Tulao'otupu, New Shasheer - 1

Hi there! I'm Nguyen Hue Bich (Win Hway Beek), President of Tulao'otupu. I hope you enjoy reading this account about how our little Pacific island nation got together as I do presiding over it! ...
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Nguyen Hue Bich in front of government buildings
Most of it is written by my good friend, Herenui, who does a thorough job of research and interviewing the characters of this account, myself included. However, in a few places, she turns the story over to Alex to tell it in his words. Although his account of the fighter jet battle between him and me is exciting, he otherwise tends to be mushy. But what do you expect of a slave whom I've got wound around my finger! Hah-hah!

So read on! I think you will find it a most unusual account. Ain't no other like it on the 'Net or in stores.
Oh, and, if you find grammatical errors (like "there-they're" confusions, "right-write" confusions and others like that, "you" when it should be "your", and otherwise, then go to the site below:
Musclewomen-Planet.deviantart.com
and report them. Either send a note, place it on the comments page (that'll embarrass him; GOOD!) or find the email thingy and email him. And for every grammar error you find, I'll smack his ass 5 whacks! Hah-hah!

Now, there are a few places in the story where accents of speech are written out, purposely spelled so that the sound of the accent is related to the reader. Ones I know of involve an Afro-American, a Polynesian, and one of us on the island here, a big gal who was originally from New York. Mushy, stick-in-the-mud Alex wanted us to remove them. He says it ain't politically correct, perhaps especially for the Afro-American. Do you know where you can stick your political correctness!? Ah, maybe you wouldn't wanna stick my comments up your little computer... not yet anyway. Enough of that stuff is coming up.
This story ain't for the lily-white-hearted.
Look, it's just the way she talks. I like the way they talk, personally. Anyway, any complaints? Come here to Tulao'otupu, among all us amazons, and tell it to the writer, 6-feet-5, 250-pound Herenui. Tell it to her while she is under 300 pounds of barbells, doin' bench presses. That'll give you a chance to run away if she gets pissed. Nah, she's real nice.
We will accept advice on how to make the accented speech better, if you feel qualified to tell us.

Well Herenui-Girl, take it away!



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Alofa you all!
(No, that ain't no misspellin'; a-l-o-f-a is how it is pronounced/spelled in the southern parts of Polynesia!)
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Herenui, writer, during interview

I'm your writer and, I guess, official(?) correspondent of Tulao'otupu! I'll be guiding you through this tale of how our unique island nation formed.

A wee bit about me... I am originally from Tahiti where tourists expect the island women to be smallish, skinny, and sexy. But I'm, like, a 250-pound, muscular, not fat, gorilla. I couldn't get any of the cushy tourist entertainment jobs, even though I can belt out a mean fa'arapu (Tahitian dance, you know, with the hips goin' a hundred miles per hour to the fiery sound of the pate drums)! And at 6-feet-5 and 250 pounds, I got a lota stage presence; I mean a lota stage presence! The whole dam thing quakes when I do it!

I ended up in laboring jobs where my muscle was utilized. Figures. Then, via a long series of events that I'll not go into here, I ended up going to United States and being part of a circus for a couple decades or so where I was... guess what... a circus strong-woman! Hah-hah! Also figures. Bending metal, lifting weights, flexing muscles. The woiks! A few times I danced as a stripper of sorts, whenever a club wanted an unusual act.

Later, I got mixed up with Nguyen Hue Bich's crowd when they were still in United States, up in Montana. This will be covered in the account. When Tulao'otupu was purchased and formed, I and my funds were in there 110 percent. And now, here I am, a long-time resident of Tulao'otupu, here already from the very beginnings. And good-heavens, what a story!... Well, that's just what I'm about to write about, below.

So I am not necessarily a professional writer. In fact, here on Tulao'otupu, once again I am a laborer, what do ya know! Hah-hah! A-workin' on the roads, like everyone else here just about, includin' the president! But... I do dance, for the tourists, most of whom are guys who have come to see the amazons! So my muscles and stage-quaking fa'arapu fits right in here!

If you find writing errors, please go to:
Musclewomen-Planet.deviantart.com
and either leave a comment, use the "note" option, or the email address provided and let us know. When it comes to writing, I'm still on a learning curve, hee-hee!

Languages I speak reflect where I was born, raised, and have been, generally. English comes from the decades in United States. I was raised with Polynesian and... French! Oui oui, Monsieur! Don't forget, Tahiti is French! Parlez vou Fracais?

Okay, enough blah-blahing!... (Is that a word?) Anyway, the account begins now, below...



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Alofa pumehana from Tulao'otupu! And I guarantee, I will be using a word expander for that one throughout the telling of this account! I am Herenui (Tahiti Polynesian for "big love"), a citizen of Tulao'otupu, here to speak of this strange and exotic experiment which is our island nation.

Tulao'otupu or "New Shasheer" is our purchased island in the south Pacific where we became our own nation and live the way we want. But that's almost cliche-ish in sound. It is more than that.

So, live the way we want? What is Tulao'otupu like or all about? Well...

How's this for starters: Our president is a woman, formally of Vietnam, who is 6 feet 2 inches tall, weighs 160 pounds, wears an aodai for greeting guests from other nations but otherwise goes naked except for her Vietnamese farmer's hat that she always wears. We all go naked or skimpily dressed. So do I. It's our way. Our president is often seen frolicking in the surf naked. She is not married and has 1 steady male lover or slave, and 2 other guys always hanging around. She also has at least 1, maybe 2, lady lovers. You might call them "lesbian", but we don't believe in labels, and we never restrict ourselves to any one lifestyle or way.

Our president is Nguyen Lily Bich which comes from the all-Vietnamese name, Nguyen Hue Bich. Hue means Lily. Bich is pronounced "beek", not bitch, although she gets a lot of ribbing over that! Hue is pronounced "hway", by the way.

Though our president is 6 feet 2 and 160, she is considered slim compared to the rest of us. I am average at 6 feet 2 which is the same height, but at 200 pounds. Most of the women on this island range from 180 to 220 fit pounds and stand anywhere from 6 feet even to 6 feet 4. And let me make it abundantly clear that their weights is not fat, it is fit muscle. Some of us are quite muscular. We are more or less a collection of amazons. Strangely, however, our men average 6 feet even tall at 120 to 150 pounds. They are all very fit and sexy, but just not big. Tulao'otupu is matriarchal, or woman-dominated.

Tulao'otupu lies 5-8 degrees south (of equator) and something like 170 to 180 degrees east. Why the range when Tulao'otupu is only 25 miles long and 15 miles wide? To keep precise location a secret, I suppose. Though tropical, Tulao'otupu is not that extremely hot. It is swept by a constant trade wind, and humidity and closeness of the ocean keeps our temperatures moderate. Being close to the equator, we have no seasons. Daytime highs average low to upper 80s with night time lows ranging 72-77. A couple times it dipped to 69. Twice a year, once just before October starts and another around the beginning of March or maybe late February, the sun is directly, and I mean directly, overhead. If one stands straight, her shadow is but a little oval under her feet. A straight up and down pole has no shadow. Uh, and all of that assumes noon time. And by the way, we keep "nature time" all year. No "daylight savings time" for us. No changing of the clock twice a year. We just keep to the rhythm of nature.

Let's see, what other oddities of Tulao'otupu can I point out so that your attention will be held during the introductory sections...

Well, our president (again); she has no income... for being president. Her income comes from working on the roads. Yes, our president Nguyen Lily Bich is out there in the tropical sun doing road work. She does government duties Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, more or less. She tries to keep it to 2 days so she will get a day off per week, but it doesn't always work out. When doing road work, she is naked except for work boots, protective gloves sometimes, and when needed for safety, a hard hat. Her co-workers dress similarly. Oh yes, and her trusty Vietnamese farmer's hat.

Every weekend, Saturday usually, president Nguyen Lily Bich and mayors from each of the 5 major towns, 6 smaller towns, and a number of representatives, the number depending on the size of the town, meet on a beach of a lagoon under the coconut trees and discuss matters. None of them are paid. They are all women. They all have heavy builds with a few being heavily muscular. One mayor is 6 feet 9 at 300 pounds. She has 30 inch arms! They dress anywhere from nude to skimpy... decorations actually. Nguyen Lily Bich wears her Vietnamese farmer's hat and nothing else. It's an interesting sight, all those burly gals with that slender, finely built lady with silky black, long hair with purplish sheen, face shaded by that hat. They are all very protective of her. Nguyen Lily Bich is always the first to arrive. She usually takes a dip in the sparkling waters while waiting for the other government ladies to arrive. Only one mayor and 2 representatives live closer to that particular beach than the president. But she always makes sure to get there plenty early so she can get in some swimming.

