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Seductive Lonesome Island

Category: Mature
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Gail King, a natural blonde with a figure sculptured perhaps by the sculptor’s gardener employed to shape shrubs rather than by the sculptor himself was deposited on rickety jetty on Kismet Island where there was a small roof on four poles for shelter.

“Don’t worry love,” said the deckhand with an unusually soft Aussie accent as she steered the inflatable away from the jetty ready to roar over the reef to return to the mother boat, a rusting tub that looked ready to sink.

“He’ll come along later or perhaps sooner as he’s probably on the windward side of the island beachcombing. We’ll pass by tomorrow so if you are stranded just raise the flag and if we spot it I’ll come in to retrieve you. Remember, these are shark infested waters.”

“Help, come back!” Gail squeaked in terror, but not loud enough. The woman had gunned the outboard and was away in a roar and flurry of spray.

Gail sat shakily on the only chair. It collapsed, tumbling her on to its pieces. She reassembled it and sat down gingerly and safely and had her best cry in years.

The victim of two loveless relationships that had swallowed up ten years of her child-production life, Gail (36) was a partner in King, Kingston and Elk of Kansas, specialists in family law. Oh she’d been so brave sitting in a bar with her two senior partners Bess Kingston and Sally Elk — those two also partners in bed — planning her three-month sabbatical in seeking an unusual job in an unusual location with a touch of mystique attached. They had gotten drunk as they pawed through ‘Unusual Jobs for Folk with Unusual Expectations’ magazine.

Sally’s pick was, “Big spender Sheikh Abdul Kabardino-Balkaria seeks American Blondie to tend to his personal garden. Six-month contract; satisfaction guaranteed.’ According to Sally that was about as far away as an attorney in Kansas could get from her groove.

Gail rather fancied, “Mining community in Patagonia requires a temporary mayor for three months while its mayor tours Europe; only females need apply as it’s traditional for our First Citizen to be a woman. The Mayor also acts as Chief Judge and head of the community’s jail.’

But then after first selecting what obviously was a call girl opening in Egypt for ‘a White America Woman of Mature Age’ Bess found, ‘Custodian on a island off the North Queensland Coast, Australia, requires female personal assistant of 40-plus — i.e. past her use-by date — interested in bird life, observing turtles and unafraid of sea snakes and sharks when bathing. A 3-month trial is mandatory. Must be expert in mixing cocktails.’ Replies were directed to a postal box number in Cairns.

Gail was drunk enough to promise to apply for that position and promising to immediately begin night classes on bar tendering. Two weeks later she received a letter of rejection but continued with her bar tendering studies; she cancelled her sabbatical. Six weeks later it was all on again when she received the offer of the job from the island custodian because the successful applicant had resigned, unable to stand the isolation.

“And probably fearful of a cock up her ass that appeared riddled with STD’s,” cackled Sally. It was Friday night so the three partners we well away on cocktails again. Bess was adamant Gail should accept and they waited breathlessly as Bess tossed a coin; it deflected off Gail’s ample shirt-front and spun madly on the table before rolling over to confirm Gail should accept. They laughed madly and Gail was allowed behind the bar to mix the three of them a cocktail called Whatwasthat! It was next afternoon before their headaches cleared and any of them could correctly focus again. Now Gail was in tears on a chair that would collapse any moment, sweating like a pig and with sharks swimming around the jetty piles hopefully waiting for a piece of Gail.

“Did the chair put you on your ass?” called a twangy comedian with absolutely no sensitivity in his voice.

Gail opened her tear-encrusted eyes and said, “Hi. I trust you are the custodian?”

“Yeah, that’s me blondie but your hair needs a bit of bleaching — the sun here will do that. You’re somewhat overweight but the daily sweat will take care of that. But you don’t look forty-five — you’ve lied about your age, you’re nearer fifty.”

“Oh God, I’m going home,” Gail said, collapsing the chair as she rose and walked blindly away from him to plunge into the temid water. She came to the surface spluttering and her heart stopped as she spotted a dorsal fin slicing through the water towards her.

