The physically unremarkable Jason McPherson under a battered straw hat, white shirt and white shorts, barefooted and heavy backpack, progressed along the short island jetty knowing he should have stayed on the main island where beer and easy women were on tap. Chances of finding happiness and a solution to his problem at this stage were based a few alluring images that survived the night but then one doesn't usually find adventure unless one goes looking.
He had no option but to agree.
The previous evening Jason, a writer with that terrible malaise that hovers over anyone in his vocation, had consumed too much liquor and listened too long to the bored barmaid who filled his receptive mind about her home place, the Island of Nanihi.
"That island fills my soul. She is called Nanihi, a most enchanting place to be."
Well, Jason rolled out of bed, still drunk and with Kaimi's words about her enchanting island stuck in his mind. The significant residual of alcohol in his system was sufficient to inspire bravery, so Jason paid his hotel bill and went down to the harbor to take a cruise boat to Nanihi.
The place was crowded with tourists searching for their cruise boat, and noisy with crew from such vessels trying to drum up last-minute custom from undecided travelers.
Those boats would be heading off in all directions apart from inland, Jason smiled but then his frown deepened because no signage indicated any boat called at Nanihi.
A group of elderly native men yarned while watching the noisy scene of milling people generating a mix of riotous color.
"Excuse me," Jason said, flicking up a smile. "Where's the boat to Nanihi?"
The men conferred then one in near-faultless English with just a touch of French accent said, "Pardon me, sir. No cruise boat goes to Nanihi."
"But it is the enchanting island."
"All islands are enchanting places sir," the man said gravely. "There are no big swimming pools, lively entertainment centers, big bars with scantily dressed women or white sands groomed by machines on the island of Nanihi, so no tour boats go there."
Jason felt devastated. Afflicted by writer's block he'd come to this part of the world in the hope of being reborn, emerging with a reconditioned mind rich in creativity and doors opened again to stored resources in his head. He'd thought the words from barmaid Karma last night contained the trigger he'd desperately wanted, words like ‘Under-populated, no-one rushes, everyone wants for nothing and so enchanting, good for the soul.
The huge disappointment showed on Jason's face as he thanked his informant and walked away, shoulders slumping.
"I go to my home island. I will drop you at Nanihi."
Jason turned, now stretched fully to normal height, of five foot eight. Although not a tall man, with his spirit bouncing back at the sound of that offer made him feel he'd gained another six inches - in height that is, Jason grinned.
"I thank you sir," he smiled at the man who'd walked out from the group he'd just left.
Four and a half hours later Jason was on the Nanihi jetty waving to his departing benefactor with Jason's $100 in his back pocket.
The new arrival tripped on a plank on the jetty that had warped away from its neighbors and avoided a nasty fall by grabbing a rotting handrail that withstood the sudden loading.
"Some bloody enchanting island," grumbled Jason, but his heart told him he'd find love and new life on this unpromising place. His heart often lied to him like that but sometimes it confused itself and told the truth. That had to be so this time, otherwise he was dead. A newspaper headline flicked through his mind, "Top Male Romance Novelist Found Floating in San Francisco Harbor: Suicide Suspected."
No newspaper would publish a headline that long, thought the unsmiling Jason but then he probably wouldn't wait until returning home before seeking release from this torment. He'd find the remotest island possible and settle as a beach bum.
He spoke to two men fishing off the jetty, asking where he could find a hotel. They smiled and shrugged to indicate they couldn't understand him.
A plump woman indicated understanding but did not speak: she pointed along the beachfront. Jason walked about fifty yards and came to the start of white sands fringing the shoreline, a suggestion of enchanting paradise after the rocky foreshore where he'd landed.
The first place was a sprawling dump that had a sign reading, ‘Rooms to let'. He wearily thought that language must be English. Not shack was not much to look at but no worse, it would appear, than the neighboring buildings flanking it.
A cheerful woman dressed only in a wrap it seemed, as her big boobs bounced alarmingly, was able to communicate. Yes she had rooms, no there was no hotel on the island and no bars, but there was one liquor store that opened only at 4:00 for two hours each afternoon. And yes, she smiled hugely, everyone accepted American dollars - but only cash.
