The Thirty-Seventh Day


By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

Artwork (c) 2003 by RoToo

Illustration of The 37th Day

Thirty-seven days. Thirty-seven slash marks on the palm tree, grouped into fives, Sundays being marked by larger slashes wherever they ended up being. Today was only a Friday.

Mark counted them again. Thirty-seven days, he and Torris had been here on this freaking island! Shit! This was the 21st Century, for Christ's sake! People weren't supposed to get shipwrecked and marooned anymore!

He stuck the knife back into the tree trunk, they only had the one knife and their "calendar tree" was the logical place to keep it. He stood up, a lithe, muscled, fair-skinned young man with black hair, stretched and scratched his balls under the feeble loincloth, all that was left of the boxers he'd been wearing. When their ship's engine had blown up, not a heck of a lot had been left of their ship...or the crew and passengers who had been aboard it! He'd had found himself in the seas, raging from a nearby storm. Coughing, spluttering, he had fought the waves as long as he could. Only a fortuitous meeting with a length of plank (probably part of the ship's deck) had saved him from drowning. Too small for him to climb on, only enough to rest his head and arms out of the water, he clung to it the rest of that night and all of the next day and night, unable to sleep, unable to rest, only able to cling on and on and on.

The next morning, the sea was glassy smooth and that let him see with the last of his strength, the small boat. In it was Torris, his big black teammate had somehow gotten into one of the small boats that had been intact. He had shouted with a voice that had gone hoarse from thirst and waved, and been seen. Torris had rowed over with his hands (he had no oars nor much of anything else, and had pulled Mark into the water.

Two days after that, two days in the ocean with no water or food (weren't lifeboats supposed to have supplies on it? The storage compartments of the boat had been empty of food and besides the knife, anything else), they had spotted the island. Getting to it had been a pain, but once there, they had found the trees, and clean water, and thus had been saved, barely.

And after thirty-seven days on this island, Mark at least wondered if he was going to be stuck here forever.

Torris came up and looked at the tree. "Thirty-seven days, huh?" he said to Mark. Torris was Mark's age, barely twenty, stronger in the arms and his deep brown skin afforded him better protection from the sun than Mark's. He had decorated one arm with a piece of palm frond, a pair of red feathers dangling from it and the entirety bound in some way Mark couldn't see. Torris was clever with his hands; he had done wonders with the knife, pulling fibers out of the palms and weaving rope and netting from it, which had let them catch fish, the fish and coconuts had been their primary foods ever since they'd been stranded. The island had no true trees, and only a small trickle of potable water, no wonder the Melanesian peoples who had lived here from time immemorial had never colonized this island, any people need water and the trickle barely kept two throats moistened.

"Yeah." Mark sighed. "Dude...shouldn't they have found us yet?"

"I dunno." Torris agreed. "Maybe they've looked and given up already." There had been over twenty men on their ship, the six-man crew and him and his college teammates, taking a chartered pleasure cruise, destination Sydney, Australia. Now they were somewhere in Micronesia, on what he was beginning to believe was an unused, uninhabited and possibly even unknown island. In all the time they'd been there, they'd seen no ships, heard no planes, found no sign of man.

"What are we going to do?" Mark knew he was whining, but he didn't much care. Only Torris was here to hear it.

"Get into the hut-building business." Torris said with some satisfaction. Mark had to agree. One thing they'd learned this past month-plus was how to build huts using just sticks and palm-leaves. They now resided in two round huts with pointed roofs that were almost comfortable.

"I mean seriously." Mark said.

"Stay alive. Someone's bound to come here sooner or later."

Mark turned around and looked at Torris. "Haven't you gotten it through your thick skull? Nobody's coming here. Ever!"

"Don't think that!"

"Why not?" Mark said. "It's true, isn't it?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Either way, we can't think it." Torris said firmly.

"So what do we think about?" Mark said.

"What we're going to do when they rescue us." Torris said. "What we're going to do when we get back to civilization." This was one of their favorite conversations, both young men sat down on a rise of sand-covered stone and commenced the important act of day-dreaming about rescue.

