The Island - Chapter 1
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Chapter One – Lucky Charm
Robert Bingham sat in the cargo hold of the C-47 clinging onto the webbing that kept him strapped in his seat as the aircraft was buffeted around the sky.
The old aircraft was being ferried all the way from Hickham AFB in Hawaii to Ashiya Air Base in Japan to support the Korean war effort. The old war horse had gassed up at Midway Atoll where reports of foul weather over the North Pacific Ocean had not deterred the young and enthusiastic pilots from proceeding with their mission.
The plane was carrying only light cargo to improve endurance and there was nothing on board essential to the war effort so Robert didn’t understand why the flight crew didn’t just wait out the storm at Midway. All they had on board was a pile of crates, trunks, musical instruments and background sets for the USO.
As the plane bucked and swayed, rolling and pitching across the stormy sky Robert bet that two young pilots regretted their decision to continue the flight but now was not the time to be smug.
When Robert heard the aircraft’s port engine begin to sputter he felt not smug at all. He held on for all he was worth as the plane was slammed by a downdraught and began to plummet. He was not a religious man but Robert prayed every second during that terrifying decent.
Miraculously the plane stayed afloat on the tortured mountainous seas long enough for Robert to unstrap himself before it split in half behind the wings spilling Robert and the contents of the cargo bay into the raging Pacific Ocean. The two pilots, the navigator and the radioman strapped into the forward section of the plane never had a chance.
Robert clung to a steamer trunk and tried not to drown. He didn’t know how long he was tossed around the ocean until he felt sand beneath his feet but when he did he was too exhausted to do anything other than drag himself from the sea and collapse on the beach.
“Wake up kid,” a disembodied voice called and Robert felt a shower of water drench his face.
He opened his eyes to see a tall, rangy, shirtless, heavily tanned man towering over him, sprinkling water in his face from a canteen.
When Robert realised that it was fresh water he reached up for the canteen with one hand while he shaded his eyes with the other. The man holding the canteen refused to let go for a second and then let go with a laugh.
“Sip it; don’t gulp it kid or you’ll throw it all up,” the man laughed.
Which is exactly what Robert did. He was so thirsty and his mouth so salty that he gulped down most of the water in the canteen in one long swallow and then immediately threw it all back up.
The man snatched away the canteen and bent down on one knee.
“Sip it kid,” the man cradled Robert’s head and put the canteen to his mouth allowing Robert only a few sips at a time.
“Where am I?” Robert said when he had recovered enough to sit up.
All he could see was a long stretch of white sand with acres of bending palms at the back of the beach. It looked exactly like every other Pacific island and atoll that Robert had ever seen.
“Never mind that kid. Where did you come from and how did you get here?” the man asked.
Robert told the man the story of ferrying the C-47 from Hawaii to Japan and their ill-advised decision to continue the flight from Midway Atoll despite the severe weather warning.
“Korea? We’re fighting there now? We won the war in the Pacific six years ago,” the man sounded bewildered and confused.
Robert studied the man carefully. He was wearing Navy dungarees and had a set of dog tags around his neck. His hair was poorly cut but he had the bearing of a military man.
“Who are you?” Robert asked.
“Chief Petty Officer Ray Millward, United States Navy, and you are?” the man replied.
“Robert Bingham, assistant producer, United Service Organization,” Robert replied.
“I was only on that flight because it is my job to accompany the wardrobe and sets to every location where the USO has a show,” Robert explained.
“You’re a fuckin’ flunky for the USO?” Ray responded.
“I’m an assistant producer!” Robert huffed.
“I was accompanying the show’s theatrical trappings which were being pre-positioned at Ashiya AB in Japan to be transhipped down to Seoul for our USO shows. Of course the performers are flying first class commercial,” Robert said cynically.
“So, where am I?” Robert asked.
“Now that’s a tricky question to answer exactly. Get up and follow me and we’ll get you checked out first, make sure you’re ok,” Ray offered Robert his hand and helped him to his feet.
Robert’s flying suit had dried crusty from the sea water and he had lost his shoes and socks. The sand beneath his feet was warm from the early morning sun.
He followed Ray to the back of the beach and then down a sandy trail winding through tropical foliage. It took Robert a little while to determine why he was so disoriented and then he realised it was the silence. The only sounds were breaking waves and sea birds.
They came out of the dense vegetation onto a runway apron. The apron and the runway itself were cracked and uneven and the jungle was encroaching on it. In several places vines and shrubbery actually crossed the runway. The apron was skirted by several buildings in poor state of repair and rusting Quonset huts.
“What is this place?” Robert asked looking around in confusion.
He could hear the faint humming of a diesel generator in the distance.
“Welcome to Harris Field, Mirrocau Island,” Ray waved his hands expansively.
“Never heard of it,” Robert remained puzzled.
“Not surprised kid. This little shithole was an uninhabited fly speck until it was converted into a staging base back in May 45. Then the war moved on so it was mainly used as a supply and repair facility until it was abandoned in September 1945,” Ray explained.
“They didn’t even bother trying to repatriate most of the surplus stores, they just loaded the troops and anything classified into transports and left the place to rot. Wasn’t worth the time, money and effort,” Ray sighed despondently.
“So what are you doing here?” Robert asked.
“Now that’s a good question but first let’s get you cleaned up, fed and watered then you can meet the others,” Ray started to walk across the crazed and splintered runway towards a group of buildings that looked to be in better condition than the others.
Three other men dressed similarly to Ray came out of one of the buildings to greet them.
“That’s Petty Officer John Fitzgibbons, Seaman Craig Bowen and Seaman Steve Ford, all of the PT 991,” Ray said as the men rushed towards them.
“Settle down guys, let’s get this kid some clean clothes, water and food and then he can tell you his story,” Ray called to his men as they clamoured around Robert and bombarded him with questions.
Robert was taken into a building that looked timeworn on the outside but inside was in remarkable condition. It appeared to be a small mess-hall replete with a stove, cooktops, refrigerator, freezer, table and chairs.
“John, check this kid for injuries,” Ray ordered and went over to a battered coffee pot and poured himself a cup.
The men looked anxiously at Robert whilst Petty Officer Fitzgibbons helped him out of his flying suit and checked him for wounds and injuries. It was obvious that they were keen to speak to him; to interrogate him.
“A few nicks and bruises and he’s dehydrated but that's all,” John said handing Robert a glass of water.
Seaman Bowen harried away and returned with a pair of dungarees and t-shirt which he handed to Robert.
“These should fit,” Craig Bowen said and pulled up a seat at the table.
“We all got questions but you men let me ask mine first,” Ray glared at the other three men who crowded around Robert expectantly.
Robert repeated his story to the men and told them about the crash.
“Do you know if the radioman got a mayday message away before the plane crashed?” Ray asked anxiously.
“The weather was bad. It was a big electrical storm so I’m not sure if the radio would have got through. To be honest I don’t know, I was in the cargo-hold the whole flight and the flight crew were up front,” Robert explained.
Robert saw the faces of the other three men who had been listening hopefully suddenly fall.
“Look, I don’t know. The radioman told me that comms are sometimes sketchy when they are that far out in the Pacific, but who knows, maybe he got through,” Robert tried to placate them a little.
“Ok men we don’t know if that kite got a mayday away and reported their position but let’s hold onto the hope they did,” Ray said to his compatriots.
He turned back to Robert who had been given a cup of coffee and slab of cornbread spread with margarine
“So you said before that we are at war with Korea, is that right?”
Robert began to realise that there was something seriously wrong here. These men seemed ill informed of current events and he had seen no officers. Surely as a military aircraft crash survivor he would have been brought before the CO or XO by now rather than being interrogated by a Chief Petty Officer. Surely he should have been taken to sickbay and been checked by someone from the medical corps.
“What’s going on here Chief? Everything here seems a little whacky. Where is your CO?” Robert asked.
“I’ll ask the questions for now Mister Bingham,” Ray Millward snapped.
“Tell me about Korea,” Ray was insistent.
“After the war we occupied Korea south of the 38th parallel and the Russians occupied the North. Then somehow China got involved, I don’t know about politics. Anyway North Korea invaded South Korea and we sent in MacArthur to sort it all out and he didn’t. We’ve been at war with North Korea since 1950. I’m not even sure if it’s a real war but guys are getting killed over there,” Robert summarised what he knew and cared about the situation in Korea.
“Jesus! We whooped the Japs in the Pacific and then the Koreans start a war. What the fuck did we fight for?” Steve Floyd shook his head.
“Stow it Floyd,” Ray snarled.
“And back home? How are things in the USA?” Ray asked.
The questions seemed unending. The four men were hungry for news and they bombarded him with questions. After nearly two hours of answering their questions Robert had had enough.
“Ok Chief. Can you please tell me what is going on here please because nothing here seems right,” Robert asked insistently.
Ray looked at his three compatriots knowingly and then turned back to Robert.
“We are the remaining crew members of the PT 991. In November 45 we were mopping up in the Northern Philippines, digging out the last Nips who hadn't surrendered,” Ray sighed.
“We got caught in a typhoon and were pushed out into the Pacific. The boat broke down and drifted for two weeks. We ran out of food and drank rainwater and ate any fish we caught. The PT 991 washed up here but by then everyone else was dead except for two others who died just after we arrived,” Ray said solemnly.
“Wait! You’ve been on this island since November 1945! You’ve been on this island for six years!” Robert was astounded.
“I told you, this place is of no strategic or economic value. Technically Mirrocau Island belongs to Palau, a United States governed Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands but no one comes here. At least they haven’t for the whole time we’ve been here. Get the chart John,” Ray motioned to John Fitzgibbons who came back with a creased and stained chart of the north Pacific.
“We’re here, off the main shipping and commercial aircraft routes,” Ray pointed to the chart.
“The island is only five square miles most of which is mountainous jungle. The airfield and base facilities are built along the coastal fringe. At least there is fresh water but other than sea birds and turtles no one comes here,” Ray sighed.
“How do you survive? Why couldn’t you radio for help?” Robert looked into the eyes of the four desperate men.
“Look. You’ll have plenty of time to ask questions so why don’t you just get yourself settled. Craig, get our guest settled. John organise a lookout roster and check that our signal fires are ready to go. If we see any search and rescue aircraft I want those fires lit asap,” Ray got up from the table and took John Fitzgibbons and Steve Ford outside with him.
“Come on Bobbie, let’s get you situated,” Seaman Craig Bowen grinned.
Craig Bowen was in his late twenties with sun-bleached hair and unlike the others he was quite portly. Like the others he was tanned brown as a berry.
“This is our mess hall, kitchen and recreation room,” Craig waved at their surroundings.
“We can’t maintain all of the infrastructure on the island so we just preserve and sustain the essentials,” Craig said as he led Robert outside into the brilliant sunshine, picking up two full canteens of water on the way out.
“Over there is the storehouse or ‘Q store’ as we call it. We have a huge supply of canned goods. When the Army pulled out they left everything behind, even the commissary. We took most of the perishables that we couldn’t use immediately and burnt them in a fire pit not long after we arrived,” Craig pointed to a concrete building.
“Why did you burn the perishables?” Robert asked.
“To keep the rats away,” Craig grinned.
“Rats?” Robert looked alarmed.
“Don’t worry. They’re all gone. Ray insisted that we wage war on them because they were the only introduced species on the island and we didn’t know how long we would be here,” Craig said solemnly.
“It took us a year but we shot and poisoned them out. Ray’s smart, he knew that the rats would ruin everything left behind if we didn’t get rid of them.”
“Those Quonset huts used to be barracks. We each took one so we have our own homes so to speak. When there’s only four people in the world to talk to you can get on each other’s nerves pretty quickly. Ray insists that we keep our rank structure so he’s pretty much in charge and we mostly do as he says,” Craig explained.
“You can have that Quonset over there next to mine. It’s full of old furniture and fittings but the building is in good repair. I’ll help you clean it out and set it up. Hopefully it won’t be for long. You’re the first ray of hope we’ve had for a long time,” Craig sighed.
“Ray of hope?” Robert furrowed his brow.
“They gotta come looking for you. And if they come looking for you, then they gotta find us,” Craig beamed.
Robert grimaced at Craig's naiveté. The C-47 had been thrown all over the sky and was likely way off course. It was also unlikely that the crew got away a distress signal. But most importantly the Pacific was a huge ocean and with the Korean War raging, how much time and effort was the Air Force going to put into searching for a cargo plane with nothing of strategic value on board?
“Well it’s not really me who is the ray of hope, it’s the C-47 I was flying in; I’m just the sole survivor,” Robert said.
“You’re our lucky charm Bobbie. I know they’ll come looking for you and they’ll find you too and when they do they’ll find all of us,” Craig beamed.
Robert decided not to curb Craig's overzealous optimism. Robert might only be a lowly production assistant but he knew the odds of them being found were slim. He was sure that Ray felt the same way but he had to provide his men with any possible hope.
The tour continued.
“That’s the generator house. There are two diesel generators in there but we only need one, if fact we don’t use that much power between the four of us and the base facilities we use. We rotate the generator’s duty cycles and I service and repair them. I was an engineer on PT 991,” Craig seemed proud of his trade.
“Those three tanks you see up on the hill are the base’s supply of diesoline. In five years we’ve used hardly any of it,” Craig pointed to three huge storage tanks nestled in the jungle.
“You guys seem very well supplied. What do you eat?” Robert was curious.
“We catch fish, crayfish and crabs of course. We set traps in the lagoon. Some of the bigger sea birds are good eating and there is a herd of wild pigs on the island. The only thing we’ve been able to grow is corn but there are plenty of wild fruits and vegetables. Steve Ford makes a mean cornbread,” Craig boasted.
“Then of course we have the mountains of tinned food that was left behind,” he waved his hand at the Q store.
“We get plenty of rain, too much sometimes, and there are a couple of streams and even a natural fresh water pool up the hill aways. The engineers who constructed Harris Field diverted one of the streams to those fresh water tanks which give us our water supply,” Craig pointed out three elevated water tanks standing on steel scaffolds that looked like aliens out of a science fiction movie.
“And that’s pretty much the cook’s tour so to speak. Come on let’s get you settled,” Craig led Robert to the Quonset hut he had picked out for him.
They spent most of the rest of the day clearing out the Quonset hut, cleaning it and then putting in a cast iron bed with a clean mattress taken from the Q store where they also commandeered bedding, dungarees, shirts, underwear and shoes. They went over to another store and moved some furniture from that store into Robert’s Quonset.
“These bigger bunks are for the officers but there ain’t any now so we enjoy what little luxuries we can,” Craig said as he helped Robert fold hospital corners on the GI issue counterpane.
“You can pick up toiletries in the Q store or the commissary. I’ll leave you to explore the rest of the base on your own. I wouldn’t wonder off into the jungle until we show you the trails. The island is only small but you can still get lost easily and Ray will get pissed if we have to come find you. He likes to run a tight ship,” Craig said solemnly.
“Dinner is at six in the mess. Don’t be late. We take turns cooking and I’m making my famous albatross stew,” Craig smiled and Robert managed to hide his disgust at having to eat a seabird.
Robert went back to the Q store and ferried items he thought might be useful back to his Quonset. Now he was by himself all he could think of was rescue. How could these men have survived here for so long here? Robert had heard of Japanese soldiers and sailors who refused to surrender after the war, holding out in the jungles of the Philippines, Indonesia and some Pacific islands. The surviving crew of PT 991 seemed to be trapped in similar circumstances. Time for them had stopped in November 1945. It was incomprehensible.
Robert admired the little abode he had made for himself in his Quonset. Originally it was designed to house twenty soldiers or five officers but he was already starting to make it into his own little chalet. He had a bedroom, a lounge room of sorts and a bathroom which was really just four shower stalls and as many sinks set into a long bench.
He hoped to be rescued soon but was not optimistic and he already had plans to make the place more comfortable. He was experienced using hand tools and light building materials, building sets and props for the USO shows. He had done everything from makeup, costumes, set design and had even performed a few bit parts as a supporting actor in comedy sketches on stage. He only had one recurring role which was used sporadically and Robert didn’t really feel comfortable doing that particular sketch anyway.
Robert had taken acting, dance and singing classes in college but had been unable to find work as a performer so he’d taken a job with the USO as a production assistant, which was a fancy name for a Jack of all trades, hoping that one day his talents would be recognised. So far Robert’s only standout performance was a gig where he came out in drag and performed a set singing and dancing as ‘Bobbie’. At the end of the set there was a big ‘reveal’ where Bobbie whipped off her wig to divulge that she was really a man.
‘Bobbie the drag queen’ was really just a ‘stocking filler’ that the show’s director used to fill in a set if a performer was tired or unavailable for some reason, which usually meant drunk. It was not part of the regular production. Robert had reservations about performing as Bobbie because ‘she’ played with his psyche in a disturbing way. Robert was a little annoyed that Craig kept referring to him as Bobbie. Robert would ask Craig to stop once he knew him better.
He turned on the water in one of the showers and let it run for about five minutes before it changed from rusty orange to a clear bright stream. The soap was hard and difficult to lather but the water was warmed by the sun and then turned cooler as he luxuriated under the shower. The GI issue towel was scratchy but it felt wonderful to wash off the salt and grime from his body.
Robert shaved the few wisps of hair from his chin and cleaned his teeth with tooth powder. The toothpaste in the commissary had all turned and was useless. He put on fresh underwear, dungarees, t-shirt, socks and his new shoes and was ready to face the new world.
Robert's Timex had amazingly survived the crash and all those hours being tossed around the Pacific and he saw that it was five minutes to six so he made his way over to the mess hall.