Another Vietnamese woman on our island (who is about our president's size and build) described our president thus, "she has a nectar-sweet tongue that hides razor-sharp fangs dripping with poison." We think she who said that is just jealous. The rest of us adore our president!

There are a number of Vietnamese on our island, maybe 200 of them. All of the females among them tend to be similar to president Nguyen Lily Bich in build with men being smaller. Why are there Vietnamese? Actually, better ask why there are many races and nationalities represented on the island. This will become clear to you later. That is part of the story! There are 15,000 of us. Additionally, there are 4000-some Polynesians total, all living in "Polyhoods", or Polynesian neighborhoods, here and there. Only they dress in clothes of something like you may be used to. That's a complicated story and arrangement, which will be disclosed as this account evolves.

We have NO TAXES! When the government needs money, our sweet president gets on "state-owned" television, dressed in her best aodai, and with facial expressions that are so sweet, and with a sweet, musical voice, begs us for money. For example, she begged for money to pave the roads of Tulao'otupu. They were all dirt roads before. Anyway, whenever she does that, all our hearts melt over her. Most of us respond immediately with many of us trying to physically approach our president to not only give her a hand-full of money, but give her a warm hug. I have done so a number of times. She is so squeezable! She melts in your arms. She seems hungry for hugs and love.

Tulao'otupu is a haven for cyclists. We have banned cars! Big dogs are also not allowed. (And um, that one... is a bone of contention that many nations and organizations from various nations have had with us. More on that when the time comes!) The road paving project was started so that the whole island can be traversed by bicycle, recumbent trike, or velomobile. So you can go anywhere by bicycle on Tulao'otupu without fear of being run over or any attacks. Tulao'otupu itself has no dangerous animals of its own. Tulao'otupu is an absolutely wonderful place to cycle, day or night.

Alrighty! Curious now? I will now go into how all this got started...

It starts with Alex, a man, despite the fact that we are matriarchal. He has a curious background. Long ago, he was a fighter-jet pilot from the 1970s Vietnam days. He had a harrowing experience with a certain pilot of an enemy Mig fighter jet. For that, I will turn this over to him to tell it in his own words. Why do we go that far back in time for this? Hee hee! Wouldn't you like to know! It will eventually be disclosed. Anyway, for now, here is Alex with his account, thus...


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Hi, I'm Alex, "founder", so to speak, of "New Shasheer" which later was moved to and became the island nation of Tulao'otupu.

But now we go back to the mid 1970s when one day (of a number of them), I had been over the skies of North Vietnam for a bombing mission. I had just bombed what was thought to be a ammunition depot when I spotted a number of Mig-21s coming after us. I was admittedly inexperienced, and especially so for "dog fighting" (aerial battles between planes). I wanted no part of that. My mission was done anyway, so I headed back at full speed, climbing out to hopefully get lost in the clouds.

I am not sure what happened, but when I came out and over the clouds, I was by myself except for 2 Migs on my tail. They were kinda to my right side, which would be, lets see... roughly west of me as I was headed south... or thought I was.

I saw a missile come straight at me. Evasive maneuvers got me out of the way of that one, but I knew more would be coming. I don't know what happened to the rest of the squadron I had been with. I dipped back into the clouds to make aiming difficult for them. In the clouds I was flying "IFR" and hoping that their radar wasn't good enough to pinpoint me in here. A missile roared really close, so I don't know if that was a lucky shot or if they were zeroing in on me. I took more evasive maneuvers, zig-zagging around like a scared rabbit. I sure hoped there were no high mountains to surprise me. I know I was working toward the east which would be going over the ocean (China Sea).

The cloud cover was sporadic. You see they were cumulus clouds, that billowing type that forms during a summer day if you live in the east (USA). Well, they're all over Vietnam. So it was "now you see me, now you don't." Once I came out of a cloud and one of the Migs was to the right and at about 2 o'clock of me. This was my chance maybe. Without noting where the other one was, I turned suddenly and opened up with my guns, spraying him with bullets. A hit! Fire and sparks came forth from the Mig and he was headed down.

While gazing downward intently to see if he used his ejection capsule, I was suddenly violently buffeted. A blur roared past me, just overhead. It wasn't a missile. It was the other Mig itself! Ha-ha! My sudden move apparently cut it off, just like a car making a sudden move in traffic that cuts off another driver. Had that pilot had a horn, he would have been laying on it for sure! And flippin' a bird! Inches closer and we would have collided. That would have been the end of both of us. That pilot had to have been very experienced and skilled to avoid crashing into me.

Anyway, the near miss must have scared the bejeebers out of him and shook him up. He was on my left side, about 10:30 o'clock of me. I swung around and opened up on him too, but he skillfully evaded and disappeared into a cloud below. I swung on out eastward a bit and then began circling right, or southward. South, south! I gotta go south to get to base!

I went as fast as I could muster. But that son-of-a-bitch was behind me again. I began evasive maneuvers. I don't know why he didn't open up on me with his guns. He just could fire a missile if the opportunity arose. I was seeing to it he didn't get many opportunities!

This crazy chase continued for quite a while. I kept trying to get back on course. I was over ocean at that point. Vietnam was way over there to the right (west), putting me way east of it. I had to work my way over, but that dad-blamed Mig was there cutting me off.

So it was in and out of clouds for what seemed like well over an hour. And yikes! My fuel was low. "Why doesn't that fool give it up and go home!?", I asked fiercely to... to... to whatever.

I realized suddenly that I was over open sea. Vietnam was nowhere in sight. Radar wasn't making sense. The clouds were clearing. Tiny islands way ahead. Large land masses were visualized just barely, way, way to the southeast and another to the southwest. I had no idea what land they were. I had no idea where I was. All I know is that the Mig was still on my tail. I had no more cover. My fuel was very low. I had to find a long airfield soon, or I would be running out of gas up here! Then that bastard scored a hit. Blamo! My tail section was pulverized. All instruments went dead and all control was lost. Luckily I, my body that is, wasn't hit by anything. I activated my ejection capsule. Last thing I saw out the window is that I was nearing an island. That might be useful, depending on who's on it. If it is an out island of North Vietnam, my goose was cooked. But it couldn't be North Vietnam. I had been flying south at hundreds of miles per hour for over an hour. That at least was reassuring.

Well, I activated my ejection capsule, which ain't fun, let me tell you. It slams you down with 10 or more Gs. A windshield slams over you, closing you in. That must me done, or else the wind stream, passing at hundreds of miles per hour, would rip one apart. One just doesn't parachute out of a jet fighter.

So I was slammed out of there, almost knocking me senseless. After a lot of turbulence and tumbling around, the ejection capsule stabilized and drag chutes deployed. After that, the main chutes. I was on my way down to "see the sea."

But something was up with the Mig. It was circling around, getting low. I peered out the tiny windows of the closed ejection capsule, as I wafted down, to see what was up. I was worried it was going to circle around and try to finish me off. But no. The Mig harmlessly passed very low over a tiny island below. The island couldn't have been more than a couple miles in length. Then the Mig revved engines and began to climb. As it climbed, getting higher than me in altitude, the engines made a weird sound, then quit. I think that mother-f is out of gas! How 'bout that! Silently, the Mig turned, nosing down, and headed toward the island. It circled once as it went down then toward the island again. Now it was way below me. I saw the pilot pop out in the ejection capsule, or seat; not sure which. The Mig went on down, passing over the island and crashed into the sea just past it. There was no explosion, since there was no fuel to burn. I couldn't see at the moment where my plane had gone. I assumed it was in the drink too.

Well, well, well. It was over, the battle, at least. Both of us finished! Ha-ha! Shoulda given it up and gone home, gook!

One concern bothered me though... As soon as my ejection capsule hits the water, it is designed to float. There is even a paddle included for so mobility on the water, although it is not very efficient. For certain, I would head for that island. But, would the gook go there too? Gulp! Uh, like, how good are North Vietnamese pilots for hand-to-hand combat? I immediately searched for the pistol that was supposed to be included with the ejection capsule. Found it! Yes. But what weaponry would he have? Anyway, one way or the other, I was going to have company on that island for sure.

Well I planned while my descent to the ocean continued. That pilot out there had less descending to do. That might give him a head start in getting to the island. That might turn into a serious problem for me.

