Day 30:Last night my GPS failed. I don’t know why, but my position is in the Mojave desert since 3:25 PST. And this is quite unlikely, because I am on the Pacific! At least when I started four weeks ago, in Belgium, I headed towards it and after crossing the Indian Ocean I reached it 3 days ago.
Day 31:The weather is still bad. Cloudy. So, no sextant to determine position. It’s new moon, so no hint from there either. My compass tells me I am heading SSE. I should make it to Tahiti in 3 days.
Day 32:Compass acts erratic. GPS has me close to the Vatican now! The clouds have to lift or I soon really don’t know where I am.
In the afternoon a thick fog welled up. Fog this time of the year! It gets colder, too. Am I heading south? At least, the wind is still there. I am making a steady 25 knots.
Day 33:The wind picked up over night so that I had to take some sails down. I have food and water for another 25 days, but I am thinking of rationing. Am I going in circles? The weather has to get better.
At 5 p.m. I heard a strange banging sound, as if one would strike a huge empty barrel with a stone. I fired one of my signal rockets, but no reply whatsoever.
Day 34:The wind eased and the fog lifted. I woke up because the boat did not move. I felt like being in a harbor. Still half asleep I went upstairs and I nearly fell into the water:
I found myself in the bay of an island! How did I come here? GPS and Compass are still useless. I don’t know of any island in the southern pacific that has iron-rich beaches that could impede on the action of a compass. Actually, I don’t know any island anywhere with this characteristic. And this also should have no influence on the GPS anyway!
300 yards away I could see a beautiful sandy beach, but I decide not to land. Better safe than sorry. I have enough food for another two weeks, and here on my boat there aren’t any poisonous snakes or spiders. My radio only produces atmospheric statics. So, if I am bitten, I can’t call a doctor.
I threw the anchor. It caught ground at about 40 feet. The water was not clear at all and had a very strange milky emerald color. I could not see the ground.
Day 40: I decided to run my log as I used to: Every day one entry. The entries of day 35 to 39 are empty because I was on the island. They ‘released’ me today, and my boat is on the open sea again. The island disappeared behind a curtain of thick clouds. I don’t know if and when I will be able to go back.
But let me write down the events as they unfolded. I keep the diary form, but the days 34 to 39 are written from memory.
Day 34, continued: After anchoring I was preparing breakfast, and the weirdest thing happened: the boat moved towards the shore. I ran up and pulled the anchor, but it was still solid in the ground. But the tension on the line was substantial. Did I hook up in a giant turtle? As the shore came closer, I was afraid of running aground. I was embracing for a sudden impact, but a mere 10 feet before the boat would have hit the beach, it gradually stopped. It was not sudden at all, so I could not have hit the ground.
Two figures emerged from the brush that limited the beach. One was tall and slender, the other more than one head shorter. The shorter one had long wavy hair, while the first one sported a short cut, like many of the African American women. What caught my attention was not their chocolate-brown skin (many islanders have that), but their clothes. It was a one-piece that went all the way up from their feet to their neck. It was held in place by a ring around their neck. The arms were free. The cloth seemed to be thin and was floating around their body, as if moved by the stride of their legs and the wind. But no light ray penetrated it, so it must have been a heavy weave. Its surface was covered with an intricate pattern that seemed not to repeat. There were white waves and spirals on blue background.
And the woman were beautiful! The shorter one had a round face and full lips. The taller one a long and pointed chin and high cheek bones. Both were in their early to mid twenties.
When they stepped into the water to greet me, the cloth floated on the water. They only had to take a few steps and they were up to the knees in the water. They reached the boat and each one lifted their right hand.
“Welcome to Phatom, Mr. Branson.” I had never heard of such an island or country. But somehow from the sound that emerged from their lips, I *knew* it had to be spelled with a ‘Ph’. But how on earth did they know my name?
It seemed that they could read my mind.
“You are the owner of the Juliet.” The taller one pointed her chin to the boat.
“Step into the water. It’s not deep. We were waiting for you.”
Everything in their behavior and their voice was so trustful and I jumped into the whitish-emerald water, even though I did not see the ground. I made a small splash and my feet touched soft sand. Both took one of my hands in their own. How warm and soft their skin was! We waded to the beach, and to my surprise, their cloth did not retain a single drop of water. Neither were their feet wet!
Mine were and the fine sand of the beach stuck to my skin. While we were walking (they did not release me) I noticed that I could not make out their size. The cloth was like magic. The taller one must have been B-size and the smaller one D or E, but as much as I tried to secretly look at their breasts, the least I could figure out their shape. Strangely enough, the smaller girl kind of resembled my high school sweetheart who took my virginity. The facial features of the taller one reminded me of Juliet – the reason why I was on my fifth one hand trip around the world and the name-sake of my boat.
The beach had a wide path that connected it through a forest with a huge building that had been hidden from my view by the trees. I say huge, because the perfectly white wall that surrounded it was at least 150 feet wide. And it was 9 feet tall. A small entrance closed behind us when we passed it and entered a beautiful garden with hundreds of flowering plants. A sweet smell lingered in the air.
The building itself was silvery-gray and was a very open structure with a long veranda that stretched over its complete width. It had small, round tables and chairs on them. At least 50 people could sit at them. But the building seemed abandoned. We took the three steps onto the veranda and they guided me past a kind of reception to a room in the building that was empty, except for a big bed, a round table with flowers on it and two comfy-looking chairs with thick and soft pillows.
For the first time, they let my hands go and the taller one pointed to the glass with an emerald green, but whitish liquid in it.