"What am I going to do? You mean after a big plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and wash it all down with bottle after bottle of Coca-Cola?" Mark grinned.

"I want a steak more than chicken." Torris said.

"And a bath, a real bath." Mark said. They were only able to bathe by going into the ocean, and using their sparse supply of water to sponge off the salt afterwards. They had to bathe on alternate days, and use their rinse carefully, a bare quart of water was available, and that to rinse the entire body free of salt. "Just get in and soak."

"Bubble bath." agreed Torris. "Just like when I was a kid, lots of bubbles."

Mark had to laugh about that. "Get dressed and go out and find the biggest, noisiest bar in town. Be surrounded by people."

"Dance all night."

"Not all night." Mark mused. "Got to pick out your date before midnight, or it's too late."

"Yeah." Torris agreed. "Take her home at two a.m."

"Yeah." Mark wasn't thinking of a girl just then. "Get into a bed with soft sheets."

"Satin sheets."

"And just go to town." Mark was thinking of sucking his nebulous partner's cock. "Slurp away on it."

"Get it all wet." Torris said, sighing. Mark risked a look at his black co-survivor, the black man's ragged briefs (like Mark, he'd been awakened from sound sleep by the explosion, being thrown into the water, only he'd come out next to the boat) were tenting up. The cotton, corroded by salt water and constant wear and inadequate washing, began to rip as the huge organ pushed it upwards. If Torris noticed, he didn't say anything, just reached down and grabbed his crotch and squeezed it with the frustration of a man long denied. "Man, I can't wait to slide this mother into some nice, tight hole."

"Yeah." Mark agreed, dreamily. Their days were monotonous and uneventful, two lives used to modern entertainments were hungry for stimulation beyond that of survival, it was so easy to fall into this erotic fantasy.

"Really push it in nice and slow into that slick opening and listen to her moan."

"Ooooh!" Mark dreamed of that thick pud sliding into his own opening! "Yeah, man, yeah, do it."

"Nice, long, slow pumps in and out, make her feel every inch of it."

"Mmm, yeah, I can feel it." Mark said. His hand grasped his own prick, pumped it unself-consciously. Hell, Torris was doing the same, he had pulled his elastic down under his balls and was jerking that long, black dick of his.

"Keep it going, nice and slow, make her beg for it. Come on, baby, beg for it." Torris said.

"Mmmh, yeah, I want it." Mark moaned. Lost in his fantasy, his dream lover had metamorphosed as dream lovers do easily into Torris, why not Torris, the man was horny, he was right there, Mark could smell the raunch the sexually frustrated black man was exuding. Why not him.

"Beg me to fuck you harder, bitch." Torris said.

"Fuck me harder, baby, fuck me harder." Mark said.

"Then I'd fuck her harder." Torris said. "I'd cram this cock down her...."

"Ooh, God, fuck me!" Mark moaned.

"What?"

"Fuck me, God, yeah!" Mark said in his dream-state.

"What the fuck you saying?" Torris asked.

Oh, shit! He'd gotten carried away! "I...I was just...dreaming." Mark stuttered.

"Dreaming about me fucking you, is that it?" Torris said.

"Well..."

"You wantithis black tool to be painting your honey bucket, is that it?" Torris demanded. "You want my black jigger up your shit-pipe, is that it?"

Panting, Mark looked at Torris' "black jigger." Damn, that was a beautiful cock! He'd only glimpsed it so far, never had he seen it so big and thick and tall and proud.

"Yeah." He said. "I want it." An authoritative, I'm-fed-up tone of voice. "Why not? Who else we going to fuck with? I'll take what I can get! What about you?"

"Shi-it!" Torris breathed. "You would, huh?"

"Yeah, I would." Mark challenged him. "Question is, would you?"

"Would I what?"

"I mean, I'm nobody's bitch." Mark said. "You want me, you got to put out. Otherwise, forget it and we'll both stick to our hands."

"But you'd let me fuck you." Torris clarified.

"Yeah." Mark said. "I'd even like it. Question is, would you like it when I turn you around and bend you over."

"I don't know." Torris admitted. "Never thought about it...much."

"Much?"