Well splash down, and I was then bobbing around in the sea. An ejection capsule is designed to float. Floatation extensions serve as a cushion for coming down on land, and as floats for coming down onto water. After touch down, I unlocked and opened the ejection capsule so that it would indeed become "boat-like." I searched around and found the paddle. I clearly visualized the island and began rowing toward it. It was far enough, but not that far. I had to experiment with the best position for paddling as to comfort, sustainability, and leverage for paddling.

I made my way through breakers and I was not even at the beach yet. You see, many islands in the south seas are ringed by coral reefs. They become very shallow way off the actual shore. The reefs are also jagged, sharp, and have done in many ships. They lie just under water. Ships wreck on them in conditions such as night, storms, and other situations where visibility through the water may not be possible. I was safe because my speed was slow and my craft small and light. I even ran aground, harmlessly, onto a reef. I had to get out and heave the ejection capsule/boat over and around the reefs. When I did so, I kept my boots on. No bare footing here! Corals can be sharp and could cut the feet. And the last, last thing I needed at that point was a cut, especially in the tropics! No thank you! I'll keep the boots on and put up with wet feet, thank you. I prefer wet feet over cut ones, that's for sure.

After struggling over the reefs, it got deeper, not really deep, and I was able to get back in the ejection capsule/boat and continue paddling. Man, was that water clear! So colorful! It sparkled like jewels in the sun. Colorful fish could be seen even from up there where I was. I can see why these kinds of places are so popular for tourism. I could have used a dip about then! I was sweating profusely. While I had been wading in the water, pushing the boat over the corals, it felt nice.

Like, no problem when, as I approached the beach, I had to get out into the water and walk the ejection capsule/boat in. It felt great! At this point, the waves were "prebroken" by the reefs out there so there was none of the pushing and buffeting one normally gets from the surf at this point from the shore. Where I was there was sand, and a very gleaming, super-white sand at that. I never seen sand so white. But still, I kept my boots on. I didn't trust it. Never been here before, nor even a place like this before. I was tugging at a heavy weight and my feet were digging in. I absolutely, positively, and without hesitation, reservation, or refrigeration did NOT want to sustain any kind of cut. Not here! Gosh only knows how long I would be here before I would be rescued. I don't need to be fighting, or even worrying about, any kind of dadblamed cut and accompanying infection. No thank you!

And that ejection capsule was pretty heavy indeed. When I beached it, I continued to drag it to where I thought it was over high tide. And that was a dam long ways. The beach slope was very slight, making for a long wade and then a long trek over the dry part. Ever drag something through the sand? Seems like its weight multiplies by a factor of 10. The whiteness of the sand became a curse at that point. It reflected that tropical sun on me mercilessly. It was absolutely annihilating my eyes and roasting me in general. I had to stop several times to rest.

When resting, I kept a look out for my, um, neighbor, that I knew I was going to have. I also began to assess just what I would be dealing with so far as setting up camp here was concerned.

The island was all sand, with low, scrubby weeds growing around. Already I had seen a bunch of little lizards scurry from me. In the center of the island was a small forest of coconut trees and some other kind of lower down tree or bush. That would provide much needed shade. No standing fresh water was available. I would have to dig for it, probably near the center of the island... as per survival manuals and films that I had watched. The ejection capsule had water purification tablets.

During one of my rests, I did indeed finally visualize the pilot of the Mig making his way in his ejection capsule. I don't know why he was so far behind despite having had a head start. He was just making his way over the reefs out there, as I did earlier. I squinted as I tried to see as clearly as possible his condition, size, and things like that. I wondered if I should try and take him right there and then. No, not at that point, I thought. There was no cover, and he's liable to have a firearm too, as I had. I was sort of hoping for an unspoken truce. We would remain at opposit points of the island and leave each other alone.

I rummaged through the things in the ejection capsule to see if by chance they had any kind of binoculars. There was none. But there was a large magnifying glass in a kit of fire-starting items. (One starts a fire with a magnifying glass by focusing the sun onto a tiny point. That point becomes hot enough to light kindling. That would certainly work here!) I also found a compass that had a small lens for magnifying its face. By holding the magnifying glass far from my eyes and the little lens close, I managed to create a telescope effect; that is, I made a make-shift telescope. It was unsteady, the way I was holding it, but it did make some distant things a little clearer to me. I used it to examine my coming "neighbor." I couldn't believe what I saw!...

That pilot had taken off all clothing, and, like me, was wearing boots to protect the feet from corals. As that pilot tugged and pulled and pushed to get the ejection capsule over the corals, that pilot turned several times. The pilot had removed all the clothes except for the boots. The image was pretty shaky because I was having to hold two lenses steady and I was tiring of keeping one eye closed. Also, the positioning was critical. The small lens had to be held a certain distance from my eye and the big lens way off. In fact, I couldn't hold the large lens far enough to get a clear picture. I couldn't quite focus. But I did see that this pilot, now naked, had no um... uh... well... well, that is, there was no penis! And the shape of the build, and the... chest... My gad-almighty live! I was dealing with a woman!

So it was a woman that skillfully parted me from my squadron, chased me all over the place out here, and successfully shot me down!

"Good lord have mercy!", I muttered to myself.

I was shocked to the point of having even more difficulty holding the lenses steady. Plus, my arm that was holding the far lens was getting tired. But I held it up anyway. I had to keep an eye on where this was going!

Gee willikers! Okay, I have been using the pronoun "he", "him", and "his" up there. From here on, it's going to be "she", "her", and "hers." But keep in mind that I am speaking of the same pilot that had just shot me down.

Okay, okay. So I kept my jury-rig telescope trained on her to see what she was going to do next, and her general progress. She struggled and got the ejection capsule up and over the corals and then it was free floating again. But she did not get in it. Instead, she swam, hanging onto the ejection capsule, and pushed it. You mean, she had swam from way out there like that? Pushing that ejection capsule? What, the Russians don't include a paddle in their Mig ejection capsules? What a gyp! Well anyway, that explained what was taking her so long. Now she was back to swimming and pushing the ejection capsule. I wondered about sharks. I suppose, in water that clear, if she saw any coming, she would just jump back into the ejection capsule and wait until they're gone.

Well that gal slowly but surely made her way to the beach and, like me, had to begin pulling and tugging, first through shallow water, then through the hot, dry, burning "sugar sand." And by-gosh, she was doing it pretty well. I don't know if the Mig ejection capsules are any lighter than American ones, but probably close. She was pulling it well, getting it past the high tide mark, and before I did!

I hustled back to work on my rig. I had been so caught up with her 'till I forgot what I was doing! I heaved and tugged to get the ejection capsule past high tide and behind an area of weeds. I kept my eye on what was going on way down the beach, maybe 3000 feet away.

Finally, huffing and puffing and drenched with sweat, I got the ejection capsule where I wanted it. Whew! Now what... It was lookout-time, that's what. What would she do next? Come after me? I had to think about, what is she going through now? I don't think she will frontally attack me unless she has a gun of some sort. She must assume I have one. But, like me, she must surely be tired and exhausted. And dazed. Shot down, or out of fuel, then having had to use the ejection capsule, which in itself is a shock, would cause anyone's head to go a-reeling. I don't know if she knew any more than I did where we were. Like, who's island is this? Must belong to some country.

I think she was in a slightly worse state than me. She could be in, sort of, enemy territory, after all. I was sure this was not North Vietnam. I had been flying south at high speed for hours. I really thought at that time I was beyond Vietnam altogether. But where? At that time I didn't really know what lie south of Vietnam. Of course, now I know it's Malaysia. It turned out that the island she and I were on was simply one of hundreds of tiny "out islands" situated between Malaysia and East Malaysia which is on a large island called Borneo. A sea separates Malaysia and Malaysian Borneo (East Malaysia), and that is where a whole bunch of little islands are, all strewn all over the place. Some are small and uninhabited. We were on one of those. But at the time, we didn't know it... or at least I didn't. The best I was hoping for is that we were on neutral territory, way off somewhere. My biggest concern became when would we, at least I, be rescued. If this place really is out somewhere unusual, it might be a very long time!

First thing I did is rest and cool off. I sat under one end of the ejection capsule that cast a shadow. It was late afternoon so the sun was easing off. But I had to keep an eye on what she was doing.