The albatross stew was surprisingly good. It was fortified with breadfruit and canned carrots and peas. Steve Ford had made his famous cornbread. There were condiments and corn oil spread which Robert had earlier mistaken for margarine.
Craig Bowmen, John Fitzgibbons and Steve Ford bombarded Robert with questions about post war life in the USA and they of course wanted to know what had happened to their favourite movie stars. Robert answered their questions as best he could and countered with questions of his own, asking how the four men survived on the island, which they gladly answered. They were justifiably proud of how they maintained a good standard of living on the deserted island.
What if came down to was mostly hard work. They religiously maintained the machinery and equipment they needed to survive and kept meticulous records as to what they had used and what remained in the storehouses. They were fortunate that when the island was abandoned by the military, all the stores were left behind, if it didn’t have wings or wheels it stayed put unless it was classified.
Robert had seen newsreels of US military surplus being pushed into the ocean or simply abandoned as being no longer required. It was more effort than it was worth to tranship the surplus back to the USA. Harris Field on Mirrocau Island was a fine example.
As usually happens when strangers meet and are required to spend time together, talk turned to family. Craig Bowen and Steve Ford were single and were only nineteen when they were shipwrecked. John Fitzgibbons was newly wed when the war broke out. He passed around a creased and faded picture of a pretty, chubby young woman wearing a wedding dress. He said that he knew that she would wait for him but you could tell by his tone that he really believed that wasn’t the case. He looked conspiratorially at Steve Ford who returned his gaze. Ray Millward had stayed silent and surly through most of the meal but he loosened up as he drank.
The ingenious sailors had learned how to ferment coconut juice and made coconut beer and a spirit they called coconut rum. Robert didn't really like the taste of the rum but it certainly had a kick.
“I bet that bitch will remarry as soon as they pay out my insurance,” Ray said bitterly, referring to his wife.
“I heard she was putting it around before I even went missing so you can bet she couldn’t wait to have me classified as presumed dead. I heard she’d open her legs for a pair of black market nylons,” Ray said through gritted teeth.
Craig and Steve steered the conversation away from girlfriends, wives and lovers and back to life on the island, they had seen Ray’s melancholy quickly turn to anger when he was drinking.
“There’s no point talking about home. All it does is make us unhappy and disconsolate. We make the best of what we’ve got until we’re rescued; then we’ll talk about home,” Ray growled.
“Kid, I’m not sure if you’re good luck or bad. You raised the hopes of my men who think that rescue is not far away but I'm a pragmatic man. We’ll remain extra vigilant for the next week or two and keep our signal fires dry and ready but I ain’t optimistic,” Ray glared at Robert.
“You may be our salvation or you may be an albatross around our necks. You men have your overnight lookout watches so make sure you stay awake and vigilant,” Ray said to his crew.
“You can have a day or two to settle in then we’re going to have to find something useful for you to do. On this island we all earn our keep, I don’t brook no malingerers,” Ray turned back to Robert.
Robert walked back to his quarters alongside Craig Bowen feeling a little despondent.
“Don’t worry about the Chief; he gets grouchy in his cups. You’ll do fine Bobbie and anyway we ain’t got much longer left on this rock,” Craig kicked along a piece of dried coral.
“Hey Craig… about you calling me Bobbie… can you… ah never mind, forget it,” Robert was about to bring up the subject but changed his mind.
Robert went into his Quonset and stripped down to underpants and t-shirt and sat with his head in his hands for a while. He was glad that he hadn't died in the plane crash or drowned in the ocean but he didn’t want to waste years of his life on this island like these four men. It was obvious after only one day that they were dysfunctional but what else could be expected?
Robert decided to confront Craig after all and ask him to stop calling him Bobbie; he didn’t need to explain why, he would just say that he didn’t like the abbreviation.
Robert padded through the soft warm sand to Craig’s quarters and saw a soft light coming from an open window. He wasn’t sure of privacy protocols on the island so he went up to the window with the intent of whispering to Craig. What he saw stopped him cold and shocked him.
The window overlooked Craig’s bed and he was lying on it naked with a bedlamp providing just enough light so he could look at the periodical he was holding. The periodical in question was a dog-eared copy of Eyeful magazine. It was open to the centrefold of a woman lying on a couch in a provocative pose. She was dressed in a black and red satin and lace basque, wearing full makeup and high heels, displaying her long legs sheathed in silky black nylons with her pubis shrouded in frilly red panties.
Craig was slowly stroking his erect penis.
Robert knew that he should just back away quietly but he was mesmerised. He looked at the cheesecake picture of the pretty woman in the magazine then back at Craig’s chubby torso, his throbbing member standing upright from his crotch as he stroked it softly and slowly.
Robert felt himself becoming erect and he put his hand down there to move his erection into a more comfortable position but as soon as he touched his flesh he was filled with wanton desire. He knew what he was doing was wrong but he couldn’t help himself.
Robert freed his cock from his underwear and stroked it in time with Craig, looking alternately at the women in the sexy lingerie and Craig’s pulsing penis which was now secreting droplets of dewy precum. Robert bit his lip to stifle a gasp as his own cock began to dribble pre-ejaculate which he used to lubricate his shaft, exactly as Craig was doing only inches away from him.
Robert was not homosexual, he had been with women, albeit not always successfully, but seeing this young man stroke his magnificent manhood only inches away from him invoked a sense of arousal that he had no choice but to gratify.
Craig’s penis began to quiver and he began to stroke it harder and faster. Robert mimicked his actions and bit down harder on his lip as he felt his orgasm getting close.
“Mhg…oh… Karen! Karen!” Craig cried.
A spume of creamy semen erupted from Craig’s penis and spattered on his chest. Another followed. Then torrents of milky spend splattered on his soft plump belly as his penis erupted in geysers of hot, creamy seed.
Robert’s cock erupted at the same time and he ejaculated his load onto the sand as an enormous orgasm washed over him. He had to hold onto the window ledge for support. It was difficult experiencing such divine pleasure without divulging his presence and he tried not to gasp too loudly. He fell to his knees and drained the last of his ejaculate onto the ground, his whole body shuddering with the intensity of his climax.
Robert stayed on his knees, breathing deeply as he scattered sand over his semen then he crawled away, not getting to his feet until he was at the door to his Quonset hut. He knew what he had done was wrong but too much had happened today; there was too much going on in his head for him to stop and try to psychoanalyse it. He crawled into bed and fell into a deep sleep.
His dreams were interwoven with facts and fantasy. He relived the plane crash and the hours spent clinging to the trunk on the tortuous seas. He relived his days working as a waiter and busboy in New York restaurants so he could pay his way through drama school. He relived the time when his father caught him dressed in his sister’s clothes putting on a performance for his sister and her girlfriends. His father had taken Robert into the kitchen had beaten him. Mary Spencer, his sister’s best friend, had consoled him, hugging him to her. He had become tumescent and Mary had put her hand under his skirt and stroked him until he filled his sister’s panties with his essence. She had sworn him to secrecy and it had been his main masturbatory fantasy until he finally lost his virginity.
Then the recurring nightmare started.
William Brindle, the Director of the first USO show he had worked on came to him with his idea for a skit that Robert could perform as a standby number. Bobbie would be dressed as Lauren Bacall and sing the song How Little We Know with a big reveal at the end of the song when she would whip off her wig and reveal herself as Robert.
Robert had done a little drag in drama school. He had the figure, looks and voice to carry it off. Dressed enfemme with a wig and makeup he was completely passable but he was never really comfortable doing it. He presumed it had something to do with being punished by his father for dressing like a girl and then the incident right after with Mary Spencer. He psychologically linked dressing as a woman with both punishment and pleasure.
Regardless, Robert had taken William up on his offer because as an aspiring performer you never said no to an opportunity to appear on stage. The showgirls had fun helping him with the character. They went to wardrobe and found a shoulder length brunette wig which was styled into a wave on the right side then started to curve at the corner of his eyebrow and ending sloping downward at his cheekbone just like Lauren Bacall. They taught him how to mimic her makeup he worked on her voice and mannerisms. He worked with the orchestra to perfect the song.
There were plenty of dresses in wardrobe that fitted him and with the help of prosthetic breasts to fill the cups of his bra, ‘Bobbie’ impersonated Lauren Bacall almost perfectly. There was no need to announce to the audience that a Lauren Bacall impersonator was the next act. As soon as ‘Bobbie Bingham’, as she was billed, came out on stage it was obvious. At the end of the set when Bobbie ripped off her wig the audience was always astonished and then amused.
Robert would be notified at the beginning of each performance if Bobbie Bingham would be preforming so he had time to transform but the act really was only a standby and used sparingly as required.
In his nightmare Robert recalled a show last year in West Berlin where he had left the stage after a successful appearance as Bobbie and made his way back to the dressing room which was empty because the rest of ensemble were on stage for the encore.
William Brindle was drunk and he came into the dressing room with a bottle of scotch and locked the door behind him.
“You were wonderful tonight Bobbie, here have a drink,” William poured a large amount of scotch into tumbler and offered it to Bobbie.
“No thanks Bill, I just want to get out of costume, I have a lot of work to do after the show,” Bobbie replied and was about to remove her wig.
William grabbed Bobbie and pulled her into his arms, pressing himself against her. His face inches from hers, his breath smelled of alcohol.
“Don’t be ungrateful Bobbie. I got you this part. You owe me! You want to be a glorified stagehand for the rest of your time in the USO or do you want to become a full-time performer? Your choice doll,” William’s face closed in on Bobbie’s and she felt helpless and unable to resist.
This is where Robert always woke up shivering and sweating. He had blacked out any recollection of what had happened in that dressing room and had no inclination to restore the lost memories.
William Brindle left the production a few weeks later but Bobbie Bingham’s act impersonating Lauren Bacall remained on the bill as a filler. Robert rehearsed the part once a week to maintain continuity and performed the act when required but he was never comfortable dressed as Bobbie and couldn’t wait to get out drag as soon as the performance was over.
Robert awoke from the nightmare just as William Bridle’s lips were about to touch Bobbie’s full, lipsticked lips which were formed into an inviting pout. Robert was drenched in sweat but he was shivering. He was also painfully erect.
He got out of bed and drank three glasses of water, urinated and went back to bed. The rest of his sleep was dreamless.
The next morning Robert was awakened by a bar of brilliant light streaming into his eyes through the window. It took him a little while to realise where he was and the circumstances that had brought him here. He groaned and rolled over, attempting to go back to sleep, when there was a pounding on his door.
“Wake up sleepyhead! The guys have found something on the beach!” Craig called excitedly.
Robert got out of bed and hurriedly pulled on his clothes and went outside where he found Craig circling like an excited puppy.
“Come on! Come On! Let’s see what they found!” he called breathlessly and skittered across the runway, down the path to the beach.
Robert followed behind.
They came out onto the beach and Robert was amazed to see that the pounding surf and huge waves had mellowed into a beautiful flat azure sea with little wavelets tickling the shoreline. Above the high water mark Ray Millward, John Fitzgibbons, and Steve Ford were inspecting a small pile of flotsam. As he and Craig drew closer Robert recognised the steamer trunks and suitcases from the USO show. It was part of the wreckage from the C-47.
“Well this shit is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine,” Ray Millward growled as Robert and Craig approached.
“Clothes, costumes, shoes and shit… not even a pack of cigarettes,” Ray grumbled as he threw the contents of the trunks onto the sand.
“You let us down again kid,” Ray glared at Robert.
Robert was about to retort. Why was it his fault if the wreckage from the plane was of no use to them? The look in Ray’s eyes made him think otherwise and he held his tongue.
“Hey Chief. It ain’t Bobbie’s fault if this stuff is useless,” Craig said exactly what Robert was thinking.
“Is that so Seaman Bowen? Well you and your girlfriend can just pack this shit up and get it off my beach, you know I don’t warrant trash on my beachhead Seaman Bowen,” Ray fixed Craig with a harsh stare.
Robert cringed at being referred to as Craig’s girlfriend even though he knew that Ray only meant it as an insult.
“You two can take this pile of shit to the Q store and you can go through it later. See kid, I told you we’d find something useful for you to do,” Ray grinned sardonically.
“John, let’s you and I adjourn for chow. Seaman Ford, make the coffee and get breakfast ready. You two shitheels can join us when you get rid of this crap,” Ray barked his orders and marched off down the beach with John and Steve in close formation.
“Is he always so grumpy?” Robert asked as he began to gather the items that men had scattered along the beach.
“Hey, he’s the Chief; what do you expect?” Craig replied, picking up a tuxedo jacket from the sand.
“Hey, what do you think Bobbie? Should we dress for dinner tonight?” Craig grinned as he turned to face Robert.
Wearing the tuxedo jacket with his dungarees Craig looked like a half dressed penguin. Robert was holding a peach coloured satin petticoat in his hand self-consciously.
“You’d need to find something more suitable than that,” Craig grinned nodding at the petticoat.
Robert blushed and threw the garment in the trunk.
It took Robert and Craig three trips to bring all the flotsam to the Q store even using a handcart to lug it. When they finally got to the mess hall the others had finished breakfast and Ray and John sat drinking coffee. Steve Ford was on lookout duty, stationed on lookout hill, vigilant for a rescue flight.
There was corn fritters, bananas, and papaya for breakfast and Robert and Craig tucked in.
“After breakfast you can go through all that shit we found on the beach kid. Bring anything you find useful or valuable to me. Craig, the second generator needs its three-monthly service,” Ray grunted around his coffee cup.
“My name is Robert, not kid and I’m not part of your little navy. I’m a civilian so I’d like you to stop treating me like some swab jockey,” Robert seethed.
“Well look at you kid, using the naval vernacular like some shellback. Well excuse me for not being polite. Please mister Bingham, will you be so kind as to please inspect our newly obtained chattels and see if there is anything of use and then please bring it to my attention…please,” Ray closed in on him, his nose almost touching Robert’s.
“Glad to help Chief,” Robert glared back at Ray who broke into a malicious grin and backed away.
“Now that we all have our schedules sorted maybe we can get to work. John, come with me. Let’s walk the rest of the beach and see if anything of use has washed up from that wrecked C-47 other than ladies underpanties and trombones,” Ray said sarcastically.
Craig went off to service the generator and Robert returned to the Q store to go through the trunks they had salvaged. He recognised most of them. There were crates full of props that would be of little use but he broke them open, organised the contents and stowed them on the shelves.
A few musical instruments had survived but were soaked in sea water which would soon rust and corrode them. Robert fetched fresh water and submerged the instruments in it and put them in the sun to dry. Those that needed lubrication would get it once dry. There was a guitar, a trombone, a saxophone and a clarinet. He didn’t know if any of the men on the island played instruments but if any of them did he bet they would be happy to have them.
Robert played a decent blues guitar but he wondered if the Gibson J-45 he had put aside would survive. The salt water would not treat the Adirondack spruce top and high quality mahogany back and sides kindly nor the metal furniture such as the frets and machine heads. The guitar was still in its case and hadn't been totally immersed in salt water like the other instruments.
The garments had fared better. They had been packed in watertight steamer trucks like the one he had clung to throughout his ordeal on the ocean. He opened them and divided the contents into men’s and women’s clothing and costumes. The streamers contained everything that the troupe would need to put on a show, there were no corner stores where the USO performed.
He found some clothing racks with hangers on them and hung up the clothing. There was everything from tuxedos to fatigues for the men and for the women, everything from evening dresses to khaki uniforms. USO performers liked to wear military garb when not performing, including the women. The tan uniform of the US army was translated by the entertainers into a slightly sexier, form-fitting costume. Some singers crooned while dressed in the uniform-inspired khaki shirts and matching pencil skirts topped with an angular army hat but most of the women performers wore alluring civilian attire to the delight of the troops.
Although not an official uniform the USO performers wore the khakis when they were in-theatre.
Makeup, lingerie and nylon stockings were particularly hard to come by in foreign war zones and the production ensured that women had good supply. Robert laid them out the goods on the shelves. They would be of little use on Mirrocau Island but he quite enjoyed the task. It was something he was comfortable with and he felt useful for the first time since he had arrived on the island.
Robert baulked when he found a large hatbox. He knew that inside it was the Lauren Bacall shoulder-length brunette wig that he wore when he played ‘Bobbie’. He put it unopened on the very top shelf and left it there. The footwear he arranged by sex and size on the bottom shelf then he turned his attention to the few personal possessions that the performers had shipped on the C-47.
These he lay out on a table and began to go through them.
Ray, John and Steve were about to sit down to lunch when Robert returned to the mess hall carrying a tote sack. Craig Bowman was on lookout duty. The leftover albatross stew didn’t smell all that bad and Robert made himself a plate and sat at the table as far away from Ray as possible.
“I didn’t find anything particularly useful but I found a few interesting items,” Robert pointed to the sack he had put down on the floor.
“We can go through it after lunch,” Ray grunted, picking a thin bone out of his mouth and putting it on the side of the plate.
They ate the rest of the meal in silence, four hungry men concentrating on their food.
Robert got up and cleared the table.
“I’ll wash up. Until you guys get me better trained there isn’t much I can do except domestic duties,” he said, trying to get on the good side of Ray.
“Hopefully you won’t have to learn shit because we’re going to get rescued,” Seaman Ford grinned.
He stopped grinning when Ray gave him a grim stare.
“Let’s see what you got Bobbie. Is that better than kid?” Ray said pushing back his chair.
“As a matter of fact… no that's fine thanks Ray,” Robert was about to correct him but thought better of it.
