorts and panties, pushing up her blouse to expose her chest. She unsnapped the restrictive, clinging bra, letting her breasts spill out, free at last. Her finger slipped through the ring at the base of the phallus, obviously made to aid a woman as she gave herself pleasure.

Her eyes closed, the light from the bedside lamp shining red through her eyelids. She slid the tip of the phallus down her belly, past her pubic mound, through the small, curly tuft of hair which was all that she allowed to grow there. It touched her nether-lips, and she gasped softly. Perhaps it was the warm air of the room, growing humid with approaching rain, but the dildo felt strangely warm, almost hot.

Almost like a real cock. And God, could I use one. I haven't been laid in weeks.

~But tomorrow you will have nine lovely men to choose from. The cream of the islands. Surely there will be one who pleases you? I have not expended so much time and effort to bring you here, to have Our plans fail so close to fruition.~

She frowned. That had not been her own voice in her head. It almost seemed to have been generated within the room.

Whatever. Jet lag and a day on the beach and boredom can make for some strange thoughts, Brigid. Why don't you concentrate on the important things? Like how this dildo makes you feel?

God, it was wonderful. Her lips grew wet and slippery, lubricating themselves with ridiculous ease. With one arm, she reached out and snapped off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, the only light in the room the glow of the almost-full moon as it played hide and seek with the burgeoning clouds coming up from the south.

She changed the angle. Her legs opened, her thighs spreading in invitation. Without a whisper of hesitation, the dildo slid inside her, its strangely warm surface caressing her inner sheath. She gasped at the sensation, holding still, as the muscles of her core clasped it firmly, as if in welcome. There was a muted rumble from outside, and a soft flicker of lightning. The curtains swayed lazily in the damp breeze as a spatter of raindrops sounded on the roof above her.

In and out, in and out. Her muscles relaxed, and she was able to thrust the dildo more and more swiftly into herself. In the dark, with her eyes closed, it was easy to imagine that a strong, virile lover was poised above her, that the hand on her breast was his hand, that the fingers tweaking her swollen, aching nipples were his fingers, that the hot, strong, hard cock pulling her closer and closer to her climax was his cock. In the dark, he was nameless and faceless, but at the same time the living embodiment of every man whom she had ever found desirable. Her hips began to rise and fall, the sweat-dampened globes of her rear lifting off the mattress entirely as her hand pushed the dildo into her cleft again and again and again.

Her free hand slipped down between her legs, her fingers finding her swollen love-bud. Too horny for slow, gentle teasing, they strummed her clit frantically, forcing her pleasure higher. Her head rocked back, her teeth biting her lower lip as she felt the long-forgotten sensation of a truly epic climax. She shouted, her scream of passion lost in the crack of thunder and the sudden glare of lightning. Over and over her muscles clenched, her body shuddering as weeks of pent-up tension were released in a single startling burst.

Panting, she lolled back into the pillows, her body trembling in the aftermath of her orgasm. Outside, the rain sheeted down, filling the room with the smell of green, growing things, pulled down from the slopes of the mountain above. She blinked, smiled, and returned the dildo, still slick with the residue of her feminine juices, into the drawer, where, she promised, it would not be lonely for long. With a sigh, she kicked her clothes onto the floor, pulled the sheet up over her nude body, and was swiftly asleep, lulled by the sound of falling rain and sighing surf.

*****

In her small, neat house, a few hundred yards away, in a bed which was far too large for just one woman, a priestess smiled.

*****

Connor Flaherty woke late the next morning. A thunderstorm had blown through the previous evening, the rolling thunder, flashing lightning, and humid air reminding him pleasantly of summer evenings back home in Illinois. He had slept deeply, the tired ache in his muscles from a hike around the forested slopes of the mountain easing into a deep, contented slumber. But the morning was pleasantly temperate, the mild air at odds with their tropical location.

He wandered down to the main floor, unsurprised to see that the ever-present Pelika had already set out sliced fruit, a tray of pastries, and juice. Wondering if she ever went home, or if she actually lived in the kitchen, he loaded a plate and nibbled. Through the open windows, he could see activity on the beach. A group of men were building what looked to be a bonfire in a large pit in the sand. Not far away, another group was using a sledgehammer to set a series of posts in the ground. Children and teenagers in various degrees of dress watched curiously.

He walked into the kitchen. "Have you seen my sister around, Pelika? She wasn't in her suite."

The older woman nodded. "Elenoa was here to take her to the hot springs with the other women, to prepare for the ceremony this evening."