Wherever I went, I made sure that the gun was with me. I went inland a bit to "dig for water." I used a fold-up shovel which was included with the ejection capsule to do the digging. Indeed, I found water. It was a bit murky, but I was going to cook with it anyway. The survival kit included filters I could pour the water through to filter out particulates at least. Then cooking would make it safe. I boiled some of the k-rations that were provided. So anyway, that kept me occupied. At all times, I kept an eye out for my enemy.

If she wanted to attack me, it would not be easy to sneak up on me if I stayed alert. The scrub brush was thin, and you could see someone through it, even if she crouched, for quite some distance. That small forest in the center of the island would provide more cover, but it was thousands of feet away. So I was easily able to scan the area around me to make sure no one was stalking me. I stayed close to the ejection capsule at all times because that was the only substantial thing around to take cover from shots from a gun, if she had one.

Well, time eked by. The sun got lower. Shadows longer, temperatures milder. And man! The display of towering cumulus or storm clouds that were way out over the sea, the higher elongated clouds, the sun's rays... it was beautiful. What a sunset that was. And the sparkling lagoon; all of it. It was absolutely spectacular. I was mesmerized by it. I wondered if she was too.

The spectacular sunset continued and eased into blue-darkness, when then a spectacular garland of stars began to present.

As full darkness took place, I became concerned of a sneak attack from her. I could still see well thanks to the brightness of the stars, but I had to remain alert. How would I sleep?

I had to get out that automatic S.O.S. sender radio and get it going. I should have done it during the daylight but I forgot. I could use a flashlight, but any light would give away my position and indicate I was occupied and thus not alert to an attack, and indeed, I would NOT be watching for an attack as I should. Groping in the darkness, I did as much as I could in at least finding the radio and getting it out of its container.

It was an uneasy night. Bit by bit, in spurts sort of, I set up the automatic S.O.S. sender. She never bothered me. I finally got it set up and got it to sending. So now, at least, an S.O.S. was being sent. Knowing about radio as I do, I was hoping night time "skip" would extend the distance the signal goes.

At that point it was midnight, and I was really sleepy. But if she attacks, it would most likely be in the early morning hours. I had an idea that might work... I laid out a sleeping bag, which was included, on the ground and put things in it that made it look like someone was sleeping in it. I placed it some distance from the ejection capsule, toward where she was. Then I came back to the ejection capsule, got in it, and closed the windshield. It was pretty sturdy and might stop most bullets. There were some metallic things in the sleeping bag that hopefully would make a noise if disturbed. Anyway, that way, uneasily, I fell asleep. A couple times I was startled awake by a noise, but it was nothing but high tide waves getting really close.

One final time I was awakened it was by a hard, driving rain. One of those towering storm clouds seen in the sunset hours ago must have wafted its way here. It was dark blue outside, indicating sunup was coming. But it was raining like crazy at that moment. The windshield of the ejection capsule kept most of it off me, but it got really humid and stuffy. However, the soothing sound of the rain upon the windshield put me to sleep.

Next time I awoke was from broiling heat. The sun had come up, the storm cloud had moved on, and the sun was blasting away. It was coming in through the small windows of the ejection capsule and directly on the surface of the ejection capsule. That had the interior steaming. There was no staying in there then, that's for sure!

So I was driven out of there and into the direct sun of perhaps about 10 o'clock in the morning. Though it was drying already, the sand was spattered and damp from that deluge earlier. I went to check on my sleeping bag that I had placed out there as a decoy. It was undisturbed... that is on first glance. But... It did appear something had been changed... as if rummaged through and then carefully replaced. There were no footprints in the sand. However, any footprints would have been long washed away by that deluge of a rain in the morning. In my thoughts it was inconclusive if it had been disturbed. I just could not remember the original positioning of things clear enough.

I carefully ventured out onto the beach to look way down there to see what she was up to. I brought along my 2 lenses so I could hold out that makeshift telescope. I found no sign of her ejection capsule. Saw no sign of her either. That was disquieting.

With my gun in my hand, I ventured around to explore the area around me, seeing if I could get a glance of her. But always I would head back to the ejection capsule because it was the only thing that I could get behind that would stop bullets.

Huh... So what did I do all day? Hope that rescuers would arrive, cooked k-rations, and stayed still. Moving around was not advisable. Where was she anyway I thought. If she had taken up quarters in the woods, which was the only possibility, she would have lots of cover. I dared not go near the woods the rest of that day.

That day leaked on by slowly. The sparkling lagoon water beckoned, but it was quite a distance to it. I dared not leave the safety of the ejection capsule. Nothing happened except it was hotter than hell. Thank goodness there was a breeze at times. In the afternoon, it clouded and a torrential rain occurred. It was like a warm shower, no problem. It was a relief.

I still had plenty of k-rations. Water was procured by digging, sending it through filters, and dropping in a purification tablet, or boiling if for cooking. I hoped all that would be okay.

Another beautiful sunset was followed by a nervous night. I stayed inside the ejection capsule with gun in my hand for sleeping. Once again there was a deluge in the morning. And once again I was awakened by being steamed out of there by morning sun.

Another day oozed by looking out for her. No sign of her. Again I whiled away another day just waiting, wondering, and hoping for rescuers. I was surprised nobody at all had showed up, not even fishermen from whatever place this was out here. Two torrential rains occurred that day.

Well, huh. Another beautiful evening, another night. Another torrential rain at night that helped me sleep. And once again, being driven out of the ejection capsule by searing heat. That sure does make a helluva good alarm clock!

Well now, this was getting monotonous. The third day now and nothing. Alright then, by that afternoon, I was getting a bit bolder. Maybe she had no gun. It could be the Russian ejection capsule was not as well equipped as mine was.

With great caution, gun at my side, I slowly made my way up the beach toward where I saw her drag her ejection capsule. I stayed as low as I could, but the scrub brush really gave no cover. But it worked both ways. I could see far into the island, and there was nobody.

I arrived to the apparent site of what had been her camp. There was obvious signs of former activity, but nobody there at that time. There was a depression in the ground and smashed bushes. The whole ejection capsule was gone! Had she gone off? Certainly not, I thought. Where would she have gone in an inefficient ejection capsule/boat with no paddle? Could she have been picked up by fishermen? If so, it is possible she purposely did not speak of me. But did they take the ejection capsule too? That would have been a lot of trouble. But maybe she wished to not leave evidence. I looked for foot prints but there were none. Multiple hard rains had erased any and all tracks.

Slowly, taking all day almost, I completely circled the island. All the way around on the beach. I looked inland at all times. No sign of anybody. The only part I could not see into well was the small neck of woods; those coconut trees and other shorter trees and bushes. Could she be there? I thought not. Somehow, some way, she was gone. Probably picked up by fishermen. They were on that side of the island, saw a stranded woman, and she was pretty good looking as far as I could tell from the jiggling image of my makeshift telescope that day. She also must have been pretty fit. The fishermen probably rowed out in a small boat and picked her up. She must have dragged the ejection capsule back into the water, and either sank it, or the fishermen took it away. That is what I figured. Based on that, I finally began to relax, although I was not 100 percent convinced.

I completed my walk-around of the island. Relaxed, I enjoyed more k-ration cuisine. Maybe sooner or later, another fishing boat would see me and pick me up. I also thought that maybe most of the fishing was done on that side of the island for some reason, so I decided that maybe I should hang around on that side. After eating, I walked back to where her camp had been and kept an eye out on the sea.

For the evening and night, I just returned to the ejection capsule. I still slept inside it. I was not thoroughly convinced that she was gone. I slept inside it, with the gun next to me, not in my hands. So I had relaxed down a little.

Well, so the next day came along, beginning in the usual way; me being driven out by the heat as the sun shined in through that window and on the surface, heating the ejection capsule up. After a breakfast of k-rations, I did another circumnavigation of the island. Needless to say, I took my gun. I still tended to crouch a bit, although I don't know if it would have done any good. The scrub brush just was not thick enough to hide anyone. That helped me in assessing the situation though. Except for the woods in the center of the island, I could see clearly inland, especially if I just stood straight up. I guarantee, that there was no one and no ejection capsule of any kind there. Hmm, I thought, she must have surely been picked up. I was seriously thinking of dragging my ejection capsule here so that I would be on the same side of the island that she was when the presumed fishermen saw her. Then I decided against it. Too hot, too hard to do. Instead, I would just bring k-rations, water, and little propane stove to her former spot and do lunch. At night, it was dark anyway, so they would not see me then.