Better to be called by a nickname he detested than ‘kid’. At least he was being spoken to with a little more respect.
“And you can call me Chief like the rest of my Crew. I know you aint officially military but while you’re on my island you comply with my orders, ok?” Ray said, but not in his usual gravelly tone.
“Yes Chief,” Robert replied.
Robert reached into the tote sack and brought out the treasures he found in the wreckage. They comprised: a silver hip flask, two fountain pens, one a Conway Stewart the other a Montblanc, a silver and ivory grooming set, and a silver cigarette case.
Ray was finally impressed with Robert.
“Little luxuries like these might seem out of place on Mirrocau Island but they remind of us home,” Ray’s hands hovered over the items laid out on the table.
“I’ll take this, even though it is little use. John, you get next choice and so on in order of rank,” Ray picked up the cigarette case and studied it.
John and Steve approached the table and studied the valuables, deciding what to take.
“It might not be completely useless Chief,” Robert reached into the tote bag and brought out an item he had kept until last.
He handed Ray a carton of Lucky Strike cigarettes.
Ray studied the carton and then brought it to his nose and inhaled. He tore open the end and pulled out the familiar white rectangular pack with the red circle in the middle.
He looked at Robert with genuine awe.
"And look Chief... four more," Robert put the other cartons on the table and grinned.
“You did good ki… Bobbie,” Ray’s steely blue eyes met Robert's and showed genuine affection.
So much so that Robert had to look away. There was something powerful and exciting about Ray that Robert was attracted to but it also felt unsettling.
“Enjoy Chief,” Robert said and went back to washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen.
That afternoon Robert went back to the store and continued to rearrange the items they had salvaged. He sprayed lubricant on the metal items and the instruments in an attempt to save them from the ravages of the sea water then put them on the shelves.
He picked up the Gibson J-45 and oiled the machine heads and frets and polished the wood with bees wax. That was how Ray found him, sitting in a metal folding chair polishing the guitar.
“Do you play?” Ray was framed by brilliant sunlight in the hangar-sized doorway.
Robert had to squint to see him properly. The light infused Ray with an almost portrait-like quality and Robert appraised him thoroughly for the first time since he had seen him on the beach.
Ray was tall and sinewy and in the half-shadow every muscle on his torso flowed from the light into the dark. His brown skin looked tempting to touch. His shag-cut salt and pepper hair fell over his forehead, his deep-set eyes glittered cobalt blue, his nose was long and straight, his lips full. He was not classically handsome but Robert could imagine many a woman swooning if they saw him like this, shirtless and unconsciously posed with the sunlight behind him.
He didn’t know why he did but Robert glanced briefly at Ray’s crotch. The dungarees were tight there and he could see the girth of something quite substantial. Robert snatched his eyes away and looked down at the guitar in his lap.
“I play a little but this instrument needs a little more attention and I’ll need to re-string it. There were a couple of sets in the guitar case,” Robert replied.
“Let me see what you’ve done here,” Ray came into the store and approached Robert.
“Sure Chief, let me show you,” Robert carefully put down the guitar and stood.
“I’ve put the props and tools over here, I don’t think they will be of much use,” Robert pointed to the stage scenery and tool bags he’d put in one corner.
“The rest of it is mainly clothing… stage costumes, some personal clothing and uniforms. I arranged them by gender on those hangers and shelves,” Robert pointed to the wheeled clothing racks.
Ray went through it, sliding the clothes hangers along the rail as he inspected it.
“I suppose if we ever decide to dress for dinner we have the clothes for it,” Ray sniggered and went over to the next rack.
“That’s all ladies clothing. I can’t see that we will have a use for it so maybe we should just throw it away,” Robert remarked, trying to be helpful.
Ray’s fingers lingered on some of the dresses and blouses and then he went over to the lingerie arranged on the shelves. His fingers caressed a few items then he self-consciously withdrew his hand.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I touched a warm body wearing garments like this? Even my cheating bitch of a wife could calm me down and make me forget her indiscretions when she came to me dressed in her intimates and heels, her hair done right, her makeup perfect, her skin so soft and…” Ray suddenly stopped talking and hung his head.
Robert was embarrassed to see that Ray was tumescent, the considerable bulge in his dungarees difficult to hide. He seemed not to notice when he turned to Robert and studied him.
Robert stood at five foot eight inches tall and had slim shoulders and hips, a flat belly but plump buttocks. He weighed around 120 pounds. His face was epicene, which was one reason he had failed to be cast in masculine roles. A pair of strong thick arched eyebrows looked down on sweeping eyelashes and feline green eyes. His delicate ears framed a longish nose and a wide full mouth.
There was a dynamic synergy between Ray and Robert that both could feel and both were uneasy with it.
“We throw nothing out. Rescue might be in a few days or a few years. You never know what will come in handy,” Ray said gruffly.
“What do you think Bobbie; are you up for cooking chow tonight?” Ray changed the subject abruptly.
“Sure Chief,” Robert was glad to be asked to contribute.
“There’s a shoulder of pork in the refrigerator. Try to do something inventive with it. All those other guys ever do is broil it until it has the taste and texture of a truck tire,” Ray gave Robert a rare smile and left the store.
Robert took a deep breath. Something had changed the dynamic between he and Ray and he was not sure what it was. For a few intimate moments they had a synergy that was unexplainable.
Robert couldn’t imagine living with three other men for five years with no other company and more importantly, no female company. He wondered how they coped. He had seen how Craig Bowman sought relief but all men did that regardless of the availability of women. It was all too much to think about. So much had happened in such a short space of time and Robert realised that concentrating on the task at hand relieved him of the burden of trying to think too hard.
Dinner that night was a rousing success. The crew of the PT 911 were used to slopping whatever was for dinner on a tin plate, taking it over to the bare table, grabbing utensils and wolfing it down between swigs of coconut beer.
Robert put his restaurant experience to work that afternoon. He had never been a chef but he knew how to cook and he explored the victualing office in the Q store and found a cache of dried herbs and spices still sealed in their foil wrap sachets. He found sacks of white rice that were untouched. Rice has an indefinite shelf life but the sailors refused to eat it because it was what the ‘Nips’ ate.
He cut the pork shoulder into bite-size pieces and simmered it in coconut milk with a selection of herbs and spices, adding breadfruit, pandanus leaves, corn, peas and carrots just before it was ready to serve. He steamed the rice, adding pandanus leaves to give it piquancy. Robert set the table with a tablecloth, napkins, flatware, cutlery and clean glasses.
He put a pitcher of water in the middle of the table beside an arrangement of freshly plucked frangipani.
“Don’t you men dare approach my table until you have cleaned up!” Robert yelped at the four sailors as they bustled into the mess laughing and joking.
Petty Officer John Fitzgibbons, Seaman Craig Bowen and Seaman Steve Ford looked down at their grimy hands and dirty dungarees and shrugged.
“You heard Bobbie. Go and get cleaned up for supper,” Ray said, an amused look on his face.
The four men returned fifteen minutes later freshly showered and wearing clean clothes. The smell from kitchen was delectable but Robert refused to let the men serve themselves.
“We are not slopping the hogs tonight gentlemen. Please be seated and I will serve you directly,” Robert ordered.
Ray grinned and nodded at the table and the four men seated themselves and poured water and beer. Robert served the men in order of rank and then fixed a plate for himself. The men ate heartily complimenting Robert on his culinary skills.
“I don’t normally like this kind of grub but I gotta tell you Bobbie this is the best meal I’ve had since we arrived on this rock,” John Fitzgibbons said patting his stomach having consumed a second helping.
Craig Bowen and Steve Ford nodded their agreement around mouthfuls of food.
“Great eats Bobbie, looks like you’ve found your forte,” Ray said approvingly opening his newly acquired cigarette case.
Robert got up and cleared the table refusing any assistance. He felt like he was finally contributed to the group effort.
“Where did you learn to cook like that?” Ray asked, drawing in smoke from his Lucky.
“When I started in theatre I worked in restaurants to make a living. I picked up a lot of tips from the chefs in the kitchen. There’s nothing cordon bleu on this island but with a little imagination it’s possible to put something decent on the plate,” Robert said, refilling Ray’s beer glass.
Ray looked questioningly at the others and they grinned and nodded in agreement. The crew had been together for so long that they were almost telepathic.
“Well Robert I think you proved today that you do have some skills we can use. I’m appointing you in charge of catering and domestic services. That basically means you’re the cook and galley bitch, you’re in charge of the storehouses and the laundry. Is that too demeaning for you?” Ray asked.
The question caught Robert by surprise. First off he would gladly take on the role as caterer, storeman, and victualler. It made him useful and freed up the other men to fully utilise their skills. But secondly and more importantly he was astonished that Ray had asked him rather than just ordering him.
“I’d like that Chief. I would make me feel like I’m contributing to the group effort and I’d feel more a part of the team,” Robert smiled.
“Well we ain’t appointing you to the crew of the PT 991 just yet but taking on the domestic chores will sure help us out,” Ray said dryly.
“It won’t be for long Bobbie. There will be rescue plane any day now,” Steve Ford grinned.
“Speaking of which. Seaman Ford, you have the first watch I believe,” Ray stood up and hitched up his pants, bringing the dinner to a close.
Ray Millward had the best night’s sleep he’d had since the PT 991 washed up on Mirrocau Island. He dreamed of his last liberty run in Manila when he’d gone to Kirby’s Meat Market, which is what the sailors called Kirby’s Bar, a local haunt frequented by the sailors of the PT Squadron.
Girls could be found anywhere in Manila but Kirby’s specialised in providing fair-skinned girls who spoke good English, dressed in modern Western attire, and were familiar with Americana.
Ray had already drunk his fill at the NCO Club at Cavite and was in a foul mood. He knew about his wife’s philandering but today he had received a ‘Dear John’. Elaine wanted a divorce on his return and he was livid.
At Kirby’s he selected a girl who looked the most like Elaine out of the procession of bargirls on offer. She was roughly the same build as Elaine and had her hair styled the same way. Except for her almond eyes, through Ray’s drunken fugue, she could well be Elaine; even her accent sounded American.
Usually the protocol was to buy the girl a few watered-down ‘B-girl’ drinks at inflated prices before paying the bar fine and taking the girl back to a hotel but Ray was in no mood for hanging around. He slapped the bar fine down in front of Mamma San and dropped a tip on top to cover the B-girl drinks. One look at Ray’s face convinced Mamma San not to argue.
Ray took the girl to a nearby hotel, all the time calling her Elaine. She didn’t care, American servicemen often called the girls by the names of their wives or sweethearts. She would happily be whoever Ray wanted her to be.
He dragged her up to the dingy room and slammed the door shut.
“Get over here!” he growled as he shucked out of his clothes.
“Why are you angry with me Ray?” the girl was a little frightened.
Ray was glad to see fear on the girl’s face. Elaine usually just laughed at him when he tried to order her around.
“Don’t answer me back you bitch!” Ray spun the girl around and threw her on the bed.
The girl had been with hundreds of servicemen and knew what they wanted. She started to unbutton her dress.
“Fuck that! Open your legs you whore!” Ray screamed at her.
His face was contorted, his muscles bulging and his penis rampant.
Ray leapt on the girl and forced her legs apart. He kissed her not with passion but with fury as he tried to push his cock into her.
The girl still had on her nylon panties which prevented his cock from finding her entrance so Ray ripped the garment from her body.
“Ray! You rip my clothes you have to pay more,” the girl said from underneath him.
Ray shut her up by pressing his mouth on hers and driving his cock deep inside her tight vagina. The girl was unlubricated but Ray was so excited the copious amounts of pre-ejaculate eased his passage.
“Ughf!” the girl grunted as Ray filled her tight vagina with his engorged phallus.
The bargirl’s sheath was tighter than Elaine’s had ever been but when Ray looked down into her pretty face all he saw was his wife.
“You slut!” he grunted as he began to fuck her fiercely.
“You fucking whore!” he fucked her harder and the bargirl obligingly lifted her stocking-sheathed legs around his torso and held him tight.
“I’m your whore Ray,” she whispered in his ear.
The bargirls knew how to role-play and if Ray wanted her to be a whore she would be.
Ray felt the girl’s cunt begin to become moist and she clung to him, meeting his thrusts and sliding her nyloned thighs along his sensitive skin, scratching him with her high heels and finger nails.
“You fucking philandering, filthy whore!” Ray howled as he fucked Elaine.
“Yes Ray. Fuck me! Fuck your whore,” the bargirl edged him on.
Ray brought his hand up high to slap her and she goaded him, just like Elaine would.
“Go on Ray slap me. I’m your filthy whore,” she said through gritted teeth.
Girls could claim extra for ‘special services’.
“Oh god no! I love you Elaine, I love you,” Ray fell on top of the young woman and began to sob.
“I love you too Ray. I love you too,” the whore-Elaine cooed into his ear.
She kept her arms and legs locked around him but she was gentle. She stroked him and caressed him and whispered endearments in his ear.
Ray became fully tumescent again and kissed the girl tenderly.
“I love you Elaine,” he sighed as he slowly fucked her, feeling her vagina contract around his throbbing penis.
“I will always love you Ray,” the girl said as she worked her magic with her velvety cunt and milked Ray of his spend.
On Mirrocau Island, in Ray’s quarters, Ray lay on his rack murmuring in his sleep as a stain spread across the thin sheet covering his body, soaking up Ray’s nocturnal emission.
To be continued
The Island - Chapter 2
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Chapter Two – Bad Penny
The first plane was sighted three days after Robert had been appointed in charge of domestic duties. They were eating lunch: grilled swordfish and salad, when Ray suddenly stood up at the table.
“Shut the fuck up!” he ordered and there was instant silence.
They all strained their ears and then they heard what sounded like a mosquito in the distance.
“Go! Go! Go!” Ray screamed but the men were already on their way to their stations.
Steve Ford ran to the top of the Lookout Hill so fast that he collapsed after igniting the signal pyre. Ray, John and Craig lit smaller fires along the beach. The plane was no more than a speck on the distant horizon but surely it would see the plumes of dense black smoke coming from the small island set in the jewelled sea?
The plane got no closer but hopes ran high and the surviving crew of the PT 991 celebrated late into the night and remained extra vigilant for further sightings of rescue craft.
The second plane was sighted three days later, even further away it was just a mote on the horizon. The stench of burning diesel and tires matched the mood of the men who became dejected and forlorn over the following week when there was no sign of rescue.
Robert worked harder, preparing scrumptious meals, washing and mending the men’s clothing, folding it neatly and placing it on bunks he had made up with fresh sun-dried sheets. He went out of his way to try to lift the men’s spirits but they were crestfallen and dejected.
After dinner one night Ray put one of his precious cigarettes into his mouth. He was rationing them and allowed himself only three per day. Robert picked up Ray’s Zippo and leaned in to light it and Ray pushed him away.
“I can light my own cigarettes kid,” he snarled.
Robert became ostracised from the group. They blamed him for giving them hope and then snatching it away. They knew as well as Robert did that it was not his fault but it was easier to endure the pain of disappointment when there was someone to blame.
The harder Robert worked to ingratiate himself, the more he was rejected and isolated. The men became petty. His food was never tasty, they found stains on their laundry and the sheets on their beds were stale. They were all imaginary sleights but they hurt. Even Craig who had always been Robert’s friend rejected him.
Robert returned to his Quonset one day to find his rack overturned and his meagre possessions scattered around the room. When he complained to Ray he was told to stop whining.
Robert was serving dinner one night when things came to a head.
“What is this shit?” John Fitzgibbons pushed his food around his plate like a spoilt child.
“It’s a fish curry. Wahoo to be precise. Craig caught it fresh this morning,” Robert countered.
“Well it tastes like shit. Why can’t we have proper American food instead of this Nip crap,” John snarled back.
“I made you pork burgers yesterday for lunch and you threw them in the trash,” Robert stood with his hands on hips.
“You’re a lousy cook and even worse you’re bad luck. You’re like a bad penny, unwanted and useless,” John spat on his plate, scraped back his chair and left the mess hall.
The others followed, leaving their food untouched.
Robert went back into the kitchen to clean up. He refused to let the men see him cry.
That night alone in his bunk, listening to them men get progressively drunk and blaming him for not being rescued Robert decided it was time to do something about it. He confronted Ray the next day.
“I’m not being treated fairly,” Robert stamped his foot.
“Why’s that?” Ray glared back at him.
“It’s not my fault that the planes didn’t see our signal fires,” Robert countered.
“You don’t get it do you Bobbie? You gave my men hope. When you washed up here they naturally assumed there would be a search and rescue mission to find your plane,” Ray said.
“There was! And it wasn’t my plane. It belonged to the US Air Force,” Robert put his hands on his hips defiantly.
“So what Bobbie? The men are simple minded and single minded when it comes rescue. They saw you as their salvation and that hope has been snatched away. What do you expect?” Ray reached for his smokes.
“I expect to be treated fairly,” Robert retorted.
“You can’t earn my crew’s trust by just doing your job and whining when they don’t treat you how you want to be treated. You have to earn their respect and admiration. You’re college educated; you’ll figure it out,” Ray’s smile became a sneer.
“I went to drama school not Harvard!” Robert screamed at Ray’s back as he walked away.
That night, lying in his bunk listening to the men drinking and carousing, Robert thought about what he had said to Ray. He had been to drama school and his forte was entertaining. He hatched a plan.