"Prepare?"

She nodded shortly and cleaned her hands with a dishtowel, leaning one broad hip against the counter. Her eyes were serious when they met Connor's. "This might be a game to you, young one. But to our people it is serious. Not all were in favor of this plan, when Elenoa and Tahu and the others proposed it. We understand the need, but think it could be accomplished in some other way."

He raised his eyebrows. "If you can think of a better, cleaner way to get electricity to your houses than by cutting off the generators and putting in solar, I'm all ears."

She made an impatient gesture. "It's not just that. Or even mostly that. But change comes slowly to the islands, if it comes at all. There are still some here who remember the British fondly. They left us alone. Now the world grows smaller. A man can wake up halfway across the globe and be in our harbor before the sun sets. Many people fear that change.

"So to ease their hearts, to show them we still value the old ways, we have taken Brigid to the hot springs, as it was done in the past. And one will be here shortly, to do the same for you."

"To go to the hot springs?"

"Of course not. You're a man. The springs are sacred to women. Men walk a different path."

*****

After eating his breakfast, Connor waited for whatever the 'different path' would be, hoping it wouldn't involve ritual disembowelment or killing a shark with a sharpened conch shell. He took the free time to explore the bottom floor of the house.

It was clean but sparsely furnished. The 'library' was an embarrassment to the name. The dark, heavy bookshelves seemed not to have been looked at in years, and were mostly filled with back issues of National Geographic and Sports Illustrated. Thankfully, he and Brigid had both shipped their personal libraries to the islands, and he spent some time uncrating and shelving books. The task soothed him. E-books were all well and good, he mused, setting his biographies of Churchill in a neat row, but there was something to be said for having a bound book in one's hands.

That task done, he went into the den. It was furnished with leather recliners and thick curtains covered the windows, and would not have looked out of place in a Washington or London club from the turn of the previous century. He could just imagine a group of railway barons sitting there, smoking cigars and sipping whiskey, making plans to destroy a troublesome union or to push a route through an inconvenient mountain range.

He was just turning to leave when a furtive gleam of sunlight on polished wood caught his eye. He bent forward to look, and his eyes widened in surprise.

Shoved into a corner was a statue of a nude woman, made of a wood which exactly matched the skin tone of many of the people he had met on the island. It was not life size, perhaps three feet long and two feet high, but it was extremely accurate, and exquisitely carved. She was on her hands and knees, her pert rear canted sexily upward. Her thighs were spread invitingly. As he turned it over, he could see that the nipples on her perky breasts were erect.

He set the statue on the table, grunting slightly with the effort, wondering who had made it, and why it was sitting neglected in a corner of a disused room rather than being displayed properly. The woman's eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, and he could almost hear the rapid beat of her gasping breath as her lover approached. Her head was turned, looking over her shoulder, and he imagined her eyes would open, seeing him near, and she would smile in welcome. He ran his hand from the nape of her neck to the cleft of her buttocks, the wood warm under his fingers. Almost involuntarily, his fingers probed, then his eyes widened in shock. His fingers had slipped into the carved slit of her pussy, and by some bizarre circumstance, the wood felt almost...wet.

A muffled gasp reached his ears, and he turned quickly, his face burning, hoping that whoever was there had not witnessed his...God, what could he call it? Molestation of art?

Kalele stood a few feet away, her eyes wide. Sweat beaded the line of her upper lip, and her skin looked flushed. She closed her eyes briefly, then smiled shyly, her large, dark eyes making her into some wary woodland creature, best approached carefully.

"Do you like it?" she asked, her voice low but achingly pure in the close confines of the room.

"It's beautiful," he answered honestly. "Do you know who made it?"

She nodded. "My great-grandfather. He was a famous woodworker."

"And the woman?" He hoped the question wouldn't be too revealing.

"My great-grandmother." She walked across the room to join him, the motion making her breasts, free above the loosely-wrapped pareu, wobble enticingly. Connor was suddenly very glad he was wearing a long t-shirt, which hid his throbbing erection, brought forth both by the carving and Kalele's presence. One small hand reached out and caressed the wooden cheek on the table, lingering fondly. "She died when a was a small girl. I only knew her as an old woman, but sometimes there was a look in her eye that told you of the woman she had been."

"Were you close?"

She nodded, her face sad. "There are some who say I resemble her. Not...not my personality," she stuttered, her dark skin growing darker. "She had a very rude sense of humor," she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously, and Connor suddenly wondered how much of her shyness was merely an act. "It drove my poor mother, her granddaughter, crazy.