As I began to relax into the belief that I no longer had an enemy on that island with me, I became concerned of other things. For one thing, I stank like an absolute pig. I took all clothes off and went into the surf, something I had been wanting to do, to go into that sparkling water of the lagoon, and dipped in and frolicked around for quite some time. It did a pretty good job of giving me a bath. The only problem is that when salt water dries, it is a little itchy. But I sure did feel better. I dunked the clothes in there too to get them washed out. After that, I wore only the underwear briefs I had come in. Not as ugly a sight as you might think now; I have a lithe, fit body, 6 feet-even tall, at 150 pounds, and very fit. Fit and light weight; excellent build for a pilot. No reason to have some 250-pound brute flying around. That would use more fuel. At 150 pounds I can work aircraft controls and pull triggers as well as anybody bigger.

Whew! So with that all described out, one can see I was set for the long haul... maybe. After cleaning, my other concern was food and water. My k-rations were getting low. The propane bottle was getting awfully light. There was one more replacement bottle. The water purification tablets were one-third used up. Without purification tablets, I could still boil water to drink, but the doggone propane was getting low. If I was not picked up soon, I would have to go to the "next level" of survival, which entails building fires from the fuel sources on the island, and somehow procuring food from the island or surrounding waters (fish). I could see me doing that! I was brought up in "suburbia." I knew nothing of living off the land except for what I watched in the Air force's survival films. And, in those darkened rooms with the other recruits, I, along with most of them, generally fell asleep. Dammit.

Well so, another day completed itself. Still no sign of help. My automatic S.O.S. sender had just about spent it's battery. It was indeed beginning to look like I was going to be there a long time.
I was mesmerized by another spectacular sunset. Man! This place! Each evening it tries to break its own record for beautiful sunsets.

That night I still slept in the ejection capsule, gun at my side (not holding it, as before). I wanted to sleep outside where a refreshing breeze blew all night, but, I still was not 100 percent sure I was alone. But gees, where could she be, unless it was indeed the woods? But wouldn't I have noticed something by this time?

After being driven out of the ejection capsule by the morning heat as usual, and while having breakfast of k-rations, I began my assessment of how to take this survival situation to the next level. I noted that the ejection capsule's survival supplies included hooks, artificial lures, and monofilament line for fishing. No poles. Survival films indicated one would make his own from branches or whatever. (I caught that once during a survival film while changing position in my seat before going back to sleep.) Instructions were even included so that clueless suburbanites like myself would even know how to begin. I would have to go into the woods for that. She might be in there... still. Although, after two days...

I decided to assess the woods. It did have coconuts. Coconuts are an excellent source of nutrition. They are in extremely tough husks which first must be opened to get the coconut out. Then it has to be drilled through and broke open. Perhaps I could use the gun to break it open. But a coconut husk is an entirely different matter. Ever try to open one? Geewillikers! Forget your saw, forget your hammer. None of those will work. The saw will get hopelessly tangled and caught in the fibers, and the hammer will just bounce away and smack you in the head. Drills will get mired in the fibers too. None of the modern tools work. Polynesians must have a secret code to open them! They seem to do it easily. They have a technique using a sharpened steak well anchored to the ground. But I slept during that film.
Coconuts are way up there in very tall trees. Fortunately, however, they drop to the ground regularly. In fact, the ones on the ground may have just begun to rot a bit, so that their husks are a little easier to open. But then the milk and meat will not be as good.

Well anyway, I had to go to the woods to find something that might do as a fishing pole.
With gun in hand, I walked around the island to a spot that, for whatever reason, the woods was closest too. I approached the woods with great caution. Man, the birds! Every kind of whistle, squeak, squawk, and everything else one can imagine was being uttered and at the top of their lungs. It was almost deafening. I guess these isolated islands are havens for birds. There are no predators, not even humans usually. They have free run. It's a Roman-bird holiday!

I came out of there peacefully and in one piece, with a couple coconuts and a branch that could make a good fishing pole. I returned to where that enemy, that North Vietnamese gal, had been to sit and figure all this out. I had nothing but time.

I did not succeed in opening the coconut husks, but I had assembled something of a fishing pole. I tried it out for a while, but did not get any strikes.

Well, so, anyway I was keeping myself busy with those projects. That day also concluded with another wonderful sunset followed by a glittering garland of stars. One more night, I slept in the ejection capsule.

Being driven out of the ejection capsule with a dripping sweat began the day as usual. I took a dip in the lagoon to wash that off and then had breakfast. That day was occupied trying to fish and open coconuts. Not successful with either, although it did seem I got a nibble on the line. Another sunset followed by glittering stars concluded that day.

This time, however, I did sleep outside the ejection capsule. With gun by my side, I fell asleep, next to the ejection capsule, caressed by a balmy breeze. I was sleeping almost nude, only underwear, under the stars. It was neato! I would have enjoyed it had it not been for the worries. Mosquitoes bit a couple times, but the wind kept most of them away. Most mosquitoes, I think, stayed in the woods, bothering all those birds.

I forgot the occasional drenching rain. I was awakened by a downpour that just about had me underwater. I was driven back into the ejection capsule for the rest of the night.

The next day I even caught a small fish. Next I had to learn to build a fire. The hardest thing about a fire is getting it started. If I started building fires from the materials around, I would use the propane stove only for lighting. The propane would last for months that way. So I set that up, and darned, I really succeeded in building a fire and cooking the fish on it. I still was not successful with the coconuts, however.

That night, I slept outside the ejection capsule again. I planned that if it rained, I would just move into the capsule.

I was awakened suddenly in the middle of the night, not by rain, but by a terrible screech and some creature slapping a rope around my wrists before I even knew what was happening! That creature, whose grotesque silhouette is all I could see, had my wrists tied and was then tieing my ankles. I tried to kick free, but it had the leverage and forced my ankles together and tied them. The creature grabbed my gun and tossed it away. It pulled me by the arm and dragged me onto the beach. With me laid out on the beach and terror stricken, the creature revealed itself. It threw off palm fronds and branches and things that gave it a grotesque silhouette. It tossed aside a mask. Under the starlight, I could see her, it was the North Vietnamese woman pilot, completely nude, and she had me!

She knelt heavily on my chest and drew a knife and applied it to my neck. I thought for sure I had breathed my last. After all those peaceful, idyllic days, was I to die this way? The blade felt sharp and I thought for sure she was going to give it the killing thrust. She was strong, man! Could see her muscles, even in the dark. They were not huge "circus strong man" muscles, but very fit, lithe ones, kind of like I have, but hers were just a bit stronger. I have never seen such a big Vietnamese woman. Most of them are tiny, hardly 5 feet at barely 105 pounds. But this one must have been 6 feet 2, and at least as heavy as me, or slightly heavier. I was 150 pounds. I think she was 160 or 170 pounds.

Then, in broken English, she said words that were sure welcomed, although not all that nice...

"You don't die; not yet, dog! You have pretty face. Nice body! Not so big like other American dogs. Me can handle you! Me stronger than you! Obey me! I let you live! Yes?!"
I nodded and breathlessly huffed "Yes!"

With surprising strength, she pulled me by my arm to my feet. Her grip was strong and it hurt. She drew that scary knife out again but only to cut the ropes at my feet. She left my wrists tied. Fortunately, my wrists were tied in front of me, not behind my back. In front is much more comfortable.

"Come with me, dog! You not run! You not fight! Me stronger than you! You run, or you fight, me kill you! Hear not hear!?"
"'Gulp', I hear!", I breathlessly agreed. One thing for sure, there was no room for an argument there!

Shoving me at regular intervals, she marched me around the beach away from where her ejection capsule had been. I sorta wondered where we were going. It appeared she was armed only with the knife. She appeared to have no gun, and at that, she tossed mine away. I don't know where she tossed it; in the weeds, or the surf? If in the weeds it could be retrieved. In the surf it's finished. So she doesn't even want a gun? She is so sure she can handle me that she doesn't need a gun?

After we had gone a ways, circling the island about one-quarter, she ordered me, "Get down, dog! Lay! On back!

Scared of what she was going to do now, I did what she ordered. I laid down on my back on that beach, my face staring up at the brightly glimmering stars. That is, untill her butt and crotch blocked my view as she sat on me, right on my face. I resigned to the fact that now I was going to get pissed on, or maybe, eww, the other...

"Stay still, dog!", she ordered, "Move, then me kill you!"

Squatting, her crotch was jammed right in my face. She sat, facing down my body and leaned on it. Her strong hands held me just below my chest. One hand simultaneously held the knife. The grip hurt. Her position rotated her crotch so that her labias and clit were right in my face. She began thrusting her crotch back and forth over my face. My nose was pushed into her labias and impinged her clit. So I was being masturbated on by her.