Wednesday was movie night. It was Robert’s job to set up the projector and screen in the mess and play the movie. There were a total of twenty movies left behind when the island was abandoned and they were played in strict rotation. Although the men had seen the movies countless times it was their only source of contact with the outside world. Seeing the movie stars on the screen interacting with each other gave the men a sense of normalcy, an inkling of what life was like beyond the island.
Robert went to some effort, he found the movie poster that accompanied the three tin movie reels and in the old print shop he made up theatre tickets. The poster read:
To Have and Have Not. A romantic-war film based on Ernest Hemingway's 1937 novel starring Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall and Walter Brennan. Directed by Howard Hawks and Produced by Hawks and Jack L. Warner; screenplay written by Jules Furthman and William Faulkner with inputs from Hemingway himself.
He mounted the poster on the wall of the mess hall where they could all see it. He went to considerable effort to make the theatre tickets as authentic as possible.
One Night Only To Have and Have Not - screening in the mess hall at 1900. By invitation only. Black tie required, canapés and cocktails provided.
Robert went carefully through the clothing he had salvaged from the C-47 wreckage and found suits that he guessed would fit each of the men. He laid them out on their bunks with the theatre tickets.
“What’s this shit,” Ray grabbed Robert by the collar and shoved the theatre ticket in his face.
Robert was caught unaware in the shadows of the Q store tuning up the Gibson J-45 which he had restrung.
“I thought the men might like a little fantasy for one night. A little taste of what life is like at home,” Robert tried to pull himself free of Ray’s grasp.
“They don’t need to be reminded of what life is like at home. All that does is make them more melancholy. Can you imagine how John Fitzgibbons feels knowing that some stranger is giving it to his wife, raising his child? Steve Ford thinking about some lothario with his hand under his high school sweetheart’s skirt?” Ray hissed.
“I think your projecting your own bitterness and resentment on your crew. Your anger at your wife’s infidelity shouldn’t prevent the men from having a pleasant evening,” Robert glared back at Ray.
Ray pushed Robert away so hard that he fell down on the hard packed dirt.
“You leave me and my wife out of this. You want the men to play dressup and kid’s games to entertain themselves, well have at it. But I’m having none of it. This will backfire on you Bobbie. You think the men hate you now? They will despise you when they realise what they're missing,” Ray turned on his heels and stormed away.
Ray couldn’t have been more wrong. The men were excited at the idea of dressing up and going to the theatre. They turned up on time dressed in their tuxedos and evening suits that Robert had found for each of them. Robert had laid out canapés and drinks for them: shrimp skewers, fish bites and pulled pork, jugs of chilled coconut beer and cordial.
He had set up the projector in the middle of the room with four seats facing the screen mounted on the back wall. The film was loaded and ready to play. A card taped to the Bell and Howell projector said ‘just press this switch’. Robert himself was nowhere to be seen.
The men were not really surprised. Robert had mostly kept to himself since the disappointment of the rescue planes. The men treated him with distain and he was only seen at meal times or when Ray ordered a team meeting.
Ray refused to wear the suit that Robert had laid out for him on his rack. He arrived dirty, unshaved and drunk, having finished off a bottle of coconut rum before he arrived. He took nips from his hip flask while he sat waiting for the movie to start.
The others imbibed in the canapés and drinks before finally seating themselves.
“Where’s Bobbie?” Craig asked, looking around for him expectantly.
“Who the fuck cares,” Ray growled.
“Play the fucking movie Seaman Bowen,” he snarled, tugging at his flask.
Craig Bowen dimmed the lights and hit the switch to start the projector and the opening credits of To Have and Have Not rolled on the screen.
The men became engrossed in the movie. Being mariners they related to the story. When it came to the scene where Lauren Bacall approached the band in the seedy bar to sing How Little We Know the reel suddenly stopped. Robert had spliced the reel to stop at that exact moment.
The strains of a guitar filled the room and the men turned their heads in the direction of the music. They gasped when a beautiful young woman who looked similar to Lauren Bacall entered the room through the side entrance.
The woman was stunning. She was wearing a tight-fitting satin evening gown split at the side to reveal her long shapely legs sheathed in the sheerest nylon. The gown cinched her tiny waist and emphasised her pert bottom. Her breasts were not overly large but were in proportion to her lithe frame. It was her face that was striking: her shoulder length brunette hair was styled into a wave on the right side then started to curve at the corner of her eyebrow sloping downward, ending at her cheekbone. Her green eyes were feline, hypnotic, enhanced by the dark eyeliner and mascara, purple and burgundy eyeshadow embellished her eyelids. Her full lips were graced with dark red lipstick.
She sauntered into the centre of the room and stood in the bare light of the projector which acted as a spotlight. Bobbie’s voice was perfect for the song, dark and sultry. Her red nailpolish glistened in the light as she fingered the chords but all eyes were on her pretty face and her long legs. She moved sensually on her high heels.
The men were speechless. Mesmerised. Besotted.
When Bobbie finished the song she bowed demurely and for a moment there was silence. Then the room erupted with applause and whistles. This was the trigger for Bobbie Bingham to rip off her wig for the big reveal when she performed the act on stage but tonight she didn’t. She raised her head and smiled at the men then she waved at them and exited through the door from which she had entered.
The men weren't stupid. They knew that it was Bobbie in that tight fitting dress, high heels and makeup but she was so fully transformed that they allowed themselves to be deceived. They were delighted and clamoured amongst themselves, laughing, joking and complementing Bobbie for putting on such a brilliant performance.
Bobbie waited outside the mess her heart pounding, listening to the applause and the accolades, waiting for the right moment to return for her encore.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” Bobbie was startled.
She hadn't heard Ray Millward creep up on her.
“I’m entertaining the troops. That what I’m trained to do,” Bobbie said petulantly.
“You think what you just did was a good thing?” Ray leaned into her and Bobbie could smell his sweat and the alcohol on his breath.
“You’re drunk and you’re a boor Ray. I tried my best to make an evening’s entrainment out of it, god knows the men could use the release,” Bobbie snapped.
“You dumb cunt! You don’t know what’s good for my men or what they need. And I’m not Ray, I’m Chief!”
“They’ll carry on for a while tonight. If you go back in there they’ll congratulate you, maybe even fawn over you if they're drunk enough. But tomorrow all you will have done is ignite in them the sorrow and longing they feel for the comfort of a woman,” Ray hissed.
“Well I can be that women for them tonight. I can entertain them. I can at least make them happy for a while,” Bobbie replied.
Ray leaned in further, his face almost touching hers. He could smell her perfume, he felt like he could drown the pools of her eyes. Bobbie radiated femininity and he reached for her. He pulled her close, his lips almost touching hers.
Bobbie closed her eyes. All of the times that she had gone on stage as Bobbie Bingham she had never felt really comfortable, never felt centred, and now she knew why. In this instance she really did feel feminine, any vestiges of Robert were gone, she was fully immersed in the psyche of Bobbie. Bobbie the entertainer, Bobbie the singer, Bobbie the woman.
She waited expectantly for Ray’s lips to touch hers. How would she feel about that? Is that what she wanted? Is that what she yearned for?
Ray’s lips brushed hers briefly and then he pushed her away violently.
“You disgust me! Go and take that shit off. I don’t want to see you like that,” he groused, taking a long draught from his flask.
“Really Ray? Is that how you really feel?” Bobbie stepped back into him and when he reached for her she spun out of grasp.
“Fuck you Chief,” Bobbie spat and turned away from him.
She sauntered away into the night. Ray was mesmerised by the way she walked, her bottom swaying, her tight waist, her long legs striding one in front of the other, her heels accentuating her gait and pushing out her buttocks. She turned to him briefly and once again he was taken with her beauty and then she kept walking away.
Ray was furious. He was livid. He was hard.
The next day Bobbie made herself busy in the Q store. She had laid out a cold breakfast buffet for the men; she didn’t want to see them, to speak to them. She was torn between the success of her performance and Ray’s disdain and admonishment.
When Ray slinked into the store she deliberately ignored him.
He sidled up to her, his head bowed.
“I owe you an apology,” Ray mumbled.
Bobbie avoided making contact with him, she concentrated on her clipboard, taking inventory of stock that she didn’t need to. Bobbie could pretty much tell you exactly what remained of their precious stores and project how long it would last.
Ray’s eyes flashed with anger briefly and he caught Bobbie and held her by her shoulders at arm’s length.
Although she was dressed in her seaman’s uniform Bobbie was still thinking of herself as she. Last night she had become fully immersed in her femme persona for the first time. She was not Robert Bingham playing at being a female impersonator; she had fully embraced the character. She felt genuinely feminine and the feelings remained. Bobbie still had the remnants of her eye makeup and lipstick on her face and it softened her features, Ray could smell the vestiges of her perfume.
Her breath was fresh and she had washed her body with a cool damp cloth but she liked what she saw in mirror and decided to stay that way for the rest of the day. She would stay away from the men who despised her; she did it for her own gratification.
Ray gazed into these emerald green eyes and memories of last night returned. Even without the wig and gown, dressed in navy fatigues, Bobbie looked alluring.
“I said I owe you an apology,” Ray gently squeezed her shoulders.
“Well apologise and go Chief; I have work to do,” Bobbie tried to shake off Ray’s grasp but he squeezed her shoulders tighter.
Ray smiled. His smiles were rare but wonderful. They lit up his handsome face and for a second Bobbie forgot that she was angry at him.
“You know you caused a mutiny last night,” Ray moved his hands from Bobbie’s shoulders to her upper arms.
She looked at him quizzically.
“The men threatened to throw me in the sea if I didn’t say I’m sorry and ask you to perform again,” his smile widened.
“I doubt they would do that Chief. The men respect you too much,” Bobbie tried to shuck out his grasp but he held on.
“Look I was wrong. The men like having Bobbie around. It’s nothing depraved or immoral. They like having a woman amongst us. You softened them, made them realise that they are not alone on this rock. They want Bobbie around more often. They want a sister, a companion, someone they can feel affectionate and protective about,” Ray explained.
“And you Ray?” Bobbie searched his eyes.
“I want my men to be happy. Whatever it takes,” Ray took his hands off Bobbie and stood with his head bowed.
“Well I hate to disappoint the men but I’m not here to make them happy. I’m the bad penny. I’m the civilian who will never be a crewmate of the PT 991. I’m the person who is only fit for domestic duties,” Bobbie replied staidly.
“Bobbie. I can’t make you become… well Bobbie… the woman I mean. But if you could find it in your heart to bring her out now and then I know the men would greatly appreciate it,” Ray sighed.
“And you?” she asked again.
“Like I said, if it improves my crew’s morale then I’m for whatever they want,” Ray avoided the question.
“Let me think on it Chief,” Bobbie said glancing down at her clipboard and returning to the task at hand.
Ray left the Q store and Bobbie refused to look up at him to watch him leave.
Bobbie had gone through the salvaged USO stores yesterday to find the necessary things she required to transform her into the Lauren Bacall lookalike. Once she found the makeup palette, the wig, the dress and heels and toted them to her quarters, transforming into her stage character had been easy. It was like riding a bike.
She still had most of the trappings she had used to change her persona in her quarters. She put down her clipboard and returned to the shelves where the costumes and stage attire resided and started to carefully go through them. Later she went over the commissary to see if there was anything left on the dusty shelves that might be useful.
CPO Ray Millward, PO John Fitzgibbons, Seaman Craig Bowen and Seaman Steve Ford sat at the dining table ready to be served their dinner that night.
Bobbie came out of the galley, plates in hand and served them. She was wearing a white six-gored skirt, a white blouse and dark blue tie. Her jacket was single-breasted and she wore plain white pumps and flesh-toned, seamed nylons. Her makeup was perfect, her green eyes enhanced by dark eyeliner and mascara and her plump lips defined by bright red lipstick. She was wearing a shoulder-length brunette bob with bangs.
No one said a word about Robert wearing the WAVE uniform. They were scared that if they made a comment she might feel uncomfortable and race away and change back into dungarees and wipe away her makeup.
When she had finished serving and pouring the men their drinks Bobbie made a plate for herself and sat between the two Seaman.
“How are you finding the fish gentlemen?” Bobbie asked in a sultry voice as if it was like any other dinner they had sat down to.
The men realised that it would be easy to burst the bubble; to ask Robert why he was dressed as a WAVE, to ask him anything related to his male identity. It was exciting having Bobbie sit with them, talking to them. She was attractive and feminine and it was almost like being at home having dinner with a sister or cousin.
“You look nice tonight Bobbie,” Craig broke the silence.
“I’m not sure if the uniform is appropriate; I’m not really in the military,” Bobbie replied, topping up Craig’s beer.
“I think we can afford you honorary enlistment in the navy and assign you to the PT 991. What do you say Chief?” Petty Officer John Fitzgibbons spoke for the other enlisted men at the table.
Ray just grunted and pushed his food around his plate.
“To Seaman First Class Bobbie Bingham,” John smiled and raised his glass.
Bobbie entertained the men with stories about her performances in the USO shows. She stayed well away from any tales that involved Robert and recalled only those stories where she had performed as Bobbie. She kept any references to her past gender neutral and it was easy for the men to forget that Robert had washed up on their shore as a half-drowned young man and think of only of Bobbie the WAVE.
To anyone looking into this world it would appear bizarre but these were four men who had seen no one else for five years and they yearned for companionship, especially female companionship. Bobbie was attractive and feminine and the year she had spent portraying her character on stage meant that she could take on the role easily and with grace. She was convincing and very welcome.
For all intents and purposes Robert Bingham disappeared that day and was replaced by Bobbie Bingham.
The furthest out into the Pacific war theatre that women had been allowed to serve in the military was Hawaii but in the closing stages of the war they were stationed at bases that were considered ‘safe’. Mirrocau Island was just such a place and there had been a contingent of Women’s Army Corps and Women’s Auxiliary Volunteer Service stationed there. There had been nurses, clerical staff and cooks and Bobbie found women’s uniforms in the Q store and accessories in the commissary.
She selected an appropriate wardrobe: the uniform white skirt and blouse for everyday wear, khaki fatigues for dirty work and when she was entertaining the men and on weekends she wore civilian attire. She was always stylishly dressed and wore full makeup. The warm weather and sandy soil were not conductive to the wearing of nylons so she wore them only in the evenings and on weekends.
As strange as the situation might seem, within a few weeks it had become normal. Bobbie was their token women, their mascot, their darling who they adored and protected. She always felt safe around the men except for Ray when he was drinking.
Ray had begrudgingly allowed the men to have their way and to let Bobbie present as a woman, even he began to think of her as a lady although he still didn’t like her. To him she was driving a wedge between him and his men. She didn’t belong. He preferred it when it was just the crew of the PT 991 on the island; everyone knew their place and he was in full control. Bobbie was breaking down five years of learned obedience and strict discipline.
Bobbie grew out her hair and within six months had a neat bob that she wore when in uniform. When she dressed in civilian fashion she usually wore the Lauren Bacall wig which she carefully maintained.
Things changed quite dramatically one day when Bobbie was taking inventory in the Q store. The rest of the men were busy. Ray and Craig had gone hunting on the other side of the island looking for a pig to shoot to stock up the meat larder and John and Steve were supposed to be tending crops and conducting some maintenance on the quarters.
Bobbie saw John and Steve enter the old radio shack. She wondered why they would go in there, the radios and code machines had been ripped from their mounts and taken away when the base was abandoned. Anything of use had long been salvaged.
Bobbie knew that she should probably just leave well enough alone but her curiosity got the best of her. She crossed the runway and approached the radio shack from the shade of the encroaching jungle. As she got nearer she took off her low heels so she could walk easier in the sand.
She heard murmuring coming from a missing window. It came from deeper in the building and Bobbie stepped inside, carefully avoiding any trips or snags in the abandoned building. She didn’t know why she was sneaking around but she knew that there was something secretive in John and Steve’s behaviour so she felt justified in doing so.
Deeper in the building was a small office that looked like it had been set up as a love nest. There was a made-up cot against the wall, some rudimentary furniture that appeared to be well looked after; small trappings of comfort.
Bobbie saw all this by easing aside a privacy curtain that hung over the doorway. She opened the curtain only a crack so she could just see inside the room.
What she saw next shocked her. John Fitzgibbons and Steve Ford were naked. They were embracing each other, kissing each other passionately. They each had their hand on the other’s privates, caressing and stroking each other, fingering their penises to full tumescence.
“How long do we have?” Steve whispered.
“Long enough honey; now do that thing you know I like,” John pushed down gently on Steve’s shoulders, encouraging him to kneel on the rug.
To Bobbie’s amazement Steve took John’s phallus into his mouth and began to suckle it. Steve was obviously accomplished because John threw back his head and groaned as Steve used his lips and his tongue on John’s hard cock.
John put his hands on Steve’s head and guided him, slowly fucking his moist mouth while Steve slathered at the engorged appendage with delight. Bobbie could see that Steve was rock hard and a string of silvery precum hung from his glans, he might be the submissive in the act but he was relishing it.
To John’s dismay Steve got back to his feet but John was soon appeased when Steve kissed him lovingly and fondled his throbbing organ.
“I’m not going to last long honey, it’s been a while,” John gasped.
“Then do that thing you know I like,” Steve smiled longingly into John’s eyes.
He led John to the cot and climbed onto it, offering his soft pale buttocks to his lover. Bobbie supressed a gasp when John lubricated his engorged manhood with Vaseline and slid it into Steve’s tight anus. He took Steve’s hips in his hands and began to fuck him.
Bobbie carefully let the curtain fall back into place and tiptoed out of the radio shack. She put on her heels and ran across the runway to the Q store and disappeared into the dark cool depths of the racks. She hiked up her khaki skirt and freed her hard cock from her non-regulation pink satin panties. She only just touched it and it erupted, streams of hot semen spattered on the hard packed floor and Bobbie fell against the racks to stop herself from fainting.