"But physically, they say we are almost twins."

Connor swallowed. "Then she must have been amazingly lovely," he said.

Kalele looked up, her eyes suddenly intent, though a gleam of humor danced in their depths. "Mr. Flaherty, was that a compliment?"

He swallowed. "It was. And now I am going to blush," he said, already feeling his skin heat. "So could you do something to make this less awkward for me?"

"I might be able to think of something," she breathed. He suddenly realized they were standing very close. A touch, and their fingers were entwined, gripping hard. A face like a tropical flower lifted, her lips opening invitingly. Her breasts brushed against the material of his shirt, and the touch burned. He leaned down, all his awkwardness blowing away like so much dust on the wind...

A throat cleared itself and he jumped. Tahu was standing, framed in the doorway.

"Stealing a march on the competition, Kalele?" he asked, frowning.

What?

"You always did have rotten timing, Tahu," the young woman replied, with impressive dignity.

Ignoring her, the tall man turned to Connor. "Did Pelika tell you I was coming today?"

He nodded, trying to match Kalele's attitude.

"Good. Let's go." Without another word, he turned around and strode out the door.

Helplessly, Connor turned to Kalele. She smiled at him. "Go on, then. I'll see you tonight."

*****

"Pity about that," Tahu grunted, as they paddled into the lagoon. They were the only two people in the canoe. It was approaching noon, and the sun was almost directly overhead. Sweat trickled down the back of Connor's neck, and sunlight bounced up from the water, making him squint.

"Pardon?"

"About your shoulders." He gave a disapproving nod towards his torso.

"What's wrong with my shoulders?"

"Nothing. They just..."

Connor grinned, lopsided. "Is it because I don't have tattoos?"

Tahu shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. "In the old days, a man of worth would have his deeds marked on his skin, to let his enemies know the sort of man they were facing. Or if he was not a warrior, but was a priest, or a skilled craftsman, he would have the tools of his trade placed there." He paused, considering. "Women, too."

Connor drove his paddle deep into the crystal-clear water, pushing their craft forward. "Then I don't see a problem. I'm not one of your people..."

Yet, a voice whispered on the ocean breeze.

"...and to pretend I was would be...rude. Arrogant. I don't want to claim to be what I am not. And I doubt your friends and family would appreciate me showing up tonight with a bunch of new tattoos, as if I had been living here all my life."

"I know that," the larger man grunted. "Still, it looks odd. As if you're not done yet. Or still a boy."

Connor smiled as they arrowed into the deeper parts of the lagoon, remembering the tale Brigid had told him the night before, of the little girl and the story about bread-making. At last Tahu put his paddle down and raised his hand. "We're here."

'Here' seemed to be a featureless stretch of water, no different than any other. A few miles off, Connor could see the opening in the ring of the lagoon, perhaps the last remnants of the caldera of some long-extinct volcano. Breakers from the mighty Pacific Ocean crashed against it, broke, and retreated, a dance which they had played for generations beyond count. Tahu spun on his seat, facing Connor expressionlessly. "Strip."

"What?" For a second, Connor was sure he had misunderstood. Then he forced a smile to his face. "Don't take this the wrong way, man, but you're not my type. And besides, isn't a canoe like this a little...awkward?"

Tahu sighed. "Don't be a fool. This is your test. You will swim from here to the beach. If you succeed, we will know you are worthy to join us. If you fail..." he shrugged, the gesture eloquent. "We will know you are not."

"But what about...jellyfish? Eels?" Sharks. Manta rays. Octopuses? Octopi? He had read things about the box jellyfish and the blue-ringed octopus that made his hair stand on end. When someone encountered one of those denizens of the deep, it seemed the lucky ones were those who died quickly.

"If you are worthy, Faumea will bear you up and protect you. I tell you now. Strip and swim or go back to the mainland in disgrace."

"Why naked?"

"Because the clothes will only make it harder," Tahu said with exaggerated patience. "And will you enter the realm of Faumea, Lady of the Ocean, on the eve of joining her people, wearing the clothing of your own? She will not take such an insult lightly."

"Fine." With ill grace, he stood and shed his shorts, boxers, t-shirt, and hat, letting them fall in an untidy heap at his feet. "Let me tell you one thing, though," he said, retreating to humor. "If something down there bites my pecker off, I am going to be pissed."