"Oh, you think about it." Torris said. "But there's thinking and there's doing."

"I'll let you take your time." Mark said. "Long as you make the effort."

"Yeah." Torris said. "Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay, long as we're stuck on this island, we can do it." Torris said. "But I need time."

"For now, you just do what I do when I do it." Mark said. "Go far as you can and we'll talk after." He didn't much care if Torris did anything, he now had permission to reach over and grab hold of that huge dong. Hot, firm, velvet-covered steel!

"Gahhh!" Torris gasped out. "Shit, yeah, go ahead, chow down on it!"

Mark pumped on the thick black dong but made no effort to lean over. "Not yet." He said.

"Why not?" moaned Torris as he laid back.

"‘Cause I'm waiting." Mark said significantly.

"Huh? Oh, hell." Torris said.

"Don't tell me you aren't even willing to jerk me off." Mark cocked an eyebrow Torris' way.

"All right, but don't get comfortable with it." Torris said.

Mark waited until the dark-brown hand had him firmly gripped and was beginning to slide up and down, bringing pleasure with every motion. "Nice." He said. "For a start. Now, long as you keep pumping, I'll do this." And he leaned down now and guided that plump purplish-hued cockhead into his mouth. It tasted of thick musk and tasted of salt from the ocean that they couldn't avoid if they were going to eat, today would be Torris' turn for the bath-water. On their days off, they were reduced to rolling about on a layer of palm fronds after they were dry, using the leaves to knock the salt off their skin...that helped, but not enough.

He placed that knob into his mouth and Torris grunted, his hands came down and grabbed Mark's head and shoved him down, hard! Mark felt the huge pud driven into his mouth and throat and he choked, strangled. He got that thick mass out of his throat but before he could release the cockhead, Torris held him onto it and he coughed, then began to suck the prick.

"M-mh!" Mark grunted emphatically and pointed to his cock ahead. Torris reached one hand over to return to his pumping and Mark sighed, nursed the heavy dong.

"Nice mouth, white boy." Torris said after a time. "But when do I get to dig around in you with it?" His hand left Mark's cock and roamed over the semi-exposed buttock to show what he meant.

Mark let go long enough to say, "You suck me a while, quite a while, and you can fuck me."

"How long I got to suck you?"

"I'll let you know." Mark said. "You don't have to finish me off today, but you better do more than just hold it in there."

"For a cock-lover, you're a pain in the butt." Torris observed. Mark grinned and didn't deny it. "All right, turn over this way so I can get at it. I don't think a girl is this much trouble to get in bed. I thought you sissy-boys were supposed to be easier."

"Life's a series of unpleasant discoveries." Mark said easily.

"Me, sucking a white dick." Torris said as he shifted into a sixty-nining position. "I just hope my grandma doesn't find out about it."

"Only way I'll tell her is if you stop too soon." Mark said. "Let's feel those lips moving."

Torris' mouth closed on Mark's prick and Mark moaned. Damn, that felt good! So damned good! He felt Torris' tongue slide across the top of his dong, brushing the cock-head, and he resumed sucking Torris' prick with a vengeance. He had Torris moaning in no time, but Torris wasn't stinting him either. Those lips moved with a talent that belied Torris' assertions of straightness, this black boy had sucked dick before!

When Mark had to let go of Torris' cock just to gasp air, air wrenched from his body by the raw pleasure washing over his cock at Torris' wet labial urgings, Torris let go and said, "How about it? I get to do it now?"

"Oh, yeah, shit, yeah!" Mark gasped out. "Man, I can't wait, I'm about to spew right now."

"Not in my mouth you don't." Torris warned him, but Torris went back and slurped Mark's pud just a couple more times, the motions cleaning his sputum off Mark's cock, leaving it mostly dry. "Now, stand up and lean against that tree, because I'm going to be doing some hard shoving, you're liable to tip over if you don't brace yourself."

Mark complied, his hands buried in the brush against the tree trunk and then he felt Torris' cock nestling between his buttocks. It took Torris a bit of searching, but he found after a time Mark's sphincter and held his cock steady with his hand while he got it braced, and then he shoved it in.