When she had cleaned up and regained her composure Bobbie went to her little office and sat at her desk and pondered what she just witnessed. Over time she had sensed that John and Steve had a special bond, they often did things together and were quite inseparable.
But this! What was this?
The longer she thought about it the more it made sense. Being in the world of the theatre, homosexuality was not something new to her. She had seen older actors leaving the dressing rooms of younger good looking men. She had even caught two chorus girls together; one with her head under the other’s skirt. But these men were military men! They were disciplined, rugged and manly. But did that really make any difference? John was married with a kid but that really matter?
Five years with no other form of companionship, relationships were bound to develop. She just wondered why she hadn't noticed before. It certainly explained to some extent why neither John nor Steve had hit on her. Craig Bowen was besotted with her and sometimes followed her around like a lost puppy but she only felt brotherly love for him and slapped his wondering hands away when he’d taken a drink too many and fancied his chances.
Ray just despised her, she was sure of that and she doubted he had a romantic or sensual bone in his body.
She supposed the men had to find solace, companionship and gratification somehow. Craig had his girly magazines and the crusty stocking that he kept hidden under his mattress which she found more times than she wanted to when she made up his rack. Ray had his booze and his hatred for his wife and John and Steve obviously had each other.
She wondered if Ray knew? How could he not?
Over the next few days Bobbie paid more attention to John Fitzgibbons and Steve Ford. Why hadn't she noticed before? They were almost inseparable, unless their duties required it, otherwise they did almost everything together. There were also little glances and little discreet touches. It was obvious that they were being very discreet but now that she knew about their relationship, behaviour that before had appeared innocuous took on a new light.
Ray had to know!
Bobbie finally couldn’t stand the suspense and she approached Ray one day while he way on Lookout Hill attending to the signal pyre.
It was Sunday and she was wearing a light summer dress and sandals, her makeup was not quite as heavy as she usually wore it in the evenings and during her weekly performances. It was a beautiful summer day and she was carrying a basket she had woven out of palm fronds. She wore a sun hat of woven pandanus leaves. Bobbie had become quite adept at weaving.
“Lovely day,” Bobbie approached Ray who was stacking dried limbs on the pyre.
He was wearing khaki pants he had cut down to shorts, work boots and a peaked cap, his shirt hung on the branch of a nearby tree.
His tanned muscles were sheened with sweat and perspiration dripped into his eyes and he wiped them with a crumpled handkerchief and turned to look at Bobbie.
His face broke into a scowl.
“What do you want?” Ray concentrated on moving a limb into a better position on the pyre.
Bobbie was used to him being surly around her. She shrugged it off.
“Why are you working on the weekend Chief?” she asked, smiling pleasantly.
“The Army doesn’t recognise weekends, there could be a passing flight any time and we have to be ready to signal the aircraft,” Ray continued to rearrange limbs that didn’t need to be rearranged.
Bobbie had told them that US Air Force had been established in 1947 as a separate arm of the military but Ray refused to be educated about the military by a civilian.
Bobbie knew that Ray was performing nugatory duties just so he could be alone. He had always been a solitary man with his thoughts and emotions but since Bobbie had started presenting enfemme full time he had withdrawn further.
“I think you just like your own company Ray. I think you like to be alone,” Bobbie challenged him.
She didn’t know why she did this; probably because the other men adored her and Ray ignored her. Was she that insecure? Whenever she thought about it, it gave her a headache so she tried not to.
Ray leapt down from the pyre and approached Bobbie. He saw how beautiful she was in her summer dress. The men were tanned and leathery but Bobbie went to great pains to keep her pale skin out of the sun and her skin was smooth and creamy, today tinged pink by the sun. Her hair had grown out nicely and framed her face in a layer-cut bob with bangs, it was a rich brunette colour that suited her striking features. Her strong, thick brows were expressive and she could express anger with a faintly menacing arch. Her bones were exquisite, her mouth was wide and full and she possessed a glamour that was womanly never girlish.
The one thing Ray tolerated about Bobbie was that she didn’t present herself as a helpless girly-girl. She was confident and relaxed in her femininity, even though he knew that underneath her lipstick, powder and skirts she wasn’t all woman. He stepped in close to her and smelled her flowery perfume.
“I keep telling you, it’s not Ray, it’s Chief,” he growled, but he couldn’t hide a wry smile.
He knew that Bobbie deliberately tested him, trying to get under his skin. Over the last few months it had become obvious that they were competing personalities, the men being fiercely loyal to both of them.
“Even on weekends?” Bobbie gave him a cheeky smile.
“Every day of the week Seaman Bingham,” Ray returned her smile.
“But I’m not really am I? Seaman First Class Bobbie Bingham is an honorary rank the guys made up,” Bobbie gave him a coquettish smile.
“And I go along with it to keep them happy. I confirmed you in rank as a navy WAVE. As ranking navy representative at Harris Field I guess I have the authority to do so… Seaman Bingham,” Ray rose to the challenge.
“Then I guess, as a member of the Women’s Auxiliary Volunteer Service I should bring something to your attention,” Bobbie eased into her segue.
“Although I doubt there is anything that happens on Mirrocau Island that you don’t know about,” she said provisionally.
“Get it off your chest Bingham,” Ray grunted.
Then they both laughed at the unintended gaffe.
Bobbie was flat-chested. She wore the smallest size brassiere that she could fit into which gave her a little shape but she refused to wear the cosmetic prosthetics breasts except for when she was performing to entertain the men.
“Look Chief, I don’t want to be branded a tattletale but I saw something in the old radio shack last week while you and Craig were out hunting,” Bobbie suddenly became serious.
Ray suddenly tensed.
“Let me stop you right there Bobbie. You’re right. There is nothing that happens on Mirrocau Island that I don’t know about. John Fitzgibbons and Steve Ford have developed a special friendship that I don’t know how to describe and don’t want to,” Ray sighed.
“If we weren't where we are, living like we do, I would have them both drummed out of the navy. I would have them dishonourably discharged,” a mild look of disgust crossed his face but quickly disappeared.
“But we live in a unique situation and have done so for years. Chances of rescue are slim and grow slimmer every day that we remain on this rock. You were possibly our last chance,” Ray said.
Bobbie was about to counter with her usual excuse that it wasn’t her that the Air Force was looking for but Ray pressed a finger to her lips to silence her.
“Craig and I know about John and Steve. They have what they have and we don’t judge them… but we don’t condone it either. They keep it out of sight… they don’t flaunt it and we certainly don’t speak about it. We don’t ask and they don’t tell,” Ray rumbled.
“Stay away from the radio shack and keep what you know to yourself ok?” Ray surprised her when he reached out and gently stroked a stray bang out of her eyes.
Ray Millward confounded Bobbie Bingham. He was an angry drunk who could be surly and hateful but he genuinely cared for his men. He treated Bobbie with disdain and loathing but then he could take the time to explain a delicate situation to her and express an affectionate gesture.
“Thanks for explaining that Chief,” Bobbie smiled at him and took the hand that he used to stroke her hair.
He snatched it back and his pleasant demeanour soured in an instant.
“Anyway Bingham, who are you to tattletale? You're… I don’t know what you are. You're certainly not a woman even though you present yourself as one. I tolerate you like I tolerate those two faggots,” Ray snarled.
As much as she wanted to be angry, Bobbie knew that Ray was right. What right did a transvestite drag performer have to call out two men who were having an intimate relationship? There was nothing overtly sexual in how Bobbie presented herself but she dressed provocatively to titillate the men when she performed.
“I’m sorry. You’re right Chief,” Bobbie bowed her head and picked up her basket.
“Get your ass off my hilltop Seaman Bingham; I’ve got work to do,” Ray growled and climbed back on his pyre and began to rearrange limbs on the wooden pyramid.
Bobbie actually felt relived. Now that she knew she was not keeping a solitary secret, a weight had been lifted off her shoulders and she made her way down the sandy path and took the turnoff to the freshwater pool.
She stopped in a clearing to pick some papaya and put it in her basket. A yellow and red variegated hibiscus was in full bloom and she sat down in the sand and made a delicate garland out of the sweet-smelling blooms and removed her sunhat put it on her head.
She heard a rustle in the bushes and tensed. The wild pigs on the island usually ran away when humans approached but the boars could become aggressive. She sighed with relief when she saw Ray Millward making his way down one of the adjacent paths that crisscrossed the island. It looked like he had the same idea and the thought of swimming in the cool clear water suddenly didn’t sound so inviting. She was hoping to have the pool to herself.
“Fuck him!” she whispered and continued on her way.
Robert’s path came out on a small sandy beach on the southern side of the pool whereas Bobbie’s path came out near a rocky outcrop next to the waterfall. This was her favourite place on the island and she put down her sunhat and her basket and kicked off her sandals, feeling the warm white sand between her painted toes. She ducked behind a copse of bushes and shucked out of her sundress and shimmied out of her frilly white panties and matching bra.
Naked she was stunning. Her svelte figure emphasised the curve of her hips and soft buxom buttocks. Except for not having any cleavage to speak of and having contrary genitalia she had a body that any woman would envy.
Bobbie had found only three ladies swimsuits left in the commissary and one of those was a bikini which just wouldn’t work. The remaining two were one-piece. One was two sizes to small but the other fitted her perfectly. It was white with pink polka dots and the top of the swimsuit resembled a full-coverage bra. It was snug fitting around the hips then flared into a swing skirt which covered her backside completely. The suit enhanced her figure and the skirt hid that part of her that she didn’t want to display.
Bobbie wriggled and waggled into the tight fitting swimsuit, hung up her dress on a convenient branch and neatly stowed her sandals, sunhat and tote bag under the same tree.
She carefully picked her way between the boulders and approached the water’s edge. She loved the sound of the small waterfall that supplied the pool but it meant that the water was cold. She dipped her toe in and shivered. Bobbie knew better than to try to edge carefully into the water, it was best to dive in and swim out to the middle of the pool where the water was warmer.
She did exactly that and delighted in the feel of the warm water that caressed her upper body. She pulled her legs out of the cooler layer below and lay floating on her back. She could hear Ray splashing and braying on the other side of the pool near the beach and she deliberately ignored him.
Bobbie did a few laps across the pool swimming east-west so as to stay away from Ray who also seemed to be intent on ignoring her. It went quiet for a while and she stole a glance in his direction.
Ray was lying on the beach sunning himself, his muscled body already brown as a berry. He was toned, fit and she couldn’t help but admire his washboard stomach, well-defined pectorals and his strong legs. He was naked and his long thick penis lay across his thigh. Even flaccid he was enormous and Bobbie snatched her eyes away before he saw her looking.
To counter the thoughts swirling in her head she dove deep down into pool. The warm layer of warm water disappeared as she broke through the colder layer of water that lay below it. She swam deeper and suddenly found herself in an icy band of water that was frigid. This was the water that collected under the waterfall spread across the bottom of the pool and was never warmed by the sun.
Bobbie knew that she was in trouble when her legs began to cramp. She began to strike for the surface but her legs were useless, she was pulling herself through the water using only her arms. She looked up at the glittering surface which looked so inviting but seemed so far away. Her chest began to burn and she needed to breathe but the more she struggled the more oxygen she burned.
Bobbie’s peripheral vision began to narrow, all she could see was the surface of the pond but it seemed impossibly remote, unattainable. She opened her mouth and a stream of bubbles escaped and she inhaled water. She had nearly drowned once before at sea and she remembered the acid bite of the seawater, at least this water was fresh. She knew that she was giving up and that was the worst thing she could do. She could not surrender. She mustered the last of her strength and struck out for the surface, trailing her useless legs behind her.
She woke up on the beach with Ray’s concerned face hovering above hers. She felt déjà vu, recalling the tall, rangy, shirtless, heavily tanned man towering over Robert when he washed up on the beach. So much had changed since then.
Bobbie coughed and spat out a freshet of water. Not very ladylike she thought and realised that the reflection was entirely incongruous given that she had nearly drowned. She felt the warm soft sand on her back and the sun warming her body and she smiled.
Ray’s face broke out into a rare smile when he saw her do so.
“I guess you’re going to be ok kid,” Ray grinned and eased a stray lock of hair from her eyes.
“It’s Bobbie Chief, remember,” she grinned back at him.
“It’s just as well Bobbie because who else is going to cook, wash and sew and entertain the troops,” Ray stroked her forehead.
She felt his hand on her flat stomach. He had used it to compress her chest to expel the water and hadn't moved it. It felt comforting.
“Glad to be of some use,” she beamed.
When Ray went to take his hand away from her body she held it there.
“You saved me,” she sighed.
Ray gazed down at Bobbie. Even with her hair in disarray, her eyeliner and mascara running, lipstick smeared on her full red lips she looked beautiful. Her long legs stretched out on the beach, her curvaceous body enhanced by the tight-fitting swimsuit, with her alabaster skin, her feline green eyes, she was an extraordinary beauty.
The skirt of her swimsuit had ridden up and Ray saw the V between her legs and he wondered briefly how she did that.
“Yeah I guess I did. Like I said, who else is going to do the domestic chores around here,” Ray grimaced at his attempt at humour.
“Don’t do that Ray,” Bobbie whispered, searching his steely blue eyes.
“Don’t deflect,” she held him in her gaze and he leaned into her.
They kissed.
It was soft, their lips barely touching. They could feel each other breathing but the rest of the world was shut out. Bobbie raised her arms and put them gently around Ray’s shoulders and he put his arm under her neck and lifted her face to his. She felt a rush of helplessness when he kissed her more firmly, his lips open just slightly. She took in his breath and she was helpless, sinking, yielding, surging on a tide that recalled the dreamlike experience of her near drowning.
Her head rested on his arm and as the kiss intensified, his tongue probing her mouth tentatively, she clung to him. He was lying side on to her and she wanted to feel his body against hers, to feel his warmth, the suppleness of his toned body on her soft delicate flesh.
His kiss became more insistent and he withdrew his hand from her belly which disappointed her briefly but when he mounted her she was rewarded with the sensuousness feel of his flesh pressing onto hers. She could feel the heat of him through the thin layer of nylon and taffeta as the world swayed and she became dizzy.
His mouth parted her shaking lips and his tongue snaked further inside, evoking feelings she had not known she was capable of experiencing. Ray’s body pressed harder against her and she rose up off the sand to meet him, she locked her ankles around his calves and her arms around his back.
It was then that she realised that Ray was still naked.
She could feel his manhood on her belly like a thick python. Bobbie was confused. Had she longed for this to happen? Was Ray the faceless man she fantasised about when she sometimes late at night put her hand inside her panties to release the sexual tension she occasionally felt?
All she could think about was the wet heat of Ray’s mouth on hers, his muscular body pressing on hers, his strong arms holding her tight. She hadn't dared open her eyes but she knew that his deep-blue eyes were glazed with lust and for an instant she felt a scintilla of power, she had evoked these feelings in a man she had thought of as ice-cold.
Something was happening. Ray had his hand between their bodies and he was repositioning his penis. He impatiently brushed away the taffeta skirt of her swimsuit, exposing the nylon-elastin V of the panty. He pressed his erect penis there and began to grind.
Suppressed memories returned: William Brindle drunk in the locked dressing room, refusing to let her leave… “You were wonderful tonight Bobbie, here have a drink,” “Don’t be ungrateful Bobbie. You owe me!” … his insistent hands on her, forcing her to do things that she didn’t want to.
The romance was gone. Was she to surrender to Ray simply because he had saved her from drowning?
Bobbie squirmed under Ray who at first thought she was encouraging him and he ground his sensitive organ against the moist silky fabric between her legs. He kissed her harder, driving his tongue into her mouth as she struggled beneath him. He felt her claw at his back with her nails and he smiled; she was a wildcat. He gripped her wrists and forced them back behind her head, holding her down in the sand as she writhed beneath him encouraging him to rub his cock against her harder and kiss her passionately, chasing her mouth with his when she shook her head from side to side.
Bobbie clamped her legs shut in a vain attempt to keep Ray’s throbbing cock away from her pubis but she had inadvertently caused the opposite effect. She had effectively locked Ray’s pulsing manhood between her soft creamy thighs and the silky fabric covering her crotch.
Ray groaned and she felt the sticky heat of his issue squirt onto her thighs. He pulled his cock from between her legs and Bobbie felt a warm spatter on her belly before Ray fell on top of her and ground his cock against her flat stomach. It felt like a fat throbbing serpent spitting on her belly.
Ray let go of Bobbie’s wrists and kissed her deeply and lovingly as he panted into her mouth. She put her arms around his neck, but only so that her head wouldn’t fall back into the sand. She raised her back up off the sand and pressed her body against him, but only so that his semen wouldn’t spread any further. She locked her ankles around his legs, but only to prevent him putting his cock back between her legs.
All these things she told herself.
Ray’s semen soaked through her swimsuit and she could feel the warmth of it on her tummy. She could smell the musky reek of it.
Ray gasped as the last of his issue dribbled from his hard cock. He broke the kiss and sighed.
Bobbie opened her eyes and looked up at him. His hair was soaked with sweat, his face flushed and he was struggling to breathe. But his eyes were soft and his lips were formed in a beatific smile.
He lowered his face to hers to gently kiss her but Bobbie turned her face away.
“What’s wrong?” Ray whispered; the concern evident in his voice.
Bobbie turned to face him and her emerald eyes were cold.
“To the victor go the spoils,” Bobbie sighed.
