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I awoke to the sound of a roaring I couldn’t place and a pounding headache. Forcing my eyes open, I saw blue, a deep sky blue. I turned my head to the left and saw a row of thick mangroves and palm trees. To the right I saw the ocean crashing on the shore. I was on a beach.

Sitting up, the world tilted, and I was hit with a wave like dizziness that threw me off center. I fought against it and examined my body, which ached like I had just had the stuffing beaten out of me. It reminded me of being in school, suffering the abuse of Scott Raintree, who brutalized me in one way or another throughout my high school years. Well, until our senior year when his new girlfriend wouldn’t put out and he started coming to me for blowjobs.

As the dizziness began to subside, I looked around and wondered what happened. I was on a beach, presumably alone, and had no idea how I got there.

The yacht!

My father chartered a yacht to tour the pacific as a college graduation present, or an expression of his midlife crisis, depending on how you wanted to look at it. His new twenty-four year old girlfriend of the week was on board She was a dingbat, a true blonde airhead. She was nice enough, until I reminded her that my father came with a son who was a year older than she was, making her my new stepmom. My father’s money be damned, she didn’t want to be my new mom. Besides that, the yacht was staffed with lovely women who shunned my father’s awkward advances with polite smiles, always shooting my new stepmom with an apologetic look.

I spent most of my time on the deck watching the hot, hunky deck crew working, when I wasn’t hidden away in my cabin reading. There were a few walks on the beach, and one memorable, rebellious skinny dipping that began with me diving off the side of the boat. Father was not amused, but he got the hint and tried to find activities that didn’t leave me bored half out of my mind. Father was my best friend, and he would have done anything for me. Now, I stared out at the ocean and wondered where he was.

A storm blew in from nowhere, and I ignored the captain’s warnings and went onto the deck to see what was happening. I love thunderstorms and wanted to see what it was like at sea. The waves grew into large hills of water, occasionally cresting into mountains. The yacht was tossed about like a toy boat, the winds and stinging rain pushed me around like a paper doll. That’s when I was washed overboard.

One of the deck hands dived in after me, and soon after a life raft was launched. We made it to the yellow, tented raft, but something went wrong on the yacht and the lights went out. Sometime after the darkness swallowed the world, we realized the raft was speeding across the waters. The yacht was going down and it was taking us with it.

The deck hand produced a pocketknife and cut the line connecting us to the yacht. There were distant voices calling out beneath the growling thunder and screaming wind. He told me to hold onto the raft and distribute our weight evenly across it. For hours we floated above the mountains of waves, shivering in the dark. I wept silently for the loss of my father, certain he went down with the yacht. At some point, it all went black and I woke up on the beach.

I saw the life raft and tried to stand, but I fell back to the earth. Crawling, I slowly made my way to it, hunting for the deckhand I was with. The raft was empty, but I saw him lying in the sand nearby.

“Don’t be dead,” I whispered to myself as I crawled to him, “Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.”

I reached him, a blonde haired man with sun-kissed skin and handsome features. He was wearing his deckhand uniform, a red polo and khaki shorts. I remembered his name was Steve, that he had been kind to me, teaching me how to tie knots and demonstrated the anchoring system. He was taksim escort in his late twenties or early thirties, a bosun, and had been yachting since he was eighteen. He was an old hand at life at sea, and I was glad it was him I found myself in this predicament with, and not one of his lesser trained coworkers. A sense of relief washed over me as I looked down on the hunk of man lying in the warm, dry sand.

I placed my fingers on his neck, searching for a pulse. My inexperience failing at this, I feared the worst, then rolled him onto his back and listened for his heart beat deep in his muscular chest. Thump-thump, I heard. I shook him, trying to wake him, then knuckled him in the middle of his chest, something I saw an ambulance worker do on TV. His eyes opened, and he began to cough, like he was choking on something. I helped him onto his side, so he could expel whatever it was he was choking on.

“Where am I?” he asked when his coughing fit subsided. I was thrilled to hear his familiar low tones. “Whoa!” His hand went to his head as he sat up. “What the fuck happened?”

“We almost died.” I stood, testing my legs again and wobbled to the raft, searching for the emergency pack I knew would be somewhere in its tented yellow rubber structure.