Before you guys think, "Ooo! What a way to be tortured!", well keep in mind that being rubbed in the face by a butt and crotch is rough on the schnoz. She began secreting some sort of liquid or something that now, of course, I know it is a woman's lubricating secretion that comes as she gets sexually aroused. At the time, however, I thought maybe it was pee.

My face took a beating as her thrusting and humping grew more frenzied. The secretions from her labias got in my nostrils, mouth, and eyes. I was strangling on it. It stung my eyes unless I winced them tightly shut.
At that point, she began moaning and huffing. That bitch was enjoying herself, that was for sure.
Her humping became so frenzied that she was pounding my face rather violently. If my nose found its way in between her labias, it was not too bad. But as she became frenzied, she would get off center sometimes, and one of her butt bones would hit my nose. That really hurt. It was coming close to breaking it. No guys, getting face sat by a woman is no fun!

That bitch seemingly went on to climax because she began a loud wailing and screeching as she really pounded my face. Apparently, she out and out cummed on my face because a huge amount of liquid poured out of her labias and drenched all of my face. It rolled into my ears and got in my hair; everything. It didn't smell like pee, and had a different texture. In those days, I had never experienced a woman having a climax before. Only 19, my overly Christian parents had forbidden any thing like that in my life. Now-a-days, of course, I can tell you that she clearly climaxed and cummed on my face.

I was literally drowning in her cum. But at least the pounding eased. I coughed and writhed. I really wasn't able to breath! She kept her crotch on my face a minute while, apparently, she basked in the warm feeling of gratification.

Finally that bitch lifted her crotch off my face. I turned my head sideways to shake off excess cum so I could breath. I gasped for air desperately for a minute or so; that is, as long as she let me.

She then rose to her feet over me. She leaned over, grabbed my arm and violently dragged me to my feet. I staggered around.

"You get to water! Wash face!", she ordered.

She shoved me to the surf to about waist deep. I generally did not like going into the water at night, thinking that it is creepy. But I had bigger worries at that moment! She dipped herself down into the surf presumably to wash off her crotch. Her hands went down to her crotch anyway, and seemed to be rubbing, scrubbing, as if cleaning. She then shoved my face into the water when I was not fast enough. Indeed I washed my face and hair of that mess thoroughly.

Grabbing my arm again, she dragged me to my feet and then out of the surf, back to the beach. We then continued our march to... where ever she was taking me.

"Fuck on American dog feel good!", she stated in martial tones, "American dog only use good for that!"

I said nothing, just glad to be alive at that point. Maybe if I could be of "some use" to her, she would spare me. As we walked, she gave me an occasional "token" shove just to let me know she is back there and in control.
Funny though, how one thinks of little things when in a situation like that; I found her use of the word "fuck" interesting because obviously, her English was not up to snuff. It was notable that she knew any English at all. She obviously learned it in some kind of school. So I wondered, what kind of text book, written in Vietnamese for Vietnamese learning English, would include the word "fuck" in their word lists? I just wondered where she learned it.

We ended up walking to the other side of the island, almost, but not quite, half-way around from where my ejection capsule was. She then directed me into the island and we then walked through the scrub brush to the woods. She directed me around the woods and pretty far into the midst of it. We arrived upon a small clearing with some stuff around, like pots, and what appeared to be a hammock, and other things that indicated she had been "house keeping" here for a number of days. So, huh! She never did leave the island. Her ejection capsule was nowhere in sight. She must have pulled it back to the surf and scuttled it. Pretty smart on her part. And I was to find out just how smart and capable she was...

"Sit there!" she ordered. I sat upon a fallen coconut tree trunk.

Keeping an eye on me, she moved over to a bag of stuff and pulled out half a coconut which was covered with a lid.
"Earlier, me see you try open this type..." (referring to the coconut; she must have not known the English word for it) "You not able open. Me already open. Eat inside; it is good!"
"Uh, er, um, uh, thank you! Thank you very much!", I stuttered out. Man was I ever surprised at that gesture. She even handed me a spoon to dig out the coconut meat with.

I tried to dig at the coconut meat with the spoon but my hands were tied together. I wasn't able to do it. When she saw this, she yanked the coconut away from me and used the spoon to dig at the meat. She got it all loosened and cut up. Then she handed it back to me saying, "Hold here!" She indicated to hold the coconut between my legs.

With the meat loosened and cut up, I was able to pick up the pieces with my hands that were tied together. In that manner I ate the coconut's tender meat. Man, it was good!

She sat across from me with the other half of coconut in her hand and ate too. When she ate, she just dug the coconut meat out with her fingers.

All this was done in darkness so thick I could almost feel it on my eyes. Little starlight filtered down through the canopy of forest overhead. But I could just see her form. She was completely naked as mentioned before, and I could see and I saw before that she was physically very fit and capable. Tall and statuesque, she was unquestionably strong. And intelligent. She had that coconut husked and open already while I had not even gotten the husks off mine yet, and after two days of trying.

She moved gracefully, and her long, straight black hair flowed smoothly with her.

Anyway, I hungrily devoured that coconut meat as she ate hers slowly and watched me. I even complimented, "This is so good! Thank you!"
"Me take care of you! You obey me! I take care of you. You pretty. Me watch you many days. You only wear that" (referring to my underwear briefs) "Me see you prettier than other American dogs!"

I was taken back by that. I managed to stammer out, "Uh, um, well, thank you! I'm a pilot, and pilots are best if they are not so big."
"You cute! Me stronger than you! Obey me. I will take care of you."
"Okay, uh... sure! I'll... obey..."

We sat in silence a bit more while she finished her coconut. I had already finished mine. Suddenly she asked, rather harshly, "Why you bomb village!? No army there! Only schools, village, hospital. You kill many. But no kill Vietnam army. No help your country!"
"Uh, uh, because that's where I was told to bomb. I only go where my commander tells me. And he is commanded by someone else over him. I am given coordinates... uh, that is, I am told where to go and fire the missiles... er, bombs..."
"Me hate the commander of your commander! They make bad mistake!"
"Yes! They made a mistake! I'm sure! They don't want to bomb an innocent village. They told me ammunition and tanks were kept there."
"They stupid and not know what they do right!"
Her voice was softer when she said that.

More silence. Then she asked, "What is your age count?"
"You mean, how old am I? I am 19. This is April, my birthday month. I will be turning 20."
"You much young!", she commented.
"Yes, very young..."
"Me age count 22."

Her English was a bit hard to follow at times. But her voice was so beautiful, I enjoyed hearing her struggle with it.

After another silence, she stood up and said, "We sleep now! You sleep there..."

She pointed at the hammock. It looked comfortable.
"But where will you sleep?"
"Me sleep on ground, on that..." She pointed at some thin mats on the ground.
"But I should sleep on the ground..."
"No talk! Obey me!", she ordered sternly. She added in softer tones, "Me strong. Me sleep on ground. You sleep there. It is better. I take care of you!"

Well, like, okay, okay. I'll sleep in the hammock!

I laid down upon it, and it was indeed comfortable. It had a covering over it to keep water off if it rained.

After I laid down, she tied my ankles together again saying, "Me must tie you again. Me apologize. You American dog. Me no complete trust."
"That's quite understandable", I assured.

She tied up my ankles with buckles and rope, and additionally tied the rope to a tree. She then hung pots here and there along that rope, under my hammock, and in various other locations so that if I tried to leave, a lot of noise would be made.

"You not leave!", she commanded, "If you leave, me hear, me punish you!"
"I will not try to leave. I'm so tired, I will sleep deeply."
Softly she said, "You sleep deeply. I take care of you. Tomorrow, we eat fish. Me see you try to get fish, but you cannot. Me get fish. Cook for you! When it is tomorrow. Sleep now!"

She laid down on some mats across the clearing from me. Her knife was by her side, the side away from me. She was being duly cautious, but surprisingly caring. Despite being so sleepy, I stayed awake wondering what this wild woman had in store for me...

I did indeed fall asleep and slept well. But then in the wee early morning hours a down pour of a rain opened up. I awoke from the sound and it took a moment for me to realize I was in the hammock provided by... my, um, enemy? Captor? Benefactor? Well anyway, I turned a bit to see how she was doing. Remember she was on the ground on thin mats. Well, she was there alright, barely discernible in the darkness. I saw her move around some. Then I heard her say, "You okay? Stay there!"