“What?” Ray was very confused.
“You saved me so you get to use me,” Bobbie said flatly.
“Oh come on Bobbie, you wanted that as much as I did. You’ve wanted that for quite a while I think,” Ray had that smug look on his face that Bobbie loathed.
“Get off me you oaf!” Bobbie struggled beneath him, pushing against his shoulders.
Ray laughed when she couldn’t budge him. Then he obligingly rolled off her which infuriated her more.
“You think I liked that, you lug-headed moron!” Bobbie sat up in the sand bringing her knees under her chin and crossing her arms across her legs.
“You didn’t seem to be complaining,” Ray grinned as he gathered his towel and his belongings.
His semi-erect penis swung freely and Bobbie had to force herself not to stare at it.
“You overpowered me. I felt obliged. You had just saved my life!” Bobbie screamed.
“You just keep telling yourself that sweetheart,” Ray gave her his infuriating smile and disappeared into the bush.
His head reappeared briefly from between the palms.
“And that’s Chief lug-head, Seaman Bingham,” he called sarcastically and Bobbie wished she had something to throw at him.
She sat on the pristine white sand and fumed.
“How dare he!” she snarled.
“He forced me! He made me! He used me!” she cried repeatedly to justify her actions.
But if Ray had forced Bobbie to do something she didn’t want to, why had she had experienced the most incredible orgasm when his semen spattered on her belly? Why was the crotch of her swimsuit sodden with her own juices?
Bobbie leapt to her feet and ran down the beach and dove into the pool. She swam back to the waterfall hoping that the warm water was washing away the evidence of her complicity.
To be continued
The Island - Chapter 3
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Chapter Three – Eternity
Bobbie and Ray tiptoed around each other, neither acknowledging what had happened on the beach near the pool. Ray maintained his same level of animosity towards her and Bobbie did her best to keep out of Ray’s way.
Ray would turn up to her Wednesday night performances drunk and heckle her. The other crew members would try to settle him down.
“Get off now and show the movie!” Ray would call during her musical number.
“Go back to the kitchen and make me a fucking sandwich,” was one his usual retorts.
Bobbie ignored him and played to John, Craig and Steve who appreciated her performances. Ray never came to her Saturday matinee and he claimed he only came on Wednesday nights to watch the movie.
“Chief, why don’t you just come on over after Bobbie has sung her song?” John Fitzgibbons asked him.
“That bitch doesn’t run my routine for me Petty Officer Fitzgibbons, I’ll come and go as I please,” Ray snarled drunkenly.
Ray was also the only one who bitched about her food and refused to let her make up his room. He ordered Bobbie to leave his sheets outside his quarters so he would make up his own rack.
Ray’s drinking got worse. He had never drank during the day before the incident at the pool but he started to do so. He would go on benders, getting paralytically drunk, locking himself in the workshop cursing about his wife’s infidelity. In his drunken reasoning, so long as he was at work, he wasn’t shirking his duties, even though he was incapable of most tasks.
John Fitzgibbons took on most of Ray’s leadership roles, organising the lookout routines, setting work details and managing the day to day activities at Harris Field.
Bobbie went to Ray’s Quonset hut one day and found four piles of fresh bedding sitting outside his door. She went to see to John Fitzgibbons and told him her concerns.
“He won’t let me clean his quarters but he’s got two weeks of clean sheets piled up outside his Quonset. It’s unhealthy John and if he gets sick he can pass it on to us,” Bobbie explained.
“He’s sleeping one off up at the hilltop pyre. I’m giving you permission to enter the Chief’s quarters and clean it and make his rack. I’m sorry to have to make you do this Bobbie, I can’t imagine what it must be like in there,” John shook his head solemnly.
Bobbie tentatively opened the door to Ray’s quarters and was immediately assailed by the stench. It was booze, sweat, rotting food and she didn’t know what else and didn’t want to know. She had gone to Ray’s quarters as soon as John gave her permission to do so but now she wished she had taken the time to change into fatigues but she knew time was critical. John would try to keep Ray away from his Quonset if he woke up but who knew what Ray would do when he was on a bender?
Bobbie was wearing the uniform she usually wore during the week: a white six-gored skirt, a white blouse, dark blue tie and white pumps. Her jacket was hanging up in her office in the Q store. Her makeup was perfect, her green eyes enhanced by dark eyeliner and mascara and her plump lips defined by bright red lipstick. She tied back her hair to keep it out of the way and went to work.
The first thing she did was open the blinds and open all of the windows to let in some fresh air. There was a seasonal sou’wester blowing and she was grateful for the breeze which began to displace the fetid air in the cabin. She gathered all the trash and bagged it and put it outside and went to work starting in the bathroom.
Like the other quarters, Ray’s had been an officer’s dorm and the bathroom was really just four shower stalls and as many sinks set into a long bench. She scrubbed the shower stall, cleaned the bench, sink and mirrors. She took a deep breath and went into the head and cleaned that next.
Harris Field had a septic tank system that worked by allowing waste to separate into three layers: solids, effluent and scum. Solid waste settles to the bottom where microorganisms decompose them and the middle layer of effluent exits the tank and travels through underground perforated pipes into the drainage field which provided fertiliser for the corn field.
The enlisted men had latrines which were no longer in use. The officers’ quarters had their own head which fed into the septic system so they had the luxury of flushing toilets.
Bobbie took a break, cleaned up, and joined the others for coffee in the mess.
“Sorry to ask you to do this Bobbie,” John said again as they sipped their brews.
“He’s still dead to the world up there on that hill,” John sighed.
“The Chief is dedicated I’ll give him that. He still thinks we’re going to be rescued someday,” Craig smiled wanly.
Bobbie decided not to correct him. She knew that Ray had given up hope after the two search and rescue aircraft had failed to see their signals.
She went back to Ray’s quarters and gave it a good dusting and mopped the deck having picked up his dirty laundry which she put aside to wash and iron later. She made his up his bunk with fresh sheets and as parting gesture she picked some flowers and put them in a vase on the coffee table.
Bobbie went back over to Ray’s bunk and straightened a picture on the nightstand which must have been of Ray’s wife Elaine. There was no doubt that she was a stunner. Bobbie’s inquisitiveness got the better of her and she opened the drawer and found a bunch of letters inside a cigar box held together by an elastic band. The letters dated back to when PT 991 was still on active service.
Bobbie had never read anything so vitriolic and hateful. Elaine described in great detail how she was going out on the town almost every night and bringing home men to their married quarter outside the base in San Diego. Some of the men paid her and some gave her gifts. Some of the men were so-called friends of Ray’s. She described in intimate detail what they did to her and the depraved things she did for them. In the final letter she told him that she was divorcing him.
Under the stack letters were two gold wedding rings. Elaine had sent Ray her wedding ring in the final letter, the other must be Ray’s she reasoned.
Bobbie sat on Ray’s bunk and sobbed. She couldn’t imagine the heartache that Ray felt but she was witness to its effects.
“What are you doing here you bitch!” Ray hauled himself through the door and fell down.
Bobbie jumped up, shocked and surprised. She dropped the letters and ran over to Ray’s prone body.
At first she thought he was drunk but then she saw that he was shaking and sweating profusely. He was delirious and mumbling incoherently.
Bobbie ran from the Quonset and called for help. The men lifted Ray onto his rack and stood around looking concerned and unsure what to do.
“What do we do Bobbie?” John asked, looking forlorn and confused.
“I’m not sure but I’m not leaving him like this. Craig, fill a basin with water and bring me a washcloth and soap. Steve, please help me undress him,” Bobbie realised that she was now in charge of looking after Ray.
They pulled off Ray’s boots and his rancid socks which Bobbie threw outside because of the stink, his fatigues followed. His underwear was also rank and it was consigned to a trash bag and thrown out as well.
Ray lay naked on the bed, his body bathed in a sheen of sweat. He was unconscious and every few minutes he convulsed. There was no time for prudishness and Bobbie took the washcloth and soap and cleaned Ray’s body as best she could, getting Steve and Craig to roll him over so she could do both sides of his body. Craig had to replace the water in the bowl twice because Ray was so filthy.
Once they had him clean, Bobbie put a cool compress on his head using ice water that Craig brought over from the mess.
“Try to give him some water if he wakes up, just little sips. I’m going over to sickbay to find the field medical journal and see what else I can find,” Bobbie ordered.
The men kept the sickbay in a good state of repair and Bobbie kept it clean, it was on her cleaning detail. The men had rudimentary first aid training, mainly how to deal with battle wounds and basic life support but primary medical support for PT Boat crews was provided at their home base.
Bobbie found the field medical journal and flicked to the section on tropical ailments. Most of the drugs had been cleaned out when Mirrocau Island was abandoned but some rudimentary supplies remained. Bobbie brought some aspirin and basics back to Ray’s quarters.
“I don’t know what exactly is wrong with him so all I can do is treat the fever,” Bobbie said, looking concernedly at a rash that had developed on Ray’s chest.
“What can we do?” John asked.
“Should we move him to sickbay?” Craig interjected.
“No. Let’s not move him now, besides there isn’t much in sickbay we can use to treat what’s wrong with him. John you have to step up and take charge. I’ll look after Ray; you keep the camp running as usual. Ray will be pissed if he wakes up and finds things not running shipshape or the lookout unmanned,” Bobbie tried to make light of the situation.
Bobbie checked Ray’s vitals. His temperature and blood pressure were extremely elevated and his pulse was erratic.
She shooed the men out of Ray’s quarters and tended to him. She wiped away his sweat, put cold compresses on his body and tried to get him to drink water. She ground down two of the aspirin and put them in a glass of water and cradled Ray’s head and got him to drink them.
“Elaine? Elaine? Is that you?” Ray was delirious.
“Shh Ray. Drink some water and lie still,” Bobbie cooed.
“Thanks honey. I’ll fix that faucet tomorrow right after I mow the lawn,” Ray mumbled.
Ray was babbling and feverish. Every now and then he would convulse which really worried Bobbie. The sheet covering him was soaked with sweat and she finally ripped it off him and bathed him continually with a cool washcloth. She couldn’t help notice his large appendage and she grimaced when she had to move it to wipe around it.
“Not tonight Elaine, I’m too drunk,” Ray mumbled incoherently.
“Sure Ray, not tonight,” Bobbie snickered sarcastically.
Afternoon became evening and the other men dropped in sporadically during Bobbie’s vigil to see if they could help. She allowed them to visit for a while and then shooed them away. As early evening became night the men eventually went to bed and around that time Ray’s fever broke and he fell into a fitful sleep.
Bobbie was exhausted and filthy. Her uniform was already dirty from cleaning Ray’s quarters but it had become squalid during her nursing duties. Checking that Ray was comfortable she went over to the mess and poured herself coffee which she sipped gratefully. They she went to her quarters and took a long shower. She fixed her makeup and put on clean underwear. She dressed only in a négligée as the evening was still balmy and walked barefoot back to Ray’s cabin via the mess where she collected more coffee.
Ray had stopped sweating but he was still restless. He complained when she bathed him again but he was still incoherent and unaware of surroundings.
“Leave me alone Elaine, I just wanna sleep,” he mumbled.
Bobbie turned down the lamp beside his bed and sat in a chair reading the field medical journal and she was nearly asleep herself when Ray became restless again. She sat on the side of the bed and got him to sip some water. She put down the glass and was about to get off the bed when Ray’s hand clamped down on her wrist.
“Don’t go Elaine. Don’t leave me alone again,” Ray was crying in his sleep.
Bobbie tried to remove his fingers from her wrist but his grip was tight. She looked down at him, fast asleep but tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Ok Ray. I won’t leave,” Bobbie whispered.
She climbed on the bed and Ray circled his arms around her and held her tight. They were spooning; Bobbie’s back to him.
“You smell nice Elaine,” Ray whimpered.
“Shh, go to sleep,” Bobbie whispered and stroked his arm.
She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, his breathing deep and steady. He was finally sleeping soundly. When she tried to move he held her tight and mumbled something incoherent. She lay still and was soon asleep herself.
Bobbie woke up with a start and then she realised where she was. She was still in Ray’s bed and he was cuddled up to her, clinging to her while he slept. She was almost asleep again when she realised that Ray’s penis was turgid and nestled in her buttocks.
“Shit,” she hissed.
Ray’s cock lay burrowed between the cheeks of her soft bottom pressing the silky négligée against her satin panties. There was no danger of him putting his phallus inside her panties but it was inappropriate. She reached behind herself and tried to extricate it. It felt huge in her slim fingers. It was sleek, and she could feel his pulse through the translucent trunk. It throbbed in her hand when she encircled it with her fingers and Ray groaned in his sleep.
Bobbie decided to leave well enough alone. It was doing no harm where it was and she would never admit it to anyone but it felt kind of comforting. Ray was just experiencing nocturnal penile tumescence like all men did; it was nothing to worry about.
She was nearly asleep when she felt the warm wetness on her bottom. Ray’s penis was pressed hard against her, driving the silky material of her négligée into her intergluteal cleft. It was spasming and she could feel the warm secretions soaking into her négligée and panties and the musky piquant smell of his spend. Ray was holding her tight, his breathing deep and steady. He was still in a deep sleep. He was having a nocturnal emission.
“Jesus!” she whispered.
She fell asleep and didn’t wake up from the deep slumber when she flooded her panties with her own semen. She was unconsciously pressing her buttocks back against Ray’s erection and dreaming a dream that she would immediately forget when she awoke. She was back on the beach at the freshwater pool and a faceless stranger was lying on top of her.
“Rise and shine nurse,” John Fitzgibbons gently shook Bobbie awake, careful not wake Ray Millward who was still fast asleep.
Bobbie blushed as she extricated herself from Ray’s embrace. Craig Bowen stood in the doorway and watched. He looked quite shocked.
“In his delirium the Chief thought I was his wife. He wouldn’t let go of me,” Bobbie stammered climbing off the bed.
“No need to explain yourself to me,” John held up his hands.
“He looks a lot better,” John approached Ray’s bunk.
“The fever broke,” Bobby took a washcloth and patted Ray’s brow.
Bending over the bed like that Craig could see the stain on the back of Bobbie’s petticoat. He was no fool and knew what it was. It sickened him and a jealous rage surged through his brain.
John turned to see a look of intense anger cross Craig’s face.
“Bobbie, go and get cleaned up then go to the mess and get some breakfast. Craig and I will tend to Ray,” John eased Bobbie away from the bed.
Bobbie was confused by John’s knowing look and then she saw the tell-tale stain on the front of her négligée and knew that there would be a matching stain on the back.
“Go now Bobbie, we’ve got this,” John gave her another meaningful stare and nodded at Craig.
Bobbie nervously pulled at her négligée and backed out of the room then she ran to her quarters.
“Oh my!” she cried and then broke into uncontrollable laughter.
She showered, fixed her makeup and put on a fresh uniform. She went over to the mess and found Steve Ford busy in the kitchen. When she tried to take over he ushered her out of the kitchen and made her sit at the table.
“John tells me you nursed our illustrious Chief back to good health,” Steve said putting a plate of fried pork and vegetables in front of her.
Bobbie would normally never eat anything this hearty for breakfast but she was ravenous. She realised that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before.
“Quite the Florence Nightingale John tells me,” he gave Bobby a knowing look and Bobbie blushed.
“Look… I…” Bobbie stammered.
“You don't have to explain yourself to me missy,” Steve grinned.
“I know about you and John!” Bobbie burst out defensively and immediately regretted it.
“Oh my god Steve I’m so sorry I said that,” Bobbie hated herself at that moment.
“We know you know. You're not a very a good spy. It was obvious that you saw us at the radio shack and we were pragmatic about it. You were bound to find out sometime, this island is too small to keep secrets,” Steve winked at her.
Bobby was amazed at Steve’s demeanour. His behaviour and gesture was almost feminine; like some of the gay actors she had met in the theatre.
“Ray knows and Craig knows and we all pretend like we don’t. We’re so good at acting that you should put us in one of your USO shows,” Steve smiled as he filled Bobbie’s cup with coffee.
“So what was it like sleeping with the enemy?” Steve teased her.
“Shut up! I was just comforting him. He was delirious and he thought I was Elaine,” Bobbie blurted out, blushing even redder.
“John talks too much!” Bobbie pouted and then burst out laughing.
“Hey look who I found,” John announced as he entered the mess with Ray ambling along supported by he and Craig who was also carrying the field medical kit around his shoulder.
They helped Ray into a chair and Steve poured coffee.
“That smells damn good,” Ray grunted.
Bobbie leapt from her chair and went over to Ray and stopped him from picking up the steaming brew.
“Not until I check you out first,” Bobbie started to examine Ray thoroughly.
“Get off me you harridan,” Ray pushed her away.
“Let her examine you Chief or you’re getting nothing,” Steve snatched the coffee off the table.
“This bitch really is running this place now isn’t she?” Ray growled but he let Bobbie take his pulse, blood pressure and his temperature.
“Temperature is normal and your pulse and blood pressure are fine,” Bobby completed her examination.
“Good. Then go back to washing clothes and scrubbing floors where you can make yourself useful,” Ray dismissed her.
Bobbie packed up the medical kit and handed it Craig and left the mess without another word.
“Asshole!” John and Steve said in symphony and left Ray to his breakfast.
Craig looked at the Chief with jealous hatred.
“What’s wrong with those two? They having a lovers tiff?” Ray was snooping around the servery seeing what was on for breakfast.
“Bobbie nursed you last Chief. She’s the one who saw you through your fever. She spent all night tending to you,” Craig explained.