“Don’t worry,” called the comedian. “It’s just a courtesy visit but as a prudent precaution never go into the water beyond ankle depth between dusk and an hour past dawn otherwise known as feeding time.”

Almost petrified Gail put her face under water and attempted to yell “Boo!” The hysteria in the call worked wonderfully — the beast of the deep took off away from her like a rocket.

“How did you manage that?” enquired the custodian. “Did it smell an ejaculation loaded with fear?”

She climbed out up the slippery steps, shaking and feeling like sticking the guy’s fishing rod up his ass.

“Nice tits,” he said.

She burst into tears again, saying that was the first kind thing he’d said to her. She looked down and saw her white shirt — recommended for the tropics — had become transparent.

He offered her a dirty handkerchief.

“No thanks,” she said, using her palms. “Sorry about this — I’m tired from the long travel, the uncertainties, your unwholesome reception and guilty at lying about my age; I’m thirty-six with presumably my reproductive system still in working order.

“I thought as much,” he grinned, holding out his arms.

She ran into them, almost smiling.

“Are you sure you’re an attorney?” he asked seriously. “It was my understanding attorney’s were the killer sharks of America’s legal system.”

“I think that’s a matter of perspective depending what side of the transaction you are on and whether you are American or not.”

“God, what an answer. You are an attorney all right. Lean against the shed post while I catch dinner. It will take less than five minutes.”

In less that five minutes he’s caught two sizeable fish with only a little triangle of red cloth as bait on the hook.

He pulled out a knife and she looked away. “You better look at what I do because from tomorrow part of your duties will be catching and preparing the fish and on other days netting and killing a small pig or if we want omelet finding gull or infertile turtle eggs; I’ll show you everything — once.”

“Yes sir.”

“Oooh, I like that tone of obedience. It’s good that you have it because right now I’m the only thing standing between you and survival.”

They had lightly barbecued white-fleshed fish for dinner, rice and two kinds of green vegetables that were unknown to Gail. She asked was their desert.

Digger (Duncan) Colby, custodian, pointed to a bush knife. “Go out and get yourself a pineapple but beware of the snakes fattie.”


“Well the last pair were trapped in 1988 — supposedly the last pair. There are carpet pythons but they are more interested in rodents than you, not life-threatening if you keep preventing them from wrapping into squeeze mode.”

“I’ll skip dessert,” she whispered.

They read by the kerosene lamps, Gail began reading Digger’s first draft of a book called ‘Lonesome Island’ while he devoured two performance motor vehicle magazines she’d thoughtfully packed for him along with a monster jar of vegemite. She wasn’t surprised to learn from him that it was not usual for custodians to be taken off the island and admitted to an institution for the insane while two had committed suicide by going swimming at night and one had been eaten by wild pigs, the theory being he’d became convinced he’d become one of them.

She decided he had a smooth and interesting writing style with considerable insight but his spelling, sentence construction and grammar were an editor’s nightmare. She thought if she stayed beyond tomorrow she’d started editing his work if that’s what he wanted. She looked at him — knobby knees, flat stomach, lightly haired narrow chest, lantern jaw, stupid beard, incredibly blue eyes and abundant hair falling below his shoulders. Apparently he wore only khaki shorts and sunglasses and read without glasses. She figured he was thirty-six and probably homosexual which was a pity.

She was almost asleep in her chair when he dropped down his magazine and said thank you, she couldn’t have brought him better gifts. “I better check through your bags now.”

“You keep away from my bags.”

“Sorry, in the powers vested in me I have to check any arrival for unlawful weapons, banned substances and place a levy on any alcohol.”


He pulled out packs of batteries — 100 in all. “What are these for?”

“For my laptop and my vibrator.”

“We’re putting these batteries in the communal store. Your vibrator is confiscated as an unnecessary drain on battery stocks. Next time the monthly provisions arrive I’ll order you a couple of dildos; in the meantime tap me on the shoulder when you require release.”

“As you say so,” Gail sniffed. “Where do I sleep?”