The rooms were disappointing, not the environment for a writer searching for his creativity. Fortunately the woman read his disappointed face correctly.
"You want a sunshine room, on the beach. Yes?"
Jason looked at the beach less than 20 feet away and thought this was the beach, but presumably a sunshine room meant a room that was lighter and brighter. He nodded.
"My sister, she has such a room, but more expensive than mine. You want it?"
Jason nodded and the woman began walking along the beach, taking the hands of two youngsters who joined her, appearing from nowhere. Obviously depopulation was regenerating itself naturally.
He trailed behind leaving the largest footprints and eventually thought the woman had forgotten her mission. They'd walked perhaps half a mile and the youngsters were tiring. Two minutes later they arrived at a rambling ramshackle house, quite colorful, really and almost over-run by greenery. A woman clone of his guide came bouncing out to hug her sister and her top half, even bigger than her sister's, looking like a huge mass of jelly under seismic attack.
"Yes, I have a room you will like Mister. It's expensive, five dollars your money each night, eh? But you can bring girls there and I won't mind. My name in your language is Happy, so you call me Happy eh, and my husband's name is Bill and my kids who are nine will tell you their names if they like you. Well, I go now and talk to my sister and cuddle her little ones."
Jason watched the sister and children walk away, retracing their footprints. Earlier Happy turned and laughed at the pathetic figure of Jason. She pointed to the sea. Jason walked into the sea and was blown away. The temperature was perfect, he looked out quite some distance and still could see the white sandy bottom and many and presumably edible fish if left to grow. He walked out of the water to sit on a fallen palm and almost wept. He had arrived into his dream.
Jason's ‘house' that Happy led him to was a room made of unpainted plywood on three sides that came up about four feet and apart from support poles there were gaps to the thatch roof that overhung the whole structure, giving it protection from the elements. The front facing straight out to the distant reef was open, with steps down to the sand. Then he noticed canvas rolls tied over the gaps. Obviously they could be unfurled to provide protection against wind-driven rain.
Jason anticipated there would be a bucket for a toilet and the sea would be his bath - but who'd care about that when in paradise. There was no electricity but he'd heard a generator rumbling away at the big house so doubtless Happy would allow him to recharge his shaver if he decided to use it and his laptop battery.
Jason continued to stare happily at his new home. The floor base was supported on piles and there was a small bridge out to the room that at high tide would be completely surrounded by water. Jason had seen homes like that when sailing off Tahiti and had thought those people were so lucky. Now here he was, lucky Jason.
It was very basic inside. The wide bed (for Jason and the girls Happy had mentioned?) was a rubber mattress on a simple wood base, with three rubber cushions. Ah, Happy must have been thinking two girls, thought Jason, hastily reminding himself that in the islands a reference to ‘girls' meant unattached young women though just to confuse, some older women liked being called girls.
Jason stretched out on the bed to try out the mattress and the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Happy.
"You had a good sleep, too much booze last night eh?" Happy laughed. "My Bill he drives to the village now to buy booze, that shop is only opened for two hours. He wants to take you. He'll also find a girl for you if you want - with your hair color (‘dirty' blond) many girls will be popular with you."
"Ah, just some booze and I'll need to buy food."
"You don't buy food, you eat with us. You are our important guest," Happy said, losing her smile but regaining it as soon as Jason said that would be very okay.
"That will be fifteen dollars each week but no booze at the table as my children eat with us, eh?"
Fifteen dollars a week for his total food bill? Jason's head reeled.
"What is your job Jason?" Happy asked. "Please be careful what you say because my mana - that means importance to people around here - will increase if you are able to be someone of importance who is my guest."
"Sorry Happy. I'm just a writer who's lost it."
"A writer!" Happy screamed, hugging the still sitting Jason. "Oh, you don't know what this means to me and my family. "It's almost as exalted as if we had the President come to stay with us."
"Are you a good enough writer to have books in shops?"
"I've had thirty-two novels published," Jason said wistfully.
Happy crashed down on to the bed, grabbing Jason and cuddling his head to her very mobile superstructure.
"I'll be treated by my people like a Queen while you stay with me Jason - oh please stay for a very long time," urged the very happy Happy, tears running down her face. She continued to hold Jason close to suffocation.