“Oh, fuck, the yacht!” Steve cried out as his memory returned.

I found what I was looking for and returned to sit down next to him, unpacking it slowly, taking inventory of what we had as I searched for what we needed. I handed him a bottle of water and then a packet of aspirin for his headache. I then popped a few aspirin myself and slugged water behind it.

We had some fishing equipment, a flare gun, some basic medical supplies, a flashlight and two thermal blankets, besides four bottles of water and a large pack of survival crackers that I was sure tasted like shit.

Steve pulled a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter from his pocket. They were soggy, and he squeezed the water from them before tossing the pack into the sand. He returned the Zippo to his pocket.

“Hungry?” I asked, offering him the crackers.

“Not that hungry,” he told me, looking out at the water. “Under any other circumstance, this would be a beautiful place. A real paradise.”

“When you’re ready, we need to go look for help.” I wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the scenery. My father was lost at sea, presumably dead. I could find no joy in any circumstance. All I wanted was to get off the island and return home.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Stephen told me softly.

“So am I,” I said coldly, rising again to return the emergency supplies to the raft, minus the remaining two bottles of water. I didn’t want to share my pain with him. It was too soon, too personal.

Stephen stood as I approached him again. His six feet two inches seemed taller on the beach than it did on the yacht. The muscles that were barely disguised under his polo seemed just as impressive as they always did. I remembered seeing him shirtless once, his strong torso covered with brown hair that tapered over his stomach in a long treasure trail. Even though I worked hard at keeping fit, I felt puny next to his muscular form. His hairy, solid chest and washboard abs were dreamy, especially compared to my flat, hairless chest. He was four inches taller than I was, requiring me to look up to him. I ran my fingers through my blonde hair and patted away the sand from my basketball shorts and tee shirt.

We began to slowly walk the length of the beach, looking for any signs of life. As the beach rounded, we hit some large, sharp rocks, most likely volcanic, which we carefully helped each other cross in our bare feet. The were no shoes worn on the yacht, not even by the deck crew, and especially not by charter guests. On the other side, we continued walking in the sand, appreciating çapa escort its softer texture on our feet.

Looking out to sea, I noticed some scary looking storm clouds on the horizon and hoped they weren’t headed our way. The last thing we needed was to get wet and catch our deaths of hypothermia while searching for someone to help us. The walk was mostly quiet, occasionally broken with small talk of what we would eat when we were “rescued”, or whether Stephen would continue yachting after this experience. He would, but only because the money was so good.

There was some discussion of what lay waiting in my future, but it was a short one. I had no idea what I would do with my life after losing my father, my only source of support and encouragement. I had a Masters at Business, and planned to work with my father at his company, Bennet Industries. Now I was uncertain of that plan. I was alone in the world. Even though I was now presumably independently wealthy, I had nothing on my mind but getting back home and mourning the loss of my father.

The beach rounded widely again, and I noticed as the storm clouds, which were quickly approaching the island, started changing their position to my line of sight. We were definitely on an island. Soon, we would be on the other side, back where we started, and the impending storm would be out of my line of sight. I stopped walking.

“What is it?” Stephen asked me, looking out at the storm clouds.

“I think you already know the answer to that question.”

“I don’t think we’re going to find anyone,” he told me, “And it looks like we have a storm coming our way. We need to get back to the raft and hunker down for the night.” I looked at him in confusion. “The sun has also been lowering in the sky.”

“Well, I guess we better get walking, and combing the shore for anything useful.”

“Good idea,” he told me, smiling, “What made you think of that?”

“I watch a lot of television,” I told him, laughing, “And Bear Grylls is hot.”

“What is a Bear Grylls?”

“He’s a survivalist who has a TV show. I watch a bunch of those shows. It gives me a sense of adventure, without actually getting dirty. Have you never seen any of those shows?”

“No, I don’t watch much TV,” he told me, picking up a plastic soda bottle, “I’m more into clubbing and getting drunk as much as possible. Hot women and cold beer rule my life.”

I ignored the clever turn of phrase with silence and continued walking. Even though I was already sure he was straight, I didn’t like his confirming it. It’s not that it was a big deal, but I had developed a bad impression of straight guys over the years. They were only good for the occasional blow job when their girls weren’t putting out, or the rare fuck when they were curious enough to take it there. Other than that, they tended to be unnecessarily judgmental and bullish.