“In my bed if you wish or else anywhere in this raised area but beware of ants.”

“I’ll think I’ll sleep out on the beach.”

“Good thinking — sometimes scorpions roam the sands, seeking a rest place in a bed conveniently placed on the sands.”

Gail thanked him for the information.

“Ah, more about sleeping outside. We are raised here to inhibit access of assorted critters there’s the odd chance of being taken off the beach by a saltwater crock but the last reported case of that happening here was 1934.”

“Er, your bed you said?”

“Yes, I don’t snore and if I need to pass wind I’ll ensure my ass is facing away from you.”

“You’re so kind,” Gail said. “I must point out I sleep in the nude.”

“So do I,” he yawned.

“Will I be in danger of…you know?”

“Not while you are packing that blubber or else tap me on the shoulder. Do you have the perfect understanding?”

“Perfectly. Just keep me protected from strange noises in the night Digger.”

“I will Gail although I can’t offer much protection against cyclones and a tsunami.”

“Oh God — your advertisement made no mention of that.”

“Of course not, I wanted to attract applicants who wish to come here, not to scare them shitless. But keep calm — cyclones tend to hit the far side of the island and the cliffs offer protection. The last devastating Tsunami swept over the island around 1910.”

Gail awoke to a brilliant golden dawn and a cacophony of bird calls and badly rehearsed choruses. She stood up stretching just as Digger walked in with pineapple, paw paw — or what some people know as papaya — and what appeared to be huge passion fruit and wild strawberries.

“Lovely sight,” he said. “I love the cunt left natural.”

What a horrible man using that word, she thought, then yelped and placed her hands over the said piece of anatomy; she’d forgotten she was starkers. He just grinned.

“Eat as much fruit as you can comfortably manage; in other words pig out. You’ll crap all day for at least three days, your body will adjust and you’ll begin the weight loss to your natural level; the day’s sweat from 11:00 to 3:00 will whittle away the remainder. Chasing pigs will help with your fitness — go for a swim now and stroke until you tire.”

“But it’s not one hour after dawn — the s-sharks.”

“Okay, I’ll come with you. I always swim with a knife strapped to my leg — we sometimes will knife a big fish that’s almost stranded. The sharks in the lagoon are sand sharks that don’t mind coming in. The killer sharks are content to stay outside the outer reef almost two miles out where the real food is and they know there’s no danger of them being ripped open on the reef in crossing at high tide and risking being stranded; sharks are not totally dumb. A Grey Nurse reportedly came over the crossing on a spring tide in 1914 but was reportedly back on the other side again in less than an hour.

“What about all these dangerous incidents when no-one is observing?”

“They remain unreported of course.”


“So that means…”

“Don’t even think about it,” Digger warned. “Becoming nervous is to invite madness.”

Later when Digger took off his shorts to go swimming with her, Gail thought it wouldn’t be too long before she would be tapping him on the shoulder at nights; it appeared to be the size that would fill her needs exactly.

That night Gail was awaken by a tap on the shoulder.

“Y-e-s?” she inquired sleepily.

“How about it?”

She simply remained facing away but snuggled right into him, delivering a clear message, and a hand snaked over her hip to rest on her belly button.

“What velvety skin.”

Her eyes flew open in wonderment. Was this guy sensitive or not? Usually the pre-penetration comment was a pathetic ‘I love/adore you’ lie or at that early stage an unflattering ‘God you’re big.’ This hermit was kind and polite but still a little strange — he could easily have misgivings and back off; she decided to suck him into her while given the chance. A regular daily fuck would make her day. She lifted her uppermost leg and Digger’s cock that she could feel hardening against her flank responded instantly and became a lance; she moved her butt slightly and it was positioned to enter.

“Are you on the pill?” Digger asked hoarsely.

“Yes — you are welcome to push in — not my butt-hole.”

For a moment she thought she’d been pushed too fast; there was silence, no movement. Then he asked, “No foreplay?”

Being an attorney she knew the dramatic effect honesty could have so she said honestly, “This time I just want you in me.”