Ray stopped what he was doing, put down his plate and looked carefully at Craig.
“Bobbie did?” Ray tried to recall his memories from last night but they were confused; his dreams, his delirium and the facts were all mixed together and bewildering.
“She probably saved your life or it might have just been some passing malaise. Doesn’t matter. The rest of us faffed around and Bobbie took charge,” Craig said bitterly.
“She spent all night nursing me?” Ray shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, surprised.
Ray was too interested in himself to notice the jealous rage that simmered on Craig’s face as he nodded his head.
“Well she’s good for something besides cooking, cleaning, storekeeping and wailing on that guitar,” Ray filled his plate and sat down.
“The others are right Chief. You are an asshole,” Craig muttered and left Ray alone.
Bobbie was in her office reading the field medical journal. She realised after recent events that they were ill prepared for a medical emergency. Someone needed a better understanding of first aid and rudimentary medicine and she guessed that would have to be her.
Bobbie looked up surprised to see Craig Bowen standing in the doorway. He was wearing his dress whites and carrying a small bunch of tropical flowers. He’d slicked back his unkempt hair and she could smell his aftershave from across the room. Bobbie knew that Craig had a crush on her and he had made passes at her in the past but Craig was a simple man and took her rebuffs like a chastised child.
What Bobbie didn’t know was that Craig was absolutely besotted with her. He spied on her and followed her whenever he had the chance. Craig might have been the least intelligent person on the island and the men often treated him like a simpleton but wasn’t totally stupid.
Craig knew that rescue was unlikely and even if it came it would be a long time coming so he could afford to play the long game.
Craig knew that John Fitzgibbons and Steve Ford were lovers. He didn’t get what they had for each other but he understood the need for companionship and physical love.
Craig knew that deep down that under her makeup, perfume and lingerie Bobbie was really Robert, the survivor of the C-47 crash, but just as Bobbie had rid herself of all vestiges of Robert when she decided to live as Bobbie, Craig had done the same. To him Bobbie’s life had started that Wednesday movie night when she had first performed for them.
So with John and Steve out of the picture the only other man on the island he considered his competition was Ray Millward and Ray and Bobbie hated each other. He had followed Bobbie up to the freshwater pool and witnessed Bobbie and Ray arguing at the signal pyre prior to her going for a swim. He had masturbated, hiding in the undergrowth, watching her change into her swimsuit. He had not seen the aftermath when Ray had rescued Bobbie from the water. Craig was back at the barracks going through Bobbie’s intimates.
Craig liked to steal Bobbie’s intimates, masturbate with them and put them back. Knowing that she was unwittingly wearing underwear that he used to gratify himself excited him. He deliberately left the crusty stocking under his mattress with the girly magazines for her to find. Didn’t Bobbie realise that it was her and not the girls in the magazine that fulfilled his fantasies? Craig had forgotten all about his high school sweetheart Karen who Ray had often drunkenly told him was being regularly ploughed by some college quarterback in his absence.
Ray was an asshole but Bobbie had saved him last night. She had tended to him, bathed him, nursed him and in a final betrayal of trust, she had slept with him.
Craig could no longer play the long game and wait for Bobbie’s hatred of Ray to drive her into his arms. He had seen the mess on the back of her négligée and he knew what it was. He had washed his own semen stains out of her intimates many times. Then he had dried them, folded them and returned them to her room.
Craig knew that Ray still disliked Bobbie taking into account what Ray had had said about her in the mess this morning but Craig needed to claim what was rightfully his before Ray changed his mind. Ray had done something to her last night; the evidence was there for him to see. The thought of Ray pressing his manhood against the woman he loved drove Craig wild with jealousy.
“I’ve brought you some flowers,” Craig offered the pathetic bunch of wildflowers he had picked for her.
In Craig’s mind they were a beautiful bouquet, artistically arranged blooms that would delight any woman. In fact they were an amalgam of foliage and weeds that grew conveniently close to the compound, hurriedly picked. Bobbie was sure that the spray included a cutting of poisonous lantana but she smiled sweetly at him and took the preferred bouquet and set it on her desk.
“Let me get a vase and some water,” Bobbie came around from behind the desk and approached the door.
Bobbie was wearing her white uniform skirt and blouse and she unconsciously smoothed her skirt. She could feel Craig’s eyes on her legs.
“Your skin is so smooth and creamy Bobbie. The rest of us are all burnt and wrinkled,” Craig remain steadfastly in the doorway refusing to move.
“I stay out of the sun Craig and I use moisturiser that I make from coconut milk,” Bobbie explained but she wished Craig would move.
“You’re pretty too. So very pretty Bobbie,” Craig reached out to touch her and Bobbie recoiled instinctively.
She wished she hadn't when she saw the anger flash across his face before his usual vacuous grin returned.
“Don’t you like me Bobby? I picked those flowers for you. I’m wearing my best uniform for you. I’d like us to be more than friends,” Craig stepped into the office and closed the door.
Bobbie forced herself to smile but she stepped back until she felt the desk against the back of her thighs.
“Of course I like you Craig. I like all of you men; you’re like brothers to me but I’ve told you before that I don’t think about you that way,” Bobbie forced herself to smile.
“But what about the Chief? What about Ray?” Craig looked confused.
“What about Ray, Craig? He’s the boss; he’s the Chief, he’s our leader,” Bobbie reached behind herself and felt around the desk, hoping to find something to defend herself with if Craig became violent.
She had never felt scared in his presence before. Although he was older than her she treated him like a younger brother… a simple younger brother. She was suddenly aware of how big Craig was. The rest of the men were rangy but Craig liked to eat, he was a little overweight but under that fat there was a lot of muscle from all the manual labour he performed.
“You and him are always arguing; always fighting. He heckles your shows and behind your back he calls you ‘that bitch’,” Craig said solemnly.
Bobbie couldn’t help but smile.
“He calls me that to my face too Craig,” she replied.
“When you’re not there he tells us that you are undermining him. That you are undoing all the good work he has dome maintaining discipline and running Harris Field just like it was a ship,” Craig’s mind seemed to wonder, something outside the window caught his attention.
He was easily distracted.
“We have our differences Craig but we live with them. Now let me go and get that vase,” Bobbie stepped forward but Craig didn’t budge.
He looked to be in a stupor, his thick lips twisted into a snarl and his eyes burned from under his thick brows.
“You were with him last night. You nursed him while he was naked. I saw you,” Craig growled.
“That’s right Craig I was nursing him. He was naked to I could bathe him and try to bring down his temperature,” Bobbie replied evenly.
“You slept with him. You slept with him and he was naked and you were wearing that négligée that I like,” Craig seemed to be ambling, unsure of his thoughts.
The comment about the négligée threw her. Why did Craig like it? Had he even seen her dressed in it before?
“John and I found you this morning. You were in his bed. He was cuddling you,” Craig adopted an accusatory tone.
“He was sick Craig. He thought I was his wife. He was delirious. I nursed him and comforted him, that’s all,” Bobbie protested.
“I saw it when you bent over the bed. I saw it on the back of your petticoat. Did he sex you?” Craig’s voice rose to a high-pitched scream.
“No he didn’t sex me Craig,” Bobbie stamped her foot angrily and blushed.
“I know what that is. I could smell it! I should know… I sex your stuff all the time,” Craig’s face was screwed up into an evil grin.
The thought of Craig masturbating with her intimates repulsed her but Bobbie tried to keep her face neutral.
“Ray was sweating. You saw him! I told you that he thought I was Elaine and he just cuddled me. I couldn’t get away from him so I let him. He was so hot and sweaty that he probably sweated right though my nightgown,” Bobbie hoped Craig would buy the lie.
“Bullshit he sexed you. But not anymore Bobbie. You’re going to be my gal. The only person sexing you will be me. I think when we’re done here I’ll go and find Ray and he won't be a problem anymore. It will just be you and me and John and Steve. That will work better,” Craig pulled the Colt 1911 pistol from his waistband.
The 45 calibre weapon had been tucked behind his back, hidden under his tunic.
Bobbie froze and a shiver of fear ran through her. Craig was insane and she was trapped in this office with him. From what he was saying she gathered he intended to kill Ray and keep her as some sort of concubine.
“Maybe I should take care of him now. I’ll lock the door and go and take care of Ray and then I’ll come back for you. You can live with me in my quarters and we will love each other forever and ever,” Craig's demeanour was maniacal.
He paced up and down in front of the door then he reached for the handle.
“No Craig! Don’t go yet! Stay here and show me how much you love me and then we can go and see Ray,” Bobbie was scrambling for anything to change Craig’s mind.
If she could delay Craig maybe one of the others would come looking for him or for her? Maybe Ray would have time to leave the camp and go up to his precious hilltop signal pyre? From up there he would be able to see Craig approaching. This was all she could think of. She somehow had to save Ray.
The lights dimmed and a sudden clout of thunder rent the silence and the sound of a tropical rainstorm pounding on the tin roof of the Q store became almost deafening.
“Yeah maybe I should rethink my priorities. Ray isn’t going anywhere and I’ve wanted you for so long Bobbie. Come over here Bobbie,” Craig waved the pistol at her.
Bobbie doubted that Craig would kill her; not if he loved her like he said he did but who knew what a psychopath really thought? He could certainly hurt her.
Bobbie forced herself to let go of the desk and she took the few steps required to stand directly in front of Craig. His aftershave was almost overpowering, he had cut himself shaving and the blood had congealed in a roll of flesh above his collar. Up close, the look in his eyes was truly maniacal and Bobbie began to tremble.
Craig pressed the pistol into Bobbie’s waist.
“Show me how much you love me Bobbie,” he whispered.
Bobbie had never told Craig that she loved him but now was not the time to undermine his fantasy.
She tentatively reached out and put her arms around Craig’s neck. Craig pressed the pistol harder into her flesh reminding Bobbie what would happen if she tried anything underhanded.
She stood on her tiptoes and put her face to his, closing her eyes so that she didn’t have to look at him. His lips felt cold wet and flabby, they felt repulsive. He jabbed his thick tongue into her mouth and pulled her to him with his free hand. She could feel his hard penis through her clothing. He kissed her awkwardly, his inexperience evident.
Ray was fuming and not just because all three of his subordinates had called him an asshole this morning. He was pissed off because he knew they were right and he knew that he would have to apologise to Bobbie. He was also pissed off because Seaman Bowen was supposed to swing the generators this morning so that the one currently supplying the load could be serviced. The men knew how important it was to keep the equipment they had well maintained because it was all they had.
Ray found John and Steve tending to the cornfield which was their duty station this morning.
“Have you guys seen Craig Bowen?” he called out to them.
“Last time I saw him he was coming out of his quarters in his dress whites. I figured you had told him to put on his best uniform to appear before your mast. I heard him call you an asshole this morning,” John could get away with the jibe, being a First Class Petty Officer.
“Well there appears to be more than enough assholes to go around today,” Ray grunted.
“Better find him quick Chief; there’s a storm coming,” John nodded towards the west from where dark clouds illuminated by flashes of lightning where rolling in.
“I bet he’s gone to follow that bitch around like a puppy,” Ray mumbled to himself.
Ray wouldn’t admit it but it irritated him that Craig fawned over Bobbie. But why should he care?
Ray got soaked crossing the runway and when he opened the door to the Q store he was livid. The store was dark even with the overhead lighting because the storm clouds obscured the sunlight that naturally streamed through the windows. The sound of the rain on the roof was almost deafening. He could see Craig Bowen in Bobbie’s office dressed in his whites. He seemed to be concentrating on something but there was no sign of Bobbie Bingham.
As Ray got closer to the office he could see why Craig was concentrating. Bobbie Bingham was on her knees fellating him.
“Fucking whore!” Ray screamed and scrambled for the door.
Then he saw the gun in Craig’s hand. It was pressed to Bobbie’s head and she was crying, choking while Craig used his free hand to push her face onto his cock. Ray snapped, suddenly filled with rage and unbridled fury.
He ripped the door open so fast that it came off its hinges. Craig was so shocked he had no time to defend himself when Ray slapped the gun away from Bobbie’s head whilst simultaneously slamming a roundhouse punch into the side of Craig Bowen’s head.
Craig fell to the floor but he refused to let go of his pistol but Ray ignored him. He helped Bobbie to her feet and looked into her tear-filled eyes with genuine tenderness and remorse.
“Are you ok? Did he hurt you?” Ray searched her face for signs of injury.
Bobbie just shook her head. She couldn’t speak. She was too ashamed of what Ray had witnessed.
“Stand aside Chief. Bobbie and I have unfinished business,” Craig was on his feet pointing his gun at them.
Ray saw the maniacal gleam in his eyes and realised that Craig was insane. He pushed Bobbie behind him and shielded her with his body.
“Give me the gun Seaman Bowen and we can talk about this. We can work it out; I’m sure there is some sort of misunderstanding,” Ray held out his hand and it was rock steady.
“Bobbie loves me and I love her. We’re going to live together but you keep getting in the way,” Craig said in a voice that seemed disembodied.
“Ok. I can stay out of the way. Why don’t you take me somewhere where we can talk about it? Leave Bobbie here to keep doing her work, she’s very busy,” Ray spoke to Craig like he was talking to a child.
“I want her to watch when I kill you! I want her to see how much I love her!” Craig rambled.
“That’s ok Craig. I understand. But wouldn’t it be better to let her go so she doesn’t have to see it? She will think you're the better man for it. Let her go and she can freshen up for you, maybe put on some nice clothes for you, and you can take care of me here when she’s gone,” Ray said matter-of-factly as if he was offering an alternative to dinner.
“No!” Bobbie cried from behind him.
Ray turned his head to her, still shielding her with his body.
“Let me handle this Bobbie. Let Craig do what he has to do while you go and change into something nice for him,” he gave her a knowing look which meant for her to escape and to get to John and Steve as soon as she could.
“Women, eh Craig? They never know when to just do what they are told,” Ray said to Craig, smiling at him like he was a true friend.
“I think you are tricking me Chief. I think you want Bobbie to leave so you can take your chances with me. You think I’m stupid,” Craig droned, spittle running down the side of his mouth.
Ray wondered if Craig was having some sort of psychiatric attack.
“Give me the gun Craig,” Ray changed his tone.
He was gruff and demanding and he thrust out his hand.
“Fuck you Chief!” Craig levelled the pistol at Ray.
It all happened instantly.
Ray turned and flung Bobbie out of the way so that when the bullet passed through his body it wouldn’t hit her. Craig pulled the trigger and the hammer came down on the firing pin striking the 45 calibre cartridge in the chamber of the Colt 1911 pistol. Craig had not changed out the ammunition or cleaned the pistol since he was shipwrecked on the island and it was faulty and misfired.
Craig look at the pistol in disappointed then he slammed the pistol into the side of Ray Millward’s head as hard as he could and ran out of the office as Ray collapsed on the floor.
Bobbie dropped down beside Ray who was unconscious with blood streaming down his face. She shook him, trying to wake him, all the time scared that Craig Bowen was going to come back and finish what he started.
Ray slowly came around and staggered to his feet with Bobbie’s assistance. He held onto the desk and shook his head; blood sprayed onto the floor and onto Bobbie’s skirt and blouse.
“Are you ok? Did he hurt you?” Ray lifted his face to Bobbie.
“I’m supposed to ask if you’re ok Chief. I’m fine except for the obvious indignity. Let’s get you to the mess so I can tend to that wound, also I need to make sure you’re not concussed,” Bobbie was still supporting Ray who had an arm around her shoulders.
As incongruous as it seemed, she quite liked having Ray’s strong arm around her.
“You’ve only just recovered from your fever Chief, I want to do a full examination,” Bobbie continued.
“Look at you being all nursey. I came over to thank you for caring for me yesterday but that’s probably not my priority right now, nor is you tending to my wounds. We gotta find Craig before he finds a weapon that works. There’s plenty in the armoury,” Ray grunted, he was obviously in pain.
Bobbie helped Ray through the warehouse and made him wait at the door while she checked outside for any sign of Craig. The coast was clear but the rain was still teeming down. Ray put his arm around Bobbie for support and she helped him across the runway to the main buildings. They expected see Craig at any time but they didn’t.
Bobbie’s skirt and blouse were saturated and they clung to her flesh. Her hair was moulded to her head and her mascara and eyeliner, already ruined from the tears she had shed while Craig defiled her, ran down her cheeks.
When they gained the shelter of the first building Ray made her stop.
“Let me get my breath. You look down that side and I’ll look down this side of the building. If the coast is clear we run for the mess and find John and Steve,” Ray panted, his hands on his knees.
Bobbie nodded and tentatively poked her head around the corner of the commissary building and saw nothing but sheets of rain. Craig could be hiding anywhere. She went back to Ray and shook her head indicating she’d seen no one.
“Ok. Are you ready?” he stared into Bobbie’s face questioningly.
She nodded.
“One last thing,” Ray wheezed.
Bobbie looked at him unsure.
Ray pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She moulded her wet body to his, feeling his flesh through her sodden uniform. He held her tight and kissed her long and hard, his tongue exploring her mouth. He released her as suddenly as he had embraced her.
“Sorry I’m an asshole; let’s go,” he took her hand in his and they ran from building to building without stopping until they reached the mess.
They were both pleased to hear John and Steve’s voices as they approached.
They too had been caught in the storm and had taken off their sodden shirts and were playing around. To those who knew no better it would look like two very masculine men horsing around but Ray and Bobbie could tell there was lot more to their playful cavorting.
“Jesus!” John cried when he saw the blood on Rays face and Bobbie’s skirt and blouse.