“So, did you learn much from those survival shows?” he asked me, catching up to me with another plastic soda bottle in hand.

“A little, why?”

“Because I know nothing of survival,” he told me, “I’m a city rat with a misspent youth who barely knows how to survive the urban jungle. You may be my best chance of surviving this.”

“So?” I asked, a little on the defensive, thinking he was dissing me somehow.

“So, you’re the boss,” he told me, “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it without question. I will be the bronze to your brain.”

“The brawn,” I told him, rolling my eyes. He looked at me confused. “You’re the brawn to my brain, not the bronze.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean.”

Thunder rolled in the distance and I could see the thunderheads beginning to engulf the top of the mountain near the center of the island. The wind swept across the top of the forest, driving the warmth from the air. I quickly realized we had little bakırköy escort time to form a plan before we faced our first crisis.

“The first thing we need is shelter from that storm,” I told him, feeling the cold wind wrap around my body, giving me a little chill, “I think we can hunker down in the life raft for the night. After that, we’ll need to find a source of drinking water and food.”

“But a pot would be nice when we have a fire,” he said, rushing ahead of me to lay claim to a large pot that had washed up on the beach. He was examining it when I caught up with him. “It’s from the yacht. It has the company logo on it.” We both looked at it solemnly a moment before Steve’s attention was captured behind me.

“What is it?” I asked, turning around. There was a tall outcropping of rock dividing the tree line, the lower section of the mountain behind it. Within it was what looked like a cave.

“I think I know where we’ll be living until we’re rescued!” he said excitedly.

“We’ll check it out later,” I told him, “Right now, we need to get back to the life raft.”

“But we could just hunker down here.”

“We don’t know if it’s suitable for that. There could be something else living in there, and we don’t have the time to explore it right now. Besides, there are things in the raft we need, and I have a plan to get us some drinkable water.”

“Okay, boss man,” he smiled, clearly impressed with my decisiveness, “You lead, and I’ll follow.”

We made it back to the raft just as the sky was darkening and the raft was floating in the tide, bumping against the shoreline. We pulled it to higher ground, securing it under some overhanging trees.

I started stripping out of my clothes, down to my underwear, and he looked at me puzzled.

“I don’t want to get my clothes wet,” I told him, “I don’t want to chance hypothermia if I can’t get finished before it starts raining. You get in the raft and find me a thermal blanket.”

“I walked out into an open space and began digging a trench and collecting random stones from the beach. The wind chilled my skin with a sudden change in temperature and I knew we were about the be hit hard. I went back to the raft and got the thermal blanket.

“What are you planning?” Steve asked me.

“Line the trench with the mylar to catch the rainwater. I’ll be right back.” Thunder rolled with a boom above me and I ducked instinctively.

I turned to return to the trench, unfolding the thin sheet of mylar as I walked. The wind caught it, twisting it around. I tried to flatten it, but it kept moving on me. Rain began to fall heavily, quickly stinging my exposed skin with its icy touch. I was soon drenched.

Just as I was about to give up and accept my defeat, I saw Steve move into my line of view. He was naked, his body thickly muscled, his bare chest and stomach hairy, his endowment thick and obvious. I looked at him with surprise.

“I don’t wear underwear,” he shrugged, “And you look like you need help.”

Together, we lined the trench with the mylar sheet, securing it with rocks and sand, then ran back to the shelter of the tented life raft, laughing with our triumph. Once inside, we kicked back a moment and caught our breath before dressing to combat the cold of the rain, which required my removing my wet underwear. All pretense of modesty between us was gone from that moment on.

I set the pot outside the raft to collect more water, water we could drink while we waited for morning. Turning, I heard a faint click and saw Steve with his lighter. He was testing it to see if it worked, and I held my breath, but all he could generate was a spark.

“One step at a time,” I told him, “We’ll figure out fire.”

“Tonight, we should probably cuddle for warmth,” he suggested, “We can share the thermal blanket we have.”

I agreed and moved to lie next to him as he unfolded the blanket. The cuddling didn’t happen at first, but we drew together instinctively as we relaxed into sleep. Wrapped in his thick arms, my face nuzzled in his chest, I had a boner all night.

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