Well, talk about holding a tiger by the tail: she unleashed a tiger. She heard him spit to wet the end of his dick: instead of sending out an exploratory finger he shuffled forward to adjust to the right angle and slid it in with a heart-warming groan that almost made her ejaculate — in fact the way little waves were fluttering up her body she probably did crack off a minor one. Yes her breathing rate was racing and heart thumping.

She didn’t have to say ‘Go man!’ He slammed his lower leg against hers, pushing it into the position he wanted and was away to the pace of a phantom up-rhythm jungle drum. God he was good, amazing for someone who hadn’t had it live in-the-flesh since at least when the last supply boat called and that woman in the rubber dinghy stopped-over on the jetty with him for half an hour or wherever they did it. Perhaps being alone and from it for so long he may have required only five minutes.

Gail was gently rocking back against him, adjusted to his timing and could tell by his breathing rate than was now changing into gasping that he was tiring. She lowered her upper leg a tad and tightened. He began gasping more heavily and crying, “Oh fuck, oh fuck — how glorious” over and over and that sent her away. The cotton sheet had been kicked off from the outset so he pulled away from her with a huge ‘plop’ and pulled her on to her back. She knew what was coming — a spray of cum. She rather liked this as it changed men into smiling little boys once the agonizing look of immediate pre-ejaculation left their faces. She’d lifted her closest leg up and thrown it around his far leg so he was now in the place where a man was meant to be — between the woman’s legs.

A spray of cum? He hosed her, massively in comparison with most deliveries she’d received like this. The first shot flew over her sweaty tits and over her face to land in her hair and on to the pillow; most of the second projectile landed on her left nostril and left eye and then the weaker shot landed on the usual target — her tits. Obviously the supply vessel lady hadn’t come ashore for quite some time and nor had the artificial vagina she’s found against a pile of girlie magazines when he was away making a plywood seat for her over the ‘latrine’ as he called it; apparently he’d become used to just squatting on his heels — the primitiveness of that hadn’t been mentioned in the advertisement either or his subsequent two letters.

“God, you can use that cunt of yours,” he said, drenched in sweat as they also had the tropical heat to contend with. She took that totally crude remark as a compliment. He jumped up, pulled her to her feet and they both went off, dripping in cum-laced sweat, for a swim. “You better mop the floorboards as soon as we get back,” he said. “We don’t want to slip on goo and break an ankle.”

“Aren’t you supposed to go down on your knees and lick it up and dribble it into my mouth?”

It was a joke but the look on his face was one of horror or disgust or both. Then he smiled so perhaps he was just getting used to the idea?

Gail quickly settled into a daily routine and the custodian adjusted to his expanded lifestyle. They’d wake at the arrival of dawn — Digger seemed attuned to the color change on the eastern horizon as darkness began to recede. Quite often within the hour the island would received a 15-20 minute drenching; abundant rain comes with living in the tropics. But many days would be all-day sun and often completely cloudless and a heavy shower or two would fall early in the night.

They’d cuddle but the routine was not to fuck; they’d go down for a frolic in the water, taking a squeeze bottle of biodegradable liquid soap with skin moisturizer which they would used sparingly — only to clean themselves. Between 6:30 and 7:45 while Gail washed the soiled bottom sheet, mopped and dusted, Digger would go up on to the highest peak — only seventy-five feet above sea level — to the radio shack, take the weather recorder readings to add to the sea temperature he’d taken earlier while bathing and send it off to Townsville. On the way back he’d gather the fruit breakfast.

After breakfast Digger would take the shotgun — Gail would often accompany him — to check the three beaches favored by turtles to deal with any predators such as goannas, pythons or pigs. Digger kept a record were turtles laid their eggs so was able to monitor progress and the information was documented on-shore when he transmitted it twice-monthly. He ate only infertile eggs which were found at the time of hatching.