Bill was the contrast to Happy - sullen. But he liked to talk and said he'd take Jason fishing whenever Jason wished, so Bill was a great guy. He also qualified as the world's worst driver, clipping two palm trees on the half mile drive to the inland village and stalling the motor when they were fording a tidal river plus almost running down two children who had stepped off the road to apparent safety.
Bill's vehicle was only just that - basically a platform with four wheels, running gear, two seats and a flat plywood tray behind them with a box nailed to it presumably to hold the shopping. There appeared to be some springing and shock dampening. The diesel motor was obviously a few years beyond its last visit to a service center. There were no doors or windscreen. Impact bracing, air bags, seat belts? You have to be kidding! Jason thought. The redeeming feature, with Bill driving, was that top speed appeared to be twenty miles an hour.
In the village young kids crowed around Jason, ‘girls' silently and shyly circled him, older women fluttered their eyelashes or fingered their hair and men looked as if they were assessing his worthiness of being used for fishing bait.
Bill scared the kids away by growing just two words, "Fuck off!" and that also caused the girls to step back a few paces and to make the men grin and the women scowl. Jason found himself really taking to life on this island. He hadn't realized paradise could be so perfect.
He asked where were the insects.
"They begin arriving next month," Bill grumped. "We have to spray the whole island again."
"That must cost big money."
"It does, that's why we are all poor despite catching plenty of fish and selling it for big money."
Well, there had to be a downside. "Why is the village built so far from the jetty Bill?"
"In olden days, every thirty to fifty years I reckon, a big wave would come and the village would be no more. That was good in some ways because people would get new houses and we'd have new shops. But not so many people for a while, eh?"
Yes, quite, thought Jason, rubbing his chin and thinking of his cute little hut on the seashore, probably the first structure an incoming tsunami would find. Still, for five bucks a nigh one should not grumble and hopefully they didn't come any more. He decided not to ask Bill when the island had been last visited by a tsunami so that he could sleep at night.
Walking into a store he purchased a two dozen pack of juice to mix with his vodka and martini mix in the event of unexpected visitors but then only tax inspectors would know where he was. A beautiful young woman took his money and said: "They say you are a writer."
"Yes, I'm Jason."
"Hullo Jason. I hear that you sleep on the beach in the guest house."
"If I bring you a writing by me will you read it?"
"I would be glad to do that, always keen to assist an aspiring writer if I can."
"At sunset tonight, yes?"
"Yes, um, do you have a name?"
"How old are Ulani?"
"I think perhaps you should come with your mother."
"If you say so Jason."
Dining with the Happy's family was bedlam. It was simple fare, but delicious and undoubtedly nutritious and Bill automatically shouted "Shut Up" every five minutes to restore order and to make the two babies wail. The two young teenage daughters seemed to run the show. Everyone appeared to go to bed at sunset although there were lights in the house. That probably explained why so many children were around.
At sunset Jason was reading on his deck under the kerosene lamp. He heard a noise on the sand and peering down saw the lithe shape of that girl Ulani. She had a school exercise book in her hand. He called her up and asked where her chaperone was.
"My mother prefers to go to sleep."
Well, who could argue with that?
Ulani gave Jason the exercise book that he opened on the table with the lamp just to the right of him.
"Please, take off shirt. I shall massage your shoulders and back. I have baby oil with me."
Well, what a delightful way to be treated while assessing someone's writing, Jason mused, wondering if she were skilled in rubbing anything else.
It was a story about a young girl's love for a boy, shattered when he went from his island home to find work. It was beautifully written, though in somewhat limited vocabulary, but the emotion flowed from the words, more that making up for vocab deficiency. The girl had bared her hurt and bewilderment profoundly.
The back and shoulder rub had been very well done.
"This is beautiful, Ulani. If you wish I can send it to the publisher of a magazine who publishes some of my short stories."
She rubbed his shoulders with power, indicating her excitement.
"Please send it away Jason. I would like that but will need to rewrite it as my tears are on those pages."
Oh my God, thought Jason. She's written about herself and lost love with tears falling on the manuscript! Tim Hutchinson would be over the moon about this when told - he'd image the page with the most tears stains and slap Ulani's pic over that to go front cover. Women would go to the feature story and cry their hearts cold.
