The Island Ch. 01

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 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.

Steve Ford glanced knowingly at John Fitzgibbons as he left the table.

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