At 10:30 chores were finished and they retreated inside as most days it was the place to be under the relentless sun and quite uncomfortable strong breeze. They’d lie on the bed and soon would be more than cuddling and after Gail’s usual scream into orgasm — she knew he liked that noise — they’d shower outside with the header-talk filled from an uphill spring. He’d work on his observation data, read or doze listening to short-wave radio or work on his novel. Gail read for most of the first few days and then offered to edit his draft, an offered that was accepted with delight.

On her second week on the rarely visited island, Gail waited all-week with a sense of excitement — the monthly supply vessel was due. The little-known island of Kismet is around 150 miles from Cairns while Townsville is much farther south and surrounded by a coral shallows apart from the narrow trench leading into the 200 yard wide by 2 miles long lagoon proper, which makes it hazardous for boating.

They waited on the jetty at 7:00 as the woman who’d landed Gail two-weeks earlier timed her crossing of the laden inflatable on a surge at the gap in the inner reef. The way Anna and Digger kissed confirmed Gail’s theory that Anna had been Digger’s source of live sex, but she didn’t mind, telling herself than man cannot live on bread alone. Anna hugged and kissed Gail and laughed, “Desperate to come off the island with me? God — you’ve lost weight already and are beginning to look great; I wonder what you have been getting?”

Gail said seriously — “Oh beach running, swimming and some weights as well.”

The three of them laughed while Anna opened a small insulated bag and pulled out three ice-creams which they ate with delight, there being no space for such treats in the small battery meat freezer in the radio-shack recharged by the generator charging the radio batteries. They then unload the freight and she took aboard a young green turtle contained in a crate with severe laceration to both rear flippers from unknown causes. Taken aboard were supplies of long-ago introduced pineapples, paw paw and passion fruit for herself and the skipper and the other crew member.

As Anna prepared to leave she said: “Last chance Gail — coming aboard?”

“No, I’ll see out my 19-week residency,” she smiled, holding on to Digger possessively.

Digger carted the cans of diesel up to the radio shack, taking eight trips. The generator operated on a time switch and from the ‘house’ they only heard it faintly when it switched on, thanks to the screening of the rainforest. The birds including squabbling parrots made more noise. Gail carried everything else to the ‘house’, also taking several trips.

When they settled on the bed for the day Gail asked casually, “Did you entertain Anna on this bed or on the jetty shelter?”

“Always a quickie on this bed — she had to return without significant delay. Oh shit, I didn’t see that one coming; how did you find out?”

“Feminine intuition confirmed by the totally submissive way she kissed you on the jetty.”

“You are a smart lawyer,” Digger grinned, unbuttoning her shirt that she hadn’t taken off after their visitor had left. “And you are indeed losing weight.”

“Why don’t you fuck some of the fat off me and firm me up?”

“As you wish,” he leered working on a breast while she pulled her shorts down and kicked them away.

“Doggie today,” Digger said after they were warmed up.

“Oh, lick my dripping cunt please sir,” Gail said attempting to play a submissive role.

Digger flipped her over and she lifted up her ass, spreading her knees. He tongued the beautifully presented pussy that was, as she said, dripping and for the first time rimmed the smaller orifice; her only reaction was to breath a husky “Oooh.”

A burst of chatter sounded from the parrots.

“What’s that?” Gail squawked.

“The pigs are back over this side. I’ll run one down later.”

He could see Gail rubbing her left tit squashed from under her as she’d twisted part-way around to watch him at work. He made a great show of watching his dick slide into the well-lubed furrow. He began pumping and she rocked, tweaking a nipple.

“Did you have Anna in this position?”

“Yes,” he puffed.

“Oooh.” She leaned around farther and pulled the breast towards her to bite the nipple. “What about a butt-fuck?”

“No, Anna said that was her husband’s private domain.”

“What a sweet lady. You can give me one now.”

Digger caught his breath; that wasn’t a good idea because he was panting so had to get back his breathing rhythm. “Are you sure?”

“What do you think?”

So he pulled out, scooped up cunt juice and plastered around the tight pucker.

“Take it easy as it’s only been entered twice before but I know what to do.”