Gathering himself, he asked casually: "Do you have a nice photograph of yourself and your boyfriend?"
"Yes, when he left last year I went with him to the main island to watch him sail away. We went into the place where they take pictures and we got our picture taken. I have copies."
Oh my, a professionally taken photograph perhaps. This will bring gold, real gold to this girl. She'll be able to have a new home built for her parents and then sail away to reunite with her lost love or find someone else if he doesn't want her.
"I need to keep this book Ulani. I'll come to the shop where you work tomorrow and collect that photograph. What time each morning does the mail go over to the main island?"
"Nine o'clock Jason so it will go the day after tomorrow. I am so excited - please turn around Jason. We make love, huh?"
A body of languorous beauty was waiting for him, with Ulani leaning against the doorless opening, no longer wearing her mail-order dress. Even in the dim lamplight Jason could see she had not a hair on her body apart from on her head. His arousal was almost instantaneous.
"I'm sorry Ulani," he choked. "This is an offer from Heaven for me, but I would be in the hands of the Devil if I accepted. You are so young, so innocent so vulnerable. I would be taking advantage of me, I mean of you. Do you understand, this is a sad rejection for me to make?"
"Say what you wish, Jason, but tonight your long column belongs to me. I wish to taste it, to cherish it to have it inside me - do you understand?"
She smiled, and stepping forward drew his head into her small but slightly curling upwards breasts.
"It is your intention to try to do something wonderful for me, Jason. Now comes the time for you to be rewarded in the only good way I know how. Let's not talk about this any longer, huh?"
She pulled at him, trying to lift Jason to his feet. He could not resist in fear of her straining herself. On the other hand, he knew if he got on to his feet he was gone.
"You mustn't strain yourself my dear," Jason said, rising to his feet and slipping off his beach shorts.
She immediately disappeared from his sight, slipping on to her knees and taking him into her mouth. Young she may be but she was expert at fellatio. Perhaps it was because there was little to do on the island after housekeeping and fishing and next would come inter-acting with people. Ulani had obviously been excellent and learning how to interact on a one-on-one basis.
It seemed a shame to do it, to those gorgeous small breasts, but Jason gently withdrew his cock from her mouth with the first act nearing an end, flicked his fist along the shaft just four times and a powerful ejaculation leaped across the space between them to splatter those breasts. Ulani squealed delightedly, thus earning an extra two squirts that surprised even Jason.
He sprawled on to the bed and Ulani backed up on to his shaft, steering it into her vagina with practiced confidence. She then began a slowly building bouncing routine, with Jason doing his best at thrusting back at her while playing with her titties.
He didn't have the heart to penetrate that small and sweet looking anus, so just played around it and had her squealing again. She shuddered and shuddered and then seemed to tire. Not knowing whether she was protected against conception and not really seeing that as an issue, he straddled her front and began beating his dick again, knowing he was very close.
Groaning, with the build-up about to free itself he felt Ulani take the tip of his cock in her mouth. She stared at him with a faint smile taking everything he offered until nothing more was left to swallow.
"Your fucking is excellent, Jason. "The best I've ever had, I think."
Oh yes, this is an island paradise for a guy, Jason thought, as he snuggled beside his little darling to tell here exactly what was likely to happen with her book and how he'd get a trust set up for her. She could appoint as trustees three or four people she'd trust with her life.
"You are one of those people, Jason," she said with utterly simplicity and trust in her eyes. "How much money might it be?"
"One thousand America dollars. Have you any idea how much that is?"
"No, but it sounds much money."
"Well, I think fifty times one thousand American dollars perhaps if the promotion of this story is handled by the magazine correctly, and I know it will, and film rights are purchased."
"A Hollywood film?"
"Yes and they may invite you to be the true life girl."
"That would be nice. Would you act the man I lost?"
Jason could not laugh, she was so serious, the darling.
"If a film was to be made, with you not known to the world, they would want to use a man actor who is already famous."
"I'd like it to be Brad Pitt."
"Well, you stick out for the actor you want before you sign anything Ulani, and you're likely to get your wish if this story of yours causes tears in New York, London, Paris, Tokyo and all places in between."
"But that's the whole world, Jason. You can't mean that."
"That where your story will find its home, Ulani. Believe me."
"Love me again, Jason."