“You must be thirsty.”
I nodded and sat down on the edge of one of the chairs. I looked after the shorter girl as she left the room. The swinging motion of her hips was strangely enhanced but also blurred by the pattern that also covered the back of her dress down to the ankles.
Absentminded I took a sip. The taller girl was standing between me and the bed and finally introduced herself.
“I am Pharomé.” Strangely enough, I also immediately knew how her name was spelled!
“I am Bob!”
“We know…..I am here for you.”
I little time to wonder if that meant that she was to me my house maid, my tourist guide, or my lover, because the moment she said it, she reached up to her neck and with a swift move, touched the ring that held her cloth. Like magic, the ring opened and the cloth fell to her feet, forming a small circle. Her body was perfect and my reaction was immediate. My heart jumped and I held my breath. My groin reacted, too.
Where shall I start to describe her? Her head was covered with short hair, her long neck sat on small shoulders and her collarbones formed two gracious arches. A little bit more than a hand widths below them, her B-size breasts formed hemispheres of the utmost perfection. Her nipples were just a hint below the apex. Dark, almost black areolas surrounded two tiny protrusions.
I just took a few milliseconds to grasp it view, but the picture of her belly and hips is burned in my mind. I could not take my eyes off her.
The pattern appeared just below her breasts. As far as I can judge, it was symmetric. In wide arches that reached all the way down to her hips, bluish-black lines ran down her body, starting from somewhere along the sternum. They branched off, and the branches branched off, too. It was a dense pattern of a myriad of lines. I see the patterns in front of my eyes every time I close them. The lines made way to various symmetric shapes, mostly circles and tipped triangles. Those shapes were filled with lines, too.
The lines moved and I am not sure if this was only because of her breathing motion. It seemed that the lines were alive, especially below her belly button. As if her inner organs were projected onto her skin, the pattern there looked like an uterus.
At first I thought she had pubic hair, but the longer I soaked the image the clearer it became that it was just the play of black lines on her chocolate brown skin that made the impression.
I sucked air in through my teeth. One had to be careful with those islander cultures. What was her intension? Was I allowed to touch her? Wanted she to have sex with me?
I dared not to move and just stared. At least this I was allowed, since she was the one who removed her clothes.
I was not long left in limbo. Graciously, she stepped out of the ring that the cloth made at her feet and without taking her eyes off mine, she stepped back until she was close to the bed. She somehow knew where the edge was, because she still fixed me when she slowly sat down.
She placed her arms on the bed, so that she could lean back and rest the weight of her torso on them. Her legs spread and I could the her outer vaginal lips.
“Come!” she whispered. “Take me.”
In a sec I was up from the chair and my shorts dropped to the floor. My T-shirt was off, too and I stepped out of my pants to release my fully erect cock. When she saw it, she smiled.
“We were right.”
I was too anxious to reach her to pay attention to it.
The closer I came, the more she leaned back and the more her legs opened. When I was at the bed, I reached for her triangle. The lines formed a very dense pattern around it and they merged behind it. She shifted her body more to the headrest so she could place her feet on the bed, too. Not only the part of her butt cheeks that I could see now, but also her legs were covered in those lines, too.
But I had just eyes for her vagina. The skin around it was gradually getting lighter and when I spread her legs, a pink hue greeted the entrance to her.
She lifted her arms to welcome me and I sank on her. Her vagina was not wet at all, but my hard cock sank into her without resistance. It was a feeling of sliding into talcum. I was engulfed in her sweet perfume that seemed to emerge from every pore of her soft skin.
Without any foreplay, I picked up speed. Well, I haven’t been with a woman for more than 2 weeks now, and I was hot as I could get. She didn’t mind and gyrated her hips to find the best rhythm with me. Her long fingernails gently scratched my back. She smiled.
“Bob!” she whispered.
“Yes, my dear?”
I nodded. “Yea, very good!”
She knew what it took to make a sex hungry man cum. She moved her hips up and down to maximize the feeling for every one of my strokes. It did not take long and I knew I would cum. I wanted to slide out of her and cover her incredible belly tattoo with my white semen, but when I was ready to do so, she crossed her legs behind my back.
“Give it to me! Give it! Give it!”
I didn’t like to be asked twice, and with a final stroke, I came. I emptied my liquid into her. My balls had been swollen (I think I had the image of having sex with her the moment I saw her on the beach) and I emptied every drop into her hot and waiting pussy. After seven or eight spurs, she still did not let me go. Her vagina muscles milked my cock from its base to the tip so that every drop was squeezed out. Even after that I could feel an incredible movement deep in her belly. We remained united for a few more minutes during which I enjoyed her tremendous kissing techniques. Our tongues intertwined and her hands were caressing my back. When we finally separated, I expected to see a big splash of semen out of her pussy. This is something I always enjoy when a woman allows me to fill her.
To my astonishment, the moment when I pulled my half-limp cock out of her, the pussy lips seemed to seal her entrance and I saw no drop of my liquid seeping out.
She saw my puzzled look and gave me a final kiss, while she pushed me on the bed.
“Relax, my dear Bob.”
She got up, stepped into ring of cloth and pulled it up. I would see that her whole ass was covered with the lines which definitely moved, at least from my angle of view.
I was kind of exhausted and I figured out that I could do nothing right now. If the chief of the clan or the owner of the house was to find out that I had unlawfully fucked one of his people, and if he would kill me for that – so be it. I just have had a wonderful sex and I enjoyed the remains of Pharomé’s fragrance that still lingered in the room.
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