They took their time — he scarcely pushing, she just rocking in fits, gradually working it in until the resistance was over so she slammed back against him with a yelp.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes — that made me fire a small one. Make this memorable for me and you’ll be invited for return visits.”

When he was moving in about three-quarter length and pulling back only a couple of inches she began rocking to his momentum and her moaning stopped thereby indicating she was comfortable. As he began tiring he reached and inserted two fingers into her pussy, at times touching Gail’s hand as she was now working around her clit. A minute later he rolled his fingers around and dove deeply, squelching her into a frenzy as she cried “Oh my, oh my what are you doing” and then began bucking him almost off as she launched into a tumultuous climax, ringing his bell and he fired pulses of cum into her depths.

“Oh my, that’s the biggest ejaculation I’ve ever had,” she gasped.

Well, they and the bed were soaking. Digger grinned probably assuming he’d just brought her to a double header — the normal orgasm and a G-spot eruption.

“God — how could two people make such a mess?” she said a minute later before heading for the ‘latrine’, looking at the mess they were in including the state of the sheet. Digger just smiled and said he was going pig hunting.

Digger had his reasons for not making her go ahead and teaching her how to net a pig and stick it with the knife and then butchering it was because after that ass fuck he decreed she was rather too feminine for bush work; she wouldn’t want to break finger-nails or to deeply scratch or ever cut her legs and arms in the mad dash through the undergrowth. Also she was fucking so well she really didn’t need to do any jobs to earn her keep, but he wouldn’t be telling her that. He was also pleased with her editing — it was light and so far he’d seen nothing where she’d made changes had altered his intended meaning or altered the pace of the story.

The quite large colony of rooting pigs scattered in all directions as he approached. That produced a grin because one ran straight towards him and caught itself in the upraised net before he had time to cast it. The squeals it made in the net and the terrified final squeal as he knifed it would sent the pigs back to the other side of the island where they belonged — away from the nests of the green turtles. After burying the remains and putting the cuts into the freezer Digger went back down to the ‘house’ with four cutlets to barbeque on the beach that evening; it was impossible to hang the meat to ‘age’ in this tropical climate so that’s why the older pigs escaped the knife.

“Hello darling, I’m home,” he joked. It was almost lunchtime and he wondered if darling might like to frolic into round two. He found Gail asleep and she remained that way until waking to the smell of cooking meat just before 6:30. She arrived down with cocktails (the ‘island custodian and honorary customs official’ kept gin, vodka and dark rum for such a purpose. By then Digger was tired so said “I’ll think about it” when Gail suggested an early night and perhaps they could get two more rounds in before sleep time.

On her third cocktail she said, “I’ll have to take you back to American with me; I’ve never enjoyed fucking so much and often being taken to the edge so comprehensively as I have being with you.”

Digger pulled his stomach in with pride.

* * *

The inflatable came over the cut on the inner reef on a wave surge into the deeper lagoon and Anna waved just before she went away to port to spin in a half circle to come aside the jetty.

“Good God — you two look like you’re ready for burial,” she called up at Digger and Gail.

“I don’t want her to go,” Digger said gloomily.

“I want him to follow me to America,” Gail wept.

Anna came up the ladder and took both of them into a wide-armed hug. “Oh my poor darlings; it sometimes happens like this. Remember only the brave and steely-hearted get over it.”

She looked at her watch. Digger broke away and climbed down the inflatable to hand up his supplies.

After staring in astonishment at Gail, Anna said, “Just look at you. Three months ago I landed you here as a pale-faced women with an over-worked look, dull and darkened hair from never being exposed to much sunlight and almost two stone overweight. Now you are tanned, your hair has been bleached true blonde and if anything you are under-weight and looking athletic. I see enormous change; you’ve had an enormous change of life here to replenish your batteries. Go back to your law firm in Kansas in triumph. Mark my words — you will be over-run with dates and will be married within six months.”

“That was a sensible speech,” Gail said, wiping her eyes before helping Anna to stack the supplies being handed up to them. They handed down Gail’s two carry bags and fruit for Anna and the crew plus a squealing pig in a crate for the skipper who was Anna’s tolerant husband.

