For five years I had lived on the island totally without human companionship. I saw no men but the old guy who ran the supply ship, and no women at all. And I was happy. An artist needs his solitude. In the hurley-burley that we choose to call society, the deeper voice of the soul cannot be heard.

Man alone with nature, that’s the way it should be. Like Thoreau at Walden Pond, Hemingway battling it out with the marlin in the Gulf of Mexico, Amundsen eating his own huskeys to stay alive at the South Pole...

Yuck, maybe not that last one. But you get the idea.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no woman-hater. Far from it. While I was living in the city, women were my obsession. And it wasn’t just sex. I felt I needed the warmth of female companionship. Male bonding was all well and good, but without a woman nearby I felt a cold, black emptiness within me. Hell, once I even let an old bag lady share my loft, just for the company, but I had to throw her out when I found out she was stealing my art supplies and selling them to the guy next door.

When it comes to women, out of sight is out of mind, which is where I would have been if I’d stayed in the city.

On the island I found myself. The boy in me came alive again as I climbed the trees, trapped small, furry animals, and swam naked in the sea. I had regained paradise.

And then, along came Vanessa and fucked it all up.

Now I know what you are going to say. Compared to the curses with which so many of the people of the world are afflicted, Vanessa is not that bad. I know. I could have cancer, or be a quadraplegic, or a World Wrestling Federation fan. And you’re right. But if I said, “Yippee, hooray for Vanessa, she’s the sexiest girl a guy ever got to share his island paradise with, I’d be kicked out of the Ernest Hemingway Fan Club, and the story would have no dramatic tension, beginning as it would be, where it is supposed to end.

Now just because a guy is all alone on an island with no women, doesn’t mean that he doesn’t sometimes think about them, which is exactly what I was doing when Vanessa turned up out of the blue, as if God could read my mind.

There I was tanning my already nut-brown 45-year old carcass on the beach. Since I had no reason to believe that any other humans were in the vicinity I was sky-clad, barefoot all over, dressed as nature intended... Yeah, all right. I’ll get to the point.

Now a guy who has spent five years free from the company of women, is likely, when his mind does turn to the subject of the fair sex, to get the most gynormous hard-on. Which indeed is what I was sporting when Vanessa’s sexy voice first shattered the calm of my island paradise.

“That’s a very nice flag-pole you’ve got there," said a voice that seemed to embrace me with its feminine warmth. “But I don’t see any flag."

I immediately took the straw hat that was hiding my eyes from the sun and relocated it over my engorged member.

"Who the fuck are you?" I shrieked, being, in my hermit-like existence, somewhat rusty in the art of polite conversation.

"Well, there's no need to be rude," Vanessa corrected me. Now that my eyes had accustomed themselves to the bright light I could see see that she was an attractive red head in a brightly coloured floral beach wrap. She was just pushing down her sunglasses so that she could look over them, and in spite of my rudeness, she was still smiling at me. I suppose women don't take a man's anger quite as seriously when he has no pants on.

"This is MY island!" I insisted, not to be easily placated by her, admittedly appealing, smile.

"I'm afraid not," she replied, trying to break it to me gently.

"Old Man Ramsey would never sell the island," I said.

"That's right," Vanessa agreed, "but Old Man Ramsey is dead.

And his son is not so sentimental."

"And you bought it?" I asked, a sense of cold foreboding creeping over my heart.

"Yes," she said, "but don't worry. I'm happy to continue leasing the cottage to you. I only need the main house."

She could see from the scowl on my face that I was not happy with this turn of events.

"Don't worry," she tried to reassure me. "I'll leave you alone to do your paintings. I saw some of them at Old Man Ramsey's place and I'm a bit of a fan."

I just grunted and put my hat back over my face. Then I realised that this put my now flaccid cock back on display. Quickly I placed it back over my private parts, but not quickly enough.

"There's no need to be modest," said Vanessa with a wink. "He's quite cute when he's asleep."

"Look," I said, trying hard to maintain some kind of dignity, "you can't have bought this island just so that you could come here and annoy me. What are you doing here?"

"Well, David, to tell you the truth, we're both here for the same reason," she explained. "I'm a writer and I needed a place where I could get away from distractions to write my new novel."

"A rich novelist if you can afford to buy an island," I grumbled.

"I do all right," she replied, modestly. "Anyway, I came down here to the beach to have a swim. It's been nice talking with you, but now its time to get wet."

With this she turned away from me, untied her beach wrap and let it drop to the sand. She was wearing a navy blue one-piece bathing suit. It was stretched tightly over a lovely curvy body. Her bum in particular was mouth-watering, the kind I always long to grab hold of and sink my face into.

In my unclothed state, the wisest thing might have been to beat a quick retreat, but nobody ever said I was wise, and I wanted to watch her swim.

I lay back with my hands behind my head and watched as she waded through the gentle waves and then plunged into the water. I was surprised at just how far she swam, until she seemed just a dot in the distance. Eventually, however, she returned to the shallow water, and, the serious part of her swim over, she splashed and wallowed and rolled in the water with the aimless but joyful manner of a child.

My reward came when she finally rose from the water and, reaccustoming herself to terrestrial gravity, staggered up the beach towards me. The water made her bathing costume cling to her body and it didn't take much imagination to picture what she would look like naked.

When she reached me, she sat down cross-legged in the sand. Her auburn hair was slicked back over her head, thus emphasizing her rosy-cheeked face with its warm smile and sparkling eyes. Now that she was so close, I could see the impressions of her nipples encased in the wet material. And between her wide-spread legs I got just the slightest hint of the sweet forest and moist valley that lay beneath that tiny scrap of dark blue cloth.

"At least your dick's a gentleman," said Vanessa, who didn't seem particularly perturbed by my blatant perving. "He knows how to tip his hat to a lady."

Looking down I realised that my once-again stiff prick had lifted the top of my hat and set it on an angle.

"A real lady wouldn't notice a thing like that," I huffed.

"A real lady wouldn't take it as a compliment, either," replied Vanessa, raising her left eyebrow. "But I'm not, and I do."

With that she stood up, picked up her beach wrap and sunglasses from the sand, and started up to the house. The way her glorious arse wobbled slightly beneath the wet material almost caused me to soil the inside of my beach hat.