Nice, slow and smooth, just like he'd promised. Mark let out a long, slow sigh as that long black cock slid into him, relishing the cock, enjoying the feel of it inside of him, God, that was just what he needed right now! Spend his days getting fucked by a lusty man, of any color, would make any exile more bearable.

"You liking this?" Torris asked him.

"Uhhh, yeah, keep it up, only faster now."

"Shit, I'm going to do it slow as I feel like." Torris asserted. "We got us all day, I think I'm going to make you suffer a little bit."

"Oh, man!" Mark breathed.

Torris kept his word there, the two boys spent locked in conjugal embrace beneath that palm tree while the sun crept across the sky, their only timepiece, carving the shadow smaller and smaller.

"God, man, hurry up!" Mark panted after an interminable time. "I haven't even had breakfast yet and it's getting close to noon!"

"I'll fix you a nice lunch to make up for it." Torris soothed him. "Always treat my ladies right."

"Ladies!" Mark turned it into a curse word.

Torris ignored him. "After I make love, I always feed them right. Nice restaurant, the best food."

"Bet they love it." Mark ventured.

"Better than laying in bed cuddling on them." Torris said. "Gives me a good reason to let go and get up and get dressed. After that, I let them out at their door and drive me on home."

"Bastard." Mark said. "Bet you don't even call them after that."

"How can I, when I left their phone number at their place?" Mark said.

"What about your number, do you give it to them?"

"Sure." Torris said. "But maybe I put the numbers down wrong. Less'n I want to see them again."

"Bastard." Mark observed again.

"I may be a bastard." Torris said. "You want me to pull it out of you?"

"Hell, no! Just get those magic hips of yours moving. You need time to fix me lunch."

"Okay, get yourself ready for a dick-slamming." Torris said.

He was as good as his word, Torris began to hump Mark in earnest. The long delayed pleasure suddenly surged into life, a plethora of sensations washing over Mark at once. He was gasping, felt his cock pulse hard, oh, shit, he was about to shoot!

"Oh, shit, I'm coming, you bastard, I'm coming!"

"Shoot it hard." Torris said. "Shoot it good and hard."

"So I can't fuck you back, huh? Guh!" Torris had bent down and now he was fucking upwards into Mark, his bended knees giving his cock increased angle and ferocity, his thighs were slapping Mark's buttocks savagely, Mark threw his head back and groaned, and his cock squirted, soaking his soi-disant loincloth and dribbling out onto the dry, parched sand that covered most of their island.

"Shoot it, white boy." Torris said. "Shoot it and now get yourself ready, ‘cause I'm about to fill your butt with black jizz."

"Oh, yeah, come in me, hard!" Mark gasped out.

"Oh, yeah, here it comes, here it comes, ooh, oh, oh, UH, GUH, OH, GUHH-HUHHH!"

Torris' sperm was a hot blast into Mark's bowels, it seared his flesh and carved a path inside of him, Mark felt hollowed out, weak, God, yes, it was over at last, at last!

As the fierceness of Torris' volleys diminished, he leaned over and held tight onto Mark's back, his hands stroking Mark's ribcage while Torris moaned in leftover lust on top of him.

"Man, that was a hot one!" Mark said when Torris let go of him and they resumed their sitting position on the rock.

"Damned good!" Torris said.

"Man, you pulling the straight guy with me felt a bit shitty." Mark complained.

"You got into it." Torris pointed out.

"Anything to break up the monotony here." Mark agreed. "I think tomorrow I'll be the straight guy and you have to seduce me."

Torris just smiled. That meant he'd do it. "After that, maybe I'll play the cannibal savage again." he said.

"I got something you can eat." Mark said. "Then I can do the white slave trader, maybe. Only you got to call me Master, it just doesn't work if you don't."

With no television, no radio, no movies, no books, they had to make their own fantasies, and their fantasies were those that two horny young men barely out of adolescence can manufacture.

Beyond them, the ocean waves rolled on unceasingly. Maybe one day, that blue horizon would bear the small gray shape of a ship, or the blue sky would hold the shining cross of a plane.

As for their survival, the thirty-seventh day was well in hand.

THE END
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