“What the fuck happened?” Steve asked as he assisted Ray inside and sat him down at the table.
The field medical kit was still on the table and Bobbie went straight to it.
“Craig had gone crazy. He attacked me and the Chief; he tried to kill the Chief. He’s got a gun but it doesn’t work but he’ll probably get another one and then he’ll come after us again… sorry Chief,” Bobbie realised that she was babbling as she rummaged through the first aid kit.
“What Bobbie said is basically right. We need to find him. He’s not right in the head. Try to reason with him if you can but if he’s armed and he threatens you then shoot him,” Ray winced as Bobbie put a disinfectant-soaked compress on his wound.
“Go to the armoury and get us a rifle and a pistol each and plenty of ammo. We’ll divide the island up into quarters and search it in twos,” Ray was in his element, taking charge of his men.
John went into the kitchen and came out with a shotgun and a handful of cartridges.
“I left this in the cleaning locker when we were getting rid of the rats. They used to hang around the trash pails at the back of the galley. Figure you can use it while Steve and I go and get us armed,” John handed the shotgun to Ray.
“Go! Go!” Ray shouted and his two subordinates ran from the mess.
Ray loaded the shotgun while Bobbie fussed around him trying to tend to the wound on his head. She finally lost her patience and snatched the shotgun from his hands and put it down on the table.
“Let me put a proper bandage on that wound and check you out, then you can play with that gun as much as you want to,” she huffed.
“Yes ma’am,” Ray was surprised by her mettle but he made sure he could snatch up the shotgun in an instant if necessary.
Bobbie had to get very close to Ray to properly examine his wound and she was acutely aware of how close their faces were. When Ray gently pressed his lips to hers she sighed. He took her in his arms and held her gently, kissing her softly and stroking her face.
Bobbie broke the kiss.
“What happened in my office… what Craig was making me do…” Bobbie stammered.
“Never happened. I found him holding a gun on you and we fought. His gun misfired and he banged me up the side of the head and ran away,” Ray brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes.
“What about his side of the story?” Bobbie looked down at her blood-stained, rain soaked skirt.
Ray lifted her chin with his finger and leaned in and kissed her tenderly.
“No one is going to believe a madman,” Ray said with some finality.
It didn’t matter anyway. John Fitzgibbons and Steve Ford found Craig Bowen hanging from the stout limb of a breadfruit tree on top of lookout hill. He was still dressed in his whites but had not left a note.
They buried him that afternoon under the breadfruit tree from which he’d hung himself. The service was quick and sombre and a blanket of solemnity fell over Harris Field.
Bobbie insisted that Ray go to his quarters where she could properly tend to his injuries and John and Steve retired to John’s quarters. There seemed little reason for John and Steve to play out their charade any longer. They had held hands during the funeral service and Bobbie had taken Ray’s hand was they walked back down the hill.
Bobbie made Ray shower and put him to bed then she went to the mess to find them something to eat.
“You can’t sleep. I need to see if you have any symptoms of a brain injury,” Bobbie warned him as Ray snuggled under the sheets.
“Reading that field medical journal doesn’t make you a doctor,” Ray groused.
“Being a Chief Petty Officer doesn’t mean you always have to be an asshole,” Bobbie threw the journal at Ray as she walked out the door.
Ray caught it and smiled. The woman had spunk.
A bouquet of perfume announced Bobbie’s return before she even came through the door. She was wearing full makeup, a pink satin and lace bustier, sheer fully fashioned stockings, black high heels and a see-through white négligée that was open at the front. She was carrying a tray but Ray had no interest in what was on it.
She closed and locked the door behind her, dimmed the lights and walked over to the bed.
“Walking through the sand in these high heels is crazy,” Bobbie sighed.
“I don’t care. Leave them on,” Ray swallowed and pulled back the covers.
“What about dinner?” Bobbie teased as she put the tray on the nightstand, bending over beside him, her buttocks in his face.
“Fuck dinner. You don’t want me to sleep so get in here and keep me awake,” he patted the space beside him on the bed.
“Why Chief!” Bobbie feigned shocked indignance.
“It’s not Chief; it’s Ray. But if you don’t get on this bed and start kissing me right now I’m prepared to order you to do so,” Ray grinned.
Bobbie climbed onto the bed leaving on her heels as ordered. She felt nervous. She didn’t really know what to do but Ray seemed to. He didn’t leap on her like she thought he might, instead he sidled up to her and gently took her in his arms.
“You are beautiful,” Ray whispered, his lips nearly touching hers.
“Stop it,” Bobbie whispered, yearning for him to kiss her.
“No. You’re not just pretty, you’re beautiful, a beautiful person I mean,” Ray stroked her cheek and Bobbie nestled her face into his hand.
“Ray…” Bobbie was about to protest but Ray wouldn’t let her.
“You’re beautiful inside I mean. You care for people, you have an attentiveness and compassion,” Ray complimented her and Bobbie blushed.
“You care for the men too,” Bobbie returned the gesture and stroked his cheek.
He had shaved before he showered but she could feel the fine stubble coming back, his thick hair refusing to be tamed.
“I order them around. I tell them what to do. They are right; I am an asshole. And look what happened on my watch,” Ray sighed.
Bobbie stroked his face; her fingers traced the outline of the bandage on the side of head.
“These men are alive because of you. We all owe our lives to you. Your leadership is what keeps this place going,” Bobbie replied.
“Not Craig Bowen,” Bobbie could hardly believe it when she felt the hot tears running down his cheeks.
“No one could save him. There was something wrong with him that none of us saw,” Bobbie kissed Ray’s cheek.
“See what I mean about being beautiful? Even after what he did to you, you defend him,” Ray pulled her closer.
“Shh, do you want to go to sleep? I don’t mind,” She cradled his head gently.
“I want to make love to you,” Ray whispered.
“I want that too,” Bobbie felt herself becoming genuinely aroused now that the subject had changed.
“I’ve never done this before… not this way. I’m not sure I know what to do,” Bobbie lowered her head to her chest.
“Me neither, but I’m so looking forward to figuring it out,” Ray finally pressed his lips to hers.
Bobbie was immediately on fire with lust. Ray’s hard muscled body was naked and she could feel his anaconda-like penis uncoil and become tumescent against her. She was erect in her panties and she gasped into Ray’s mouth when he squeezed her there.
The slippery cool satin of her panties felt deliciously decadent as Ray rubbed the fabric on her penis. His long, strong fingers alternatively stroked and squeezed her while his tongue invaded her mouth.
Bobbie’s fingers found him hard and throbbing, the length and girth of him was alarming, she didn’t know how she was going to accommodate him but she knew that she was going to. She wanted Ray inside her. She wanted that quintessential intimacy that bound a woman to a man.
Ray whimpered as she explored his manhood, sliding her fingers along it, trying valiantly to wrap them around its girth but not succeeding. But she did succeed in exuding a continuous ooze of pre-ejaculate from his glans which she used to lubricate his penis as she fondled and teased it.
“Oh Jesus!” Ray gasped as she cupped his scrotum, feeling the weight of it, feeling his manliness.
“Oh god!” Bobbie gasped as Ray rolled her onto her back and lay between her legs.
She instinctively wrapped her legs around his torso and Ray sighed contentedly as she slid her gossamer-clad legs along his flanks.
Their cocks were pressed together separated by the flimsy fabric of her panties, his monstrous organ pressing on Bobbie’s not insignificant appendage. Ray ground his whole body against her, luxuriating in the feel of the satiny bustier against his torso, the silky satin of her panties against his cock and her diaphanous nylons against his sides and back.
Bobbie was in deep rapture. Lying under this man, feeling his hard body pressed against hers, feeling his cock throbbing against hers as he ground his groin into her.
“Oh Ray,” she simpered through crushed lips.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice thick with lust.
“You won’t, I’ve came prepared,” she blushed in the dark but Ray couldn’t see it.
Bobbie reached out and found the tray on the nightstand, her fingers found the little tin of Vaseline. She awkwardly scooped out a good dollop as Ray kissed her and ground against her impatiently.
“Let me…” she whispered and Ray suddenly realised what she was doing.
He lifted himself up off her, hovering over her on his hands and knees.
Bobbie turned what could have been an awkward and embarrassing moment into cheeky foreplay by smiling up at him as she greased his substantial manhood.
“Does that feel good?” she smiled up at him coquettishly as she worked the lubricant onto his flesh.
“You’re about to find out how good it you keep doing that but it might stain your bustier,” Ray sniggered.
She leaned up and kissed him and slid her fingers inside her panties and plugged her sphincter with the remaining gel.
“Be gentle with me Ray,” she whispered her gaze suddenly serious but the lust in her eyes still evident.
“Of course I will my love. I’ll never hurt you again,” Ray breathed and lowered his face to hers and kissed her.
Ray lowered his torso onto Bobbie and as he did so she took his manhood in her fingers and guided it to where she desperately needed it. She pulled aside the gusset of her panties and nestled his engorged glans in her sphincter. She had made a conscious decision to leave on her panties, she wasn’t sure that Ray wanted to feel her penis on his flesh.
“Are you ready?” Ray leaned down and kissed her and searched her eyes.
Bobbie clasped her hands around his neck and nodded. She had never looked so beautiful.
Bobbie hissed and screwed up her eyes as Ray slowly pressed his glans inside her tight sphincter. Her face was a picture of both pain and lust.
“Shall I stop,” Ray sounded genuinely concerned.
Bobbie shook her head from side to side. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and tightened her grip around his neck and lifted her buttocks off the bed, slowly impaling herself on his hard throbbing phallus. She didn’t stop until she had it all inside her.
The pain was almost unbearable but at the same time it magnified the delicious and decadent feelings that were radiating from her sphincter and her prostate. His organ filled her anus, stretching it to full capacity and it felt agonisingly painful whilst at the same time unbearably wonderful. Bobbie’s cock was at full tumescence, pressing against Ray’s hard flat belly, distending her panties.
“Oh that is so wonderful,” Ray rained kisses down on Bobbie who lay underneath him, her face contorted with pain and bliss.
“Don’t move,” she whispered, her words choked with agony and desire.
“I can’t. I’ll come if I do,” Bobbie’s tight anus gripped his cock like a velvet glove and he was on the verge of extremis.
“Me too,” Bobbie gasped.
“Oh god!” Bobbie tightened her grip on Ray’s body with her hands and her legs and began to grind against him.
The force of Ray’s orgasm was such that Bobbie felt his cock shudder and convulse inside her. It was earth-shattering and she forced herself to open her eyes so she could see the look of bliss and contentment on his face. His seed flooded her back passage and made it easier for Ray to fuck her, which is exactly what he did.
Ignoring her order not move, Ray pushed Bobbie down on the bed and fucked her with long deep strokes as he ejaculated a torrent of sperm inside her. She writhed beneath him, washed over by an intense orgasm as her own cock exploded with a messy fountain of steaming semen that flooded her panties and glazed Ray’s tight belly.
Ray kissed her and she pulled her body hard against his, wanting to feel his racing heart, wanting to feel his cock palpitating inside her, wanting to feel his essence, wanting to feel his love.
Far from being repulsed when Bobbie’s semen spattered on his belly, it incited Ray to another pinnacle of ecstasy. He had pleasured the woman the he was falling in love with. She was feeling what he felt; the extreme joy and satisfaction of sharing their bodies.
Ray lay on top of Bobbie exhausted but she found the weight of his body pleasing. Every now and then he would quiver. His cock was still inside her and Bobbie could feel it slowly contracting but the fullness of it made her feel contented. She felt Ray snuffle and she lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at him.
He had been crying again.
“Did I do something wrong? Is it Elaine?” Bobbie regretted mentioning Ray’s wife the second she had said it.
“No it’s you silly,” Ray stroked her face.
“How badly I’ve treated you. How utterly despicable I’ve been to you. And how lovely you are. I suppose I was jealous,” Ray whimpered.
“Jealous of me?” Bobbie was astounded.
“Jealous because the men love you. Jealous because you were undermining me, giving the men something I couldn’t,” Ray whispered.
Bobbie opened her mouth to reply but Ray wouldn’t let her.
“Jealous because I’ve wanted you all along. I wanted you to be mine,” Ray lowered her head.
“I’ve always been yours Ray. I think you know that. I’ve just been waiting for you to take me,” Bobbie leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose.
They stayed in bed late the next day. They heard John and Steve moving around the camp but they weren't disturbed. Bobbie got out of bed mid-morning and went to the galley and prepared lunch. She didn’t wear her uniform; instead she wore a summer dress.
The men sat at their usual places around the table but something had changed and it wasn’t just that Craig was gone. Steve Ford was sitting so close to John Fitzgibbons that he was almost in his lap and they were constantly touching each other like a married couple.
Bobbie served the men their lunch and then prepared a plate for herself and came out of the galley to join them. She usually sat between John and Steve but of course today that wasn’t possible. Ray stood and pulled back the chair next to him and then pushed it in behind her as she sat. Bobbie was self-conscious and scraped her chair along the floor to give Ray some room.
Ray scraped his chair along the floor until he was sitting as close to her as he could get. He entwined his fingers in hers on the table top. John and Steve just smiled at each other and began to eat.
Harris Field changed considerably from that day on. Steve and John cohabitated together and Bobbie moved in with Ray. The rank structure broke down and they behaved like two couples who were the closest of friends. Ray was still their tacit leader and when important decisions were required he made them.
Work details were shared but Bobbie kept her domestic duties, she felt that was where she fit in and was of the most use; she was comfortable with her place in their little society. She still entertained them every Wednesday and Saturday and when they dined together as couples.
Nearly a year later Ray was standing on lookout hill looking out to sea, holding a flaming torch in his hand. A US Navy destroyer cruised off the coast paralleling the island about five miles out. If Ray ignited his signal pyre it was sure to be seen.
Ray dropped the torch in the sand and stomped on it to extinguish the flames and watched the ship sail into the distance.
He came back down the hill and saw Bobbie hanging out washing on line and his heart filled with love. She shrieked and squealed playfully when he threw her over his shoulders and took her to their quarters to make love.
Ray hadn’t given Bobbie time to undress and she lay on the bed with her head on his chest, her anus throbbing contentedly, feeling Ray’s issue dribbling into her panties which were soaked at the front from her own emission.
“I need to change my clothes and fix my makeup before dinner,” Bobbie made to get off the bed.
Ray held her down on the bed and reached into his bedside table and took the letters from inside the cigar box. He held them up so she could see them.
“Do you know what these are?” he fanned the letters.
Bobbie shook her head but she felt herself choking.
“They’re poison is what they are and when I get off this bed I’m going to burn them,” Ray said grimly.
“Good,” Bobbie could hardly speak.
Ray threw the letters into to the trashcan, a good shot from where they lay on the bed across the room. Then he reached back into the cigar box and took out the two wedding bands. He held them up and studied them and Bobbie expected him to throw them after the letters.
Instead he rolled over on his side and took Bobbie’s left hand. She began to cry when Ray slid the wedding ring onto her ring-finger, stopping at the first knuckle.
“What do you think?” he whispered.
Bobbie couldn’t answer. She was choked and her eyes were full of tears.
She just nodded and Ray slid the ring all the way on her finger. He gave her the other ring and slid it on his ring-finger.
“I love you,” Ray’s voice was choked with emotion.
Bobbie tried to tell him that she loved him too but his passionate kiss prevented her from speaking.
*****
Epilogue
In the year 2010 the Republic of Palau leased Mirrocau Island to a multinational development corporation that immediately went to work building an exclusive five-star resort. Work was stopped briefly when a grave was uncovered by a construction crew.
“You gotta see this boss,” the Filipino foreman said, bursting into the American Project Manager’s office.
The work crew stood in a group looking down into the uncovered grave where the remains of two people lay side by side.
“A man and a woman by the looks of it. She’s wearing what looks like an evening gown and he’s wearing a US Navy Chief Petty Officer’s summer ceremonial uniform,” one of the crew commented.
“What the fuck? This island was uninhabited until recently,” the Project Manager scratched his head.
“There was a base here during World War Two; Harris Field. We demolished all the old buildings to make way for the hotel and we redeveloped the old runway,” the foreman commented.
“Yeah, well no one gave a fuck. So long as the right people got paid we had no remit to keep any of that old crap,” the Project Manager carped.
“This is different boss. These are people. We need to inform the Battle Monuments Commission, these could be war graves,” one of the workers piped up.
“Bullshit! Those jerks will shut this site down for months!” the Project Manager seethed.
“What’s going in here? What part of the resort is this?” the Project Manager snatched the plans out of the foreman’s hands.
“This is going to be the garden for the wedding chapel,” the foreman pointed to the plans.
“Fill it in! They can stay here. No one saw anything. Pay the crew double-time for the week Lupe,” the Project Manager scanned the faces of the work crew looking for a dissenter.
“I’ll do it myself boss. You guys get back to work,” Lupe ordered his crew.
The Project Manager and the work crew dissipated. They didn’t want to be witnesses to what was probably a Federal crime.
Lupe took his time. He made garlands of frangipani and hibiscus flowers and placed them on the remains of the man and the woman. When he bent over the grave to lay the laurels on the remains he noticed that the man and the woman were wearing wedding bands and that their fingers were entwined. They had been buried holding hands.
“May you rest in peace together forever,” Lupe made the sign of the cross and began to shovel sand into the grave.
The End
Author's note: I guess I'm becoming an old softie, what with these happy-ever-after endings and romantic entanglements. I cried writing the last few paragraphs and the epilogue; what did you think? Drop me a comment please.