Now, to be sure, the hammock was not 100 percent dry. In a rain like that, the cover kept only the main rain out. I was still getting sprayed, wind blew in some, there was splatter, and so on. But it kept it out of my face and well, the greater force of it was deflected away by the cover. But she was in the open in the direct rain. I felt like a heel.
I suggested, "Maybe you should sleep here..."
"Not! Me okay! You stay! Me strong! Me take care of you! You sleep!"

Well... okay then. She was the boss in this situation. She had the greater strength and a knife. So I stayed. She laid down and... apparently just took being rained on. She covered her head with something but the rest of her nude body was being soaked. I was wet too, but not being drenched like she was. Oh well, if that what she orders, I go with it. So I lay there, relatively comfortable.

Keep in mind this is a tropical island, near the equator. The nights get no cooler than 75 degrees and it's humid. While the rain is not exactly warm, it is not chilly either. But still... her laying on the wet ground with rain pouring on her... That bothered me while I waited to go back to sleep.

I awoke, apparently from the sound of a parrot or something similar squawking really loud just yards away. When I stirred, the pots rattled and it flew away. The whole woods was alive with the sound of birds. I was alone. I looked around. We were at the edge of the woods. I could see out and past the scrub brush. This part of the forest was particularly close to the water of the lagoon. And she was out there and not wearing a stitch. Well, except for a rope-like thing around her waist that apparently held a sort of scabbard for her knife. And wow! Was she built! Man! Tall, athletic, well endowed; Oooo! Her back was turned and she was spread-legged. Her butt was well sculpted, round, and perky. If she stepped or something, butt muscles would flex and her butt jiggled enticingly.
Then, she turned around, looking my way. She must have heard the pots. She drew her knife from her side and began running this way. I stayed put, just sitting on the hammock.

She came running into the clearing with an intense look. Her long, flowing black hair followed gracefully behind her. When she saw I was just sitting there quietly, making no attempt to escape, she calmed down.

She reasserted, "You stay there! Me get fish now. Later, me cook for you. You hungry?"
"Uh, uh, yes! I'm hungry, but no hurry!"
"Me hungry too! I get coconut!"

Before I could say anything else, she bounded off into the woods a bit. She came back with a coconut in its husk. She did not completely re-enter the clearing, but came up to a steak that she had prepared and sharpened from the trunk of a small, woody tree. She had it razor-sharp.

Facing me from there, so she could keep an eye on me, she raised the coconut way above her head. She held the coconut so that one of its ends was facing the point of the steak. Then with violent force she slammed the coconut down on the steak. Indeed, it ripped into the husk. She then used her hands and strong, muscle-flexing arms to rip the husk in half and off the coconut itself.

Man! When she had that coconut held high and then slammed it down, her stomach muscles (her abs), flexed hard and fast, and when she ripped the husk off, the muscles in her shoulders and arms bulged and writhed. Wow, she was strong. Not bulging circus-strong-man muscles, but muscles nonetheless.

She came into the clearing carrying that vanquished coconut with a wry, knowing smile on her face. Hah! She saw me looking. Man! The very picture of primitive womanhood. Her knife at her side added to the look.

And, she was not done. She came into the clearing with me and then jammed the coconut into the fissure of a stump. She positioned it so that 3 little circles on one end of the coconut were facing upward. She took her knife from her hip and positioned the point of the knife on one of the circles. She then raised the knife with the point of it straight down. This action and position gave me a good look at her lean, athletic body from the side. And she knew I was looking. It was a display, man. She was making sure I was seeing it all. Then, with all her muscles yanking in unison, she slammed the knife straight down onto the coconut and chipped away part of the end. She replaced her knife to her hip scabbard and then leaned over into her stuff and pulled out a cup. She poured a liquid from the coconut into the cup, filling it. She handed it to me. With a bright, impish smile and sparkling eyes, she ordered, "Drink! Is good!"
"How about you?", I asked.
"Me drink too!"

She poured the rest of the juice into another cup and put it aside. Then she positioned the beleaguered coconut back in that fissure to hold it. She took the knife from her hip and this time positioned the whole blade across the coconut's face. She raised it and then again slammed it down. The knife wedged into the coconut, not quite cutting it in half. She then took some metal do-hickeys from her stuff and wedged them next to the knife blade into the coconut. She then plied the coconut apart, using her shear strength. She laid her knife down on the side of the stump away from me.

She turned to me and smiled impishly. No language was needed to hear her say, "See? I'm way stronger and capable than you, and sexy as hell to boot!" And I would agree on all accounts!

She took a spoon out of her stuff and handed coconut-half and spoon to me, ordering, "Eat! Is good!" She smiled big, and her eyes sparkled. I noticed too, however, that she kinda leaned way over to hand me these things. She carefully kept the knife away from me. Add to that, my wrists were tied together as were my ankles. When I drank the coconut milk, I had to do it two-handed. Now I struggled with holding the coconut in one hand and digging at the meat with the spoon in the other hand.

Seeing my struggle, she squatted next to me and held the coconut and dug the meat with the spoon for me. She hand-fed me. She smiled sweetly the whole time. She had her supple lips kind of pursed, as if ready for a kiss. She had plenty of smiles and cutesy, sidelong glances for me while she fed me.

After I finished that, she gave me back my drink of coconut milk and she sat down herself to eat her coconut meat. She just used her fingers to dig it out.

I tried to make a little conversation. She kept grinning at me and giving me those sidelong glances. Her smooth, jet-black hair strewn across her face making her look wild. She was dressed in her own brown skin and coal-black hair. That is all she needed.

And I was just curious about her stuff. I ventured, "These pots, these pans;" (I pointed at them) "are they made in Russia?"
She grinned big and replied, "These made in Vietnam!"
"The jet... the plane, that you had been flying; was that made in Russia?"
Smiling, she replied, "Plane made in Russia!"

She then leaned over into her stuff and pulled out a nice looking radio. She handed it to me and said, "This one made in Russia! You use! We near Malay... sia... Malaysia. Pretty music!"
"You think we are near Malaysia? I thought maybe it was Philippines."
"Philippines... to east... Malaysia to south!"

It was cute the way she struggled with English.

I tried out the radio. It had a good sound. Apparently solid state, it was also solidly built. I kinda like Russian made stuff. They tend to go for not-so-high-tech, simple, and rugged. And works well. The radio was stable, did not drift, and did not have reception problems such as 'birdies', whistles, 'image', and other things like that which bother some radios.

After a time and after finishing her own drink of coconut milk, she got up and said, and with a big smile of course, "Me go get fish now. Me cook for you! Me take care of you! You rest! Stay here! Listen radio!"
"Okay", I replied agreeably.

With several smiles and sidelong glances, she placed her knife in her hip-held scabbard and took some other items and walked on out, through the brush and back to the beach. Several times she turned to glance at me with an impish smile. Call it "Stockholm syndrome", call it whatever, I was beginning to like this captivity!

So there I was alone in that hammock, still tethered to the hammock and tree. If I moved too much, the pots, pans, and other metal things would rattle and I would see her turn to see what I was doing. She must have known that there would be some rattling every so often as I changed positions and so on.

As I lay in the hammock, I noticed that the rope that held my wrists, though tied expertly in a manner I could not breach, the rope itself was not in the best of shape. The fibers were beginning to rot and individual fibers were fraying. I thought, if I could work my wrists loose, I could show her that my intent to stay and obey her was genuine, and I could at least do away with this restriction. I writhed my wrists around and dug at the fibers with my fingernails, but I could not get good traction. But it looked like I was beginning to weaken them. I had nothing but time. So I rested some, then had at it again. Later, I spied a somewhat sharp-edged piece of bark or wood or something that was on the ground near me. It took a careful, long stretch; careful that is, to not rattle the pans too much, but I managed to retrieve the piece of wood. With some difficulty and juggling around, began to saw at the fibers of the rope.

After several attempts, eureka! I did it! The rope gave up and my wrists separated. I then worked the rope off both wrists using my now-free hands. After my wrists were clear, I could simply relax and let myself drift off to sleep. "But wait", I thought, "Let's try the radio..."
Yes, that Russian-made radio she had given me; I put it through its paces. I tuned around and found a station playing this strange, exotic metallic-sounding music. It had this metallic, kinda like, gong-sound with bass drum accompaniment. It sounded interesting so I stayed on that station. There were also commercials and news, I assume, in what I believe to be Malaysian. So anyway, I just laid back on the hammock and listened to that.

