She Got The Blues

[©2010 BY CLINTON09; ALL CHARACTERS OVER THE AGE OF 18; NO EVENTS DESCRIBED ARE TRUE; STORIES HAVE A 'HARDER EDGE' THAN MOST; BE WARNED; HERE BE DRAGONS]

Warning: humans confront wild animals in this story. The score is wild animals 1, humans 0.

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For once, I did something right. This vacation proved it. Here we were on an exotic island resort, all expenses paid by my wife's trust fund, our beautiful daughter with us, who just turned 18. As happened for the 1st two mornings we were here, our breakfast was brought to us, fresh and hot, by boat, coming right up to our patio. My wife Beulah complained about everything, but even she couldn't muster a 'discouraging word' about our present digs. My finally turned-18 daughter Ellen had that usual 'do we HAVE to?' attitude that teens have, but she liked breakfast in pajamas only inches above the lagoon's warm waters.

We have to flashback 18 years to fill in the story. One of my friends from college had turned me on to this unmarried daughter of the richest dude in our state. He said that if I married her, I would get their family fortune. The only problem, he said, was 'the curse' that came with it. The curse, of course, was Beulah, the daughter I'd have to marry.

Well, I wasn't proud. I proposed.

Unfortunately, she said yes.

Our spectacular wedding had everyone who was anyone attending. It was fantastic, except for the wedding night. What was that old joke about the man who marries older women for money: "God, I should have seen her naked first!" God in heaven, you never saw a man so determined to keep a romantic low light hotel room as me. At the end of the night, it was ME that had the headache. I had to come up with lots more excuses over the years. During one of my 'migraine' spells, Beulah asked me what I thought about having children.

I thought she meant she and me doing it! The mere thought of that made me ill. I was about to scream "NO F-CKING WAY!!" when providence, sheer providence stepped in.

Beulah said: "I know you'd be upset if something as trivial as a pregnancy ruined my fabulous figure, so my thinking is, we will hire a surrogate mother. We will use the finest fertility clinic which will prep your worthless seed into something useful, then do in vivo, in vitro, whatever they do these days."

I was thinking: "Well, I did want a family, and this DOES completely avoid my wicked witch of the west...that sounds okay." I told her it was cool.

Beulah had her attorney find someone via the clinic. It was all set up. I was to take two checks from Beulah from her trust fund; $5,000 cash for the surrogate and $5,000 cash to the clinic (tax reasons). Again, I said cool and took over.

It occurred to me that I could cash both checks, made to bearer. I would hold $5,000 for the surrogate but hold back the clinic. If I was lucky, I could do this the old fashioned pre-clinic way, and pocket the $5,000 (she kept me on a low allowance.)

I went to my bank, got two lovely bundles of 50 hundred dollar bills. Loverly. Then I went calling to the surrogate. Shannon was a sturdy mom, with four of her own. An Irish lass of say 34, she still had the Emerald Isle look, with wavy sandy hair, a fair complexion, and freckles everywhere.

Shannon was now divorced and needed the money. Beulah had strong-armed her insurance company to cover this 'arrangement'...I wonder how she'd feel if she (Beulah) knew the REAL arrangement. I broached the idea to Shannon: for an extra $1,000, we (i.e. me) would feel better if we had a traditional impregnation and not a cold, sterile, clinical one. I figured that even a measly $1,000 would do the trick, judging from the state of repair of the house. I was right. Before you get mad at me, let me tell you: I ended up giving them their $5,000 and ALL of the other $5,000 too! Perhaps even a little more if you can wait a little.

Shannon dumped her smaller children next door for the night. Her 18 year old daughter was out on a hot date. So, there I was on Shannon's well-worn bed, wondering what would be emerging from the modest bathroom. I was utterly shocked when she emerged, touchingly, in her white dress from her wedding. Her divorce still burned in her mind, especially the duplicity of her two-timing ex-husband. She wanted to recapture the magic.

I came up to her. I picked her up and carried her to the bed. Out of all proportion to the event, to the evening, to the arrangement, she started sobbing. Not knowing how to carry on, I just proceeded to disrobe myself and her. Soon we were holding hands at the foot of the bed. She was petite and looked exactly like that workout diva, Denise Austin, except with Irish locks and freckles. Just as she was taking my impressive ten inch cock in hand, who should barge in without knocking? Why, it was only Anna, her 18 year old daughter, back from a bad date.