It was a long kiss goodbye and even Anna was left wiping her eyes. The last act before waving goodbye was for Digger to hand down the completed manuscript of ‘Lonesome Island’ to Gail; it was addressed to a Sydney book publisher, a subsidiary of an international publisher. Digger kissed the package before passing it over.

“Hold on, we’re off with a hiss and a roar — this is not a funeral,” Anna shouted and added something that sounded a little like “One of you will crack.”

Gail smiled and blew kisses at the lonely waving figure until they’d gone over the gap on an incoming swell and she saw Digger turn and begin walking away, not looking back.

“Oh the poor man,” she shouted to Anna.

“He’s resilient — it’s you I’m worried about. You are approaching forty and miraculously you’ve gotten your bloom back. Don’t give it away darling, hold on as long as you can.”

“You’re a lovely lady Anna,” Gail smiled, patting Anna’s hand. Anna smiled happily when she saw no sign of new tears.

* * *

“We want a sabbatical on the island where you’ve been,” cried one of Gail’s two partners Sally Elk at the airport.

“It’s been lounging in the sun all day on a deckchair drinking iced filtered water and watching Australian Soaps on TV,” said senior partner Bess Kingston.

“Do that and you’d be splattered with white crap from Sooty Terns and Common and Black Noddies,” Gail laughed.

“Is she speaking English?” Sally joked.

The partners held their usual monthly meeting in the bar and concluded it before they became too inebriated. Business was booming, bad debts were low and new clients were exceeding those leaving the firm for various reasons. It all looked so good. Gail was down in spirits because she’d received a warm letter from Digger answering her last letter. The bad news — terrible news really — was he’d signed on for another five years as custodian. He did cheer her up by adding: “Anna has just delivered your letter so I made her wait while I read you letter and wrote this one on the jetty instead of taking Anna back for you know what — Clem her husband thinks were only go back for coffee.”

“Right, final business,” said Bess. “I have her a letter from a 38 year old recent divorcee who wishes to escape New York. She’s been working in family law for the last fifteen years and can be generous in buying in if we have an opening.”

“A fourth partner would knock our incomes back until she is up to speed with bringing in new clients for herself,” Sally said. “Are you all right Gail?”

“That fabulous Aussie tan has disappeared,” Bess laughed. “Another Martini each is on the way girls.”

“Hold it!” Gail ordered.

* * *

Winter — the dry season — was something to look forward to, Digger thought watching two Wedge-tailed Shearwaters gracing the sky. He switched back to watch Anna coming towards the inner reef — unusually slow for her and then he saw why. There was little freeboard; the craft was loaded dangerously low in the water. He then saw there was a passenger — a blonde and his pulse-rate soared: Gail!

“She bought everything but the kitchen sink,” Anna yelled. “I have another three loads after this one. She began moving out to circle back in and the inflatable lurched and there was a splash. “Shit! she yelled and only then realized her passenger was in too much of a hurry to wait for a slow turn to be accomplished.

“Shark!” Digger yelled to the swimmer who stopped and yelled, “HELP!”

Grinning, Digger dove like a hero on a rescue mission to the damsel who was in no danger at all — except from him.

That evening, close to sexual exhaustion, Digger began drawing a plan to extend the ‘house’ that would require supports and canvas for the roofing, piles and floor joists and floorboards as they were in a dwelling that was without walls, windows or doors. In front of him was a letter from the Sydney publisher: his manuscript had been sent to New York by the commissioning editor and her team.

At the other end of the table Gail could scarcely keep her eyes open. She had been off the pill for two months and hoped that afternoon’s heavy round of sex had scored a winner. She had remembered to tell Digger of her wish to become pregnant.

He was all for it and proved himself a lateral thinker: “I won’t waste any shots via the backdoor until you’re preggie.” Apparently that was pure Aussie vernacular.”

She had her attempt at novel writing underway. Well, at least she had the working title in place: ‘Seductive Lonesome Island.’


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