I let the ropes on my ankles stay. I just wanted my hands free. Also, I was thinking of trying something psychological with her. You'll see in just a minute. Anyway, so I just relaxed. A nice breeze was blowing, making a soothing noise in the trees, and the sound of far away surf also added to the hypnotic sounds. I set the radio volume low then laid back. I slept well.

I was awakened by her pretty and musical voice announcing, "Me get fish! Now me cook for you!"

With that long, smooth black hair trailing gracefully behind her, sure enough, she came in with 2 sizable fish. Glancing at me often in that sidelong manner she does with impish grins, she rattled pots and pans and got ready to prepare the fish. Both of them were still jerking around sometimes. I wondered when she would notice that my hands were free. I had them resting comfortably by my side, completely separated.

With that trusty knife of hers that was always kept on her hip, she began preparing the fish, scaling them and gutting them mostly. She put that aside and wiped her hands with some cloths there. She replaced her knife into its scabbard on her hip. She then announced, "Now, I cook with..."
And she finally noticed...

"Your hands not tie?", she asked, wide eyed, with her hand near her knife.

"The ropes were making my wrists itch", I replied with a scratching motion at my wrists. I was playing on the fact that she seemed to truly care for me. I continued, "The rope was rotted and I managed to get them off. I'm sorry! I stayed here! I obey you!"

She leaned over away from me, removed the knife from her hip and laid it over a ways. Then she came up to me, slowly, examining but smiling pretty.

"You not... re-tie your feet?"

Indeed her English confused me at times. I think she meant "untie my feet".
I replied, "I can't untie them." (Maybe I could have, but I had not tried... on purpose.)

Smiling, sometimes impishly, and giving me all sorts of sidelong and direct glances, she finally leaned over, picked up her knife, and came over to my feet. With a slice from that fearsome blade which always made me nervous, she cut the ropes on my feet, thus releasing me completely. My little psychological test turned out positive.

She stepped over several paces and laid the knife down. She came back to me as I assumed a sitting position on the hammock.

"You not want leave?"

The way she was speaking plus her inaccurate pronunciation made it hard to determine if she was saying "want" or "won't" (will not). "Not won't" doesn't make sense, so I assumed she was saying "want". Usually "want" is followed by "to", but her English ability was far less than fluent. Anyway, I replied, "I do not want to leave."
(I was watching my English and trying to avoid contractions for her. Also I was trying to indicate the proper way to use words. This was just to make it easier for me to understand her.)

She smiled impishly and looked at me sidelong. Her long black hair was across her face making her look free and wild. I then just began to "harden" up (if you know what I mean), and I was only wearing the underwear briefs. I'm not sure if she saw "it." Maybe not yet at that time.

Then, kind of like, suddenly, she turned around and sat at my side on the hammock. When she did so, her additional 160-170 pounds pulled the hammock much lower. She giggled, "Me too strong!"

She was right next to me, making body contact. Remember, she was buck-ass naked. Not a stitch. Her skin contacted mine. Well, I just sort of... I put my arm around her. She resisted not!

Her fingers began walking all over my body; over my chest, my stomach (which is very lean and trim; from exercise and cycling (before going to 'Nam)), over my thighs and... near "it"... which was fully extended and throbbing away by then. It was the main "pole" of a considerable "tent" that it rose in my underwear.

She made sweet cooing sounds as she felt me over. With an impish grin and a shy, sidelong glance at me, she asked, "You want that there in me?"
Hesitantly (shyly), I replied, "Uh-huh..."
She giggled sweetly.

She grabbed me and pressed a powerful kiss on my lips that almost sucked my lips off. Her tongue invaded my mouth.
She let me go and her hands went for her own crotch. She sort of stretched and, with her hands, massaged her crotch a bit. Her hands came from there wet. All this was "first-time" for me. I didn't know what some of it meant. But even then, I figured she was "turned on" and turned on hard!

She wiped her own wetness on her ample, shapely brown thighs then went back to holding me. She gently asked, "What is your... name?"
"Alex", I replied.
"Alexsa?", she ventured as her head nuzzled mine.
"Alex", I repeated.
"Alexsa", she repeated. She kept adding on a little "sa" or something on the end.
Well, I just said, "Yes", because it sounded cute.

"What is your name?", I asked her.
"My name is... mmm!... Hway... hway...", she struggled. It appeared she was trying to think of a word. She finally said, "My name is Flower."
"That's pretty!", I complimented.
She giggled shyly.

She continued feeling me over. The tent in my underwear was really high by then, and throbbing. The tip was wet with, what I now call "pre-fuck juice" which wetted a spot on my underwear. She felt it over.
"Mmmm", she purred.
She cooed out, "You very pretty boy! Not dog! Alexsa! You very pretty!"

I don't know about calling a man "pretty", but it might be generally applicable. Anyway, I think she just could not think of any other words, so she just kept saying that. I enjoyed hearing it anyway. Naturally, I replied, "You are very, very pretty too, Flower!"
She giggled and felt me over some more. My erected member felt like it was going to explode. And her feeling it over and pinching it to feel its hardness was NOT helping! I was hoping she would let me do "it" with her. It would be my first time with a woman.

Since I was sitting next to her and she was buck naked, I could see her "lips" down there (the labias) were swollen, and a secretion of some liquid was taking place. Her tits stuck way out. I knew nothing of a horny woman in those days, but even then, I knew she was mighty tempted.

However, at least that time, her concern over, perhaps, morals, STDs, unwanted pregnancies, or some such thing forced her to put on the brakes. With great, huge effort on her part, she said, in a quivering voice, "I better go cook fish now! Wait long, then not new... fresh."
"Okay", I agreed breathlessly, also in a quivering voice.

For a moment, she seemed dazed and not quite knowing what she was doing. She rattled some pots around, then finally remembered what she was going to do before she got distracted... over me.

In fact, she turned to me and asked, "Alexsa, can you help me?"
I enthusiastically replied, "Sure! Yes!"
"Come with me and pick up many of this type..."

She, Flower, held up some dried sticks and branches. I think she wanted me to gather firewood with her. Good! It'll help me forget my painfully engorged, throbbing... member... alright, penis; and should I even call it "cock"... which she kept glancing at. So I got up and helped her gather firewood. When I bent over, I would get poked in the belly each time by my own cock. It finally began to go down. We gathered enough wood for one fire.

We came back to the clearing and she took what I gathered and added it to what she had gathered. She began breaking them, including some pretty big ones, with her bare hands, and arranging them for the fire. I offered to help, but she smiled sweetly and motioned for me to sit on the hammock. She replied, "Me strong. Me know how make fire, cook fish."
Fine with me. I enjoyed seeing her muscles flex.

After she got the sticks and kindling all ready, she tried to explain, "Before, I use gas, put fish in water and... and..."
She couldn't think of the word. She struggled, "Make water do this..." and she motioned with her hands in such a way that I figured out that she meant "boil." I suggested, "You boiled the fish?"
"Right! Right! Me use gas fire, boil water and fish. That way, no smell. You not know me here. But now, me use this type make fire. Only use gas start fire. Save gas. Gas one-half use... no more."

As I had been, she was running low on her bottled gas, that I guess her ejection capsule also had a supply of. She would now be using wood fires which will give off a distinct smell. Before, she had been boiling the fish she caught for herself. The gas flame has no odor, and boiling fish gives off very little odor. That way, I never detected her presence on the island by the smell of a fire or cooking.

She finally added with a big smile, "Cook fish this way better taste!"

Well, by golly, she did it. She served out one fish for each of us, and they were good! Kinda plain because there was no salt, spices, or lemon, but good nonetheless. After that scrumptious meal of fish, she gathered another coconut, tore off the husk with that steak and her own bare hands, then attacked the nut itself with her knife, first recovering the milk, and the proceeding to hack it in two for us to eat the coconut meat.

Not a bad meal, eh? Fresh fish, cooked over an open fire, and fresh coconut with coconut juice to drink. All provided by her, Flower. Had I been on my own, I would have still been boiling k-rations and drinking muddy water, laced with whatever chemical that is in those "water purification tablets." Flower was indeed taking care of me very well!

After she buried the bones, she took the pans we ate out of and smiled at me with one of her sidelong glances and said, "Alexsa, come with me!"

She took the pot and pans to the surf to wash them out as best as she could, and to wash her hands and face... as did I. Remember, no facilities; no running water and the like. She hung the pots to drip and blow dry (from the constant wind) and then she pulled at my hand to come with her.

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