Anna: "What's going on here? Are you planning on fucking my mom? This is an iffy time, you might become a proud daddy. Are you going to 'man up' if that happens, punk?"

Shannon: "Lay off, bitch. He's going to ante up $6,000 for the privilege of Irishing up me coffee. And you know how much this means to me!"

Completely unexpected, completely 'off script', it happened...

Anna leaves the doorway and returns, 3 minutes later...IN THE NUDE!! I was so stunned that she did that AND that she had a perfect (gymnast's as it turned out) figure, that I coldly, cruelly, incredibly, turned to look, leaving Shannon turning beet red.

Anna: "What's your name, oh, Carl. Well, Carl, if you give ME that money, and maybe a tip, say $10,000 total, I will do this for you. As you can see (she did a handstand, then pushups in the handstand!), I'm bigger, stronger, healthier, and sexier than my little mousy mom. Since I'm only 18, I'm probably more fertile too. So, do we have a deal?"

It was unbelievably cold, callous, unthinking, uncaring, brutish, selfish (you can keep going, there's a thesaurus on line) of me, but with not a word of apology, I zoomed out of that room.

Anna's room was creepy. I mean, there were teddy bears, hello kitty gear, jelly shoes, and a skateboard. I HAD to do it. I actually asked for ID, standing there in her room! Well, her license was real (magnetic ribbon) and verified 18. At that instant, I got bone hard. It didn't even bother me to my amazement that her mother camped out right by the door. She set up a folding chair, brought out a little VHS camcorder (from the Cretaceous period?), and started recording the voluntary and enthusiastic deflowering of her daughter.

For all I knew, that film would appear on YouTube or the Tonight Show by next week. I didn't care. I had a job to do.

She asked me to help clear her bed. While she lovingly put teddy numbers 1, 2, and 3 onto her dresser, I was chucking teddy numbers 4, 5, and 6 against the wall. All clear!

Figuring her as the athlete in this house at this time, I chose discretion and lay down, awaiting her assault. Sure enough, she jumped on me like she was jumping on a horse. Next, she started bouncing up and down. Now, I do not mean that she went up and down...she BOUNCED up and down. It was borderline painful. I do not think she understood the act of love making as opposed to just 'doing it' with the opposite sex. I figured I would let her exhaust herself and then do it my way. Sure enough, her 'jumping jacks' came to an anti-climactic end as she huffed and puffed herself into a puddle on top of me. I lifted this spool of sinewy muscle and flipped her over. I kissed her on her gasping mouth, and then sought out her sacred entrance, my blunt uncut cockhead probing. Her tiny hand guided it in.

With one powerful lunge, I was in all the way. She gasped, saying I was too big.

I smiled, thinking: "Good!" As her mother watched thru the blurry eyepiece of that antique camcorder, I started pile-driving into this impudent lithe 18 year old bedroom athlete. She obviously was not a virgin, but just as obviously was fresh, clean, and solid. I gripped her rock hard behind with an industrial strength grip and shot a huge load of sperm-laden cum deep inside of her. I collapsed in exhaustion.

A half hour later, Anna scampered on board me. Thank heavens she had learned her lesson and was much kinder and gentler in her up and down gymnastics. When she leaned over to kiss me, she hotly whispered into my ear: "I am SO much better than mom, you have no idea...you are lucky you went for the steak and left that bag of hamburger on the buffet. Now, give me that baby of yours!"

Well, I didn't need a request from the Queen for a command performance to do my thing. I did another heavy number inside that dear lass, painting her insides white with my potent seed, the excess stopped from leaking by the presence of my powerful cock which refused to go down. We lay together for an hour. In the distance, I could see that Shannon had put the camera down and was, yes, crying again. Later, she'd tell me it was just so beautiful.

Beulah, my beauty-challenged wife, never knew the REAL arrangement we had. Anna used Shannon's name for that healthcare set-up and gave us a wonderful baby girl. I vowed to myself that if I ever came into money, like that trust fund, my beloved Shannon and Anna would get some financial aid from me.

Flash forward to today. We just finished breakfast on that patio overlooking the lagoon. What to do on this, our last full day in this heavenly Philippine island archipelago. Ellen wanted to go scuba diving.

I seconded that.

Beulah, knowing that she wouldn't look great in a huge wetsuit, demanded we charter a boat.

Ellen looked alarmed, and I seconded that. I said these waters are not exactly peaceful. From what you see on TV, there are still pirates operating.

My wife, ever the practical one said: "Pirates? No doubt Blue Beard is one of them? Look, you just want me to look foolish in a wetsuit...we ARE going charter sailing, and that's that!"

Actually, it DID sound like fun, but we DID hear those rumors of actual modern pirates. Oh well, Beulah's orders again. She wore her traditional moo-moo while Ellen wore a string bikini made modest by a terry cloth cover and flip flops. I wore Speedos with a heavy cotton cover (sunburn issues). And, off we went.

There was a line of boats for charter back at the town. None of the little boat owners looked particularly savory (or was it me?) We picked one almost at random and were off. I think we might have thought twice about it if we knew the boat was stolen from the marina in Manila...

We were two hours out to sea and within sight of a little island atoll. With gentle Pacific breezes, only a light wave chop, and a gentle spring sun, it was so incredibly relaxing. Our guard was down. From absolutely nowhere, one of those incredibly powerful long-armed shaft driven propeller speed boats zoomed up. Our 'owner' of the boat waved greetings to the speed boat with a devilish grin. He jumped off the boat into theirs. They then produced an AK-47 and gestured that they wanted my wallet, her purse, and all of our nice watches. They then considered what to do next. They were admiring my Rolex Mariner when it happened. POW. An explosion hit our tiny little 32 foot boat, right at the base of the mast. We started taking on water. The pirates zoomed off with the Philippine naval frigate in hot pursuit. Right on the horizon, we could see secondary burning, showing that they DID get caught. To our dismay, that naval vessel just continued on its course, returning to port. Meanwhile, our boat had capsized. The three of us were in the water. Thank you, dear Beulah!

I helped Ellen get on top of the bobbing capsized boat, the buoyancy just enough for her. To her amazement and mine, Beulah tried to also get up there. I said it wouldn't hold two people. Ellen was shocked when Beulah's chunky hands pawed at her own daughter, trying to dislodge her and take that post. Ellen and I literally had to fight her off. Then, disaster. Beulah's found some driftwood. She clubbed me, then Ellen, knocking us both out. She didn't care about us, only her thick hide. Thank goodness we had life jackets on (praise be that the stolen boat had stolen life jackets). I re-gained consciousness as I was shaken by my daughter. We had been floating for 45 minutes. In all of that time, Beulah had been getting up on the capsized boat, only to be rebuffed due to her weight. She tried and tried, but couldn't escape the water. I took Ellen's hand and turned her 180 degrees. While we had been out, we had drifted within 1 mile of that uninhabited small atoll. As we struggled to cover the distance, we came upon one of those odd rock outcroppings that had given our Marines in World War Two such problems when trying to 'hit the beaches'. Standing on the rock hard lava flow, the waves making it tenuous, we heard a shout. Turning to the open sea where Beulah and her treasured capsized-boat had drifted, we saw the unmistakable small shark fins circling. Not nearly as impressive or scary as the great white, the blue sharks were the ones that did such a thorough job on the ship-wrecked crew of the USS Indianapolis. Beulah had only herself to blame for this, but we still watched in horror. When she went down for the last time, I grabbed Ellen and literally threw her towards the island atoll. We had to get there before the blues found us too.

We somehow reached that atoll. Ellen collapsed, still with half her body in the surf. I picked her up out of harm's way and gently laid her on a bed of foliage. I fell into an exhausted sleep right next to her.

When I awoke, Ellen told me I wouldn't believe it. She said: "I've seen the Blue Lagoon and Gilligan's Island, but this is different. First, in spite of the despicable thing she did to me...to us...we had to watch those sharks have a nice meal out of Beulah. Now, this!" She pointed one of those crude Japanese pistols from World War II at me.

Angrily, I grabbed it from her. "Never point a gun at someone! God, this thing is still loaded, too! Where did you find this stuff?"

Ellen padded up the beach on her demure little feet, her flip flops about a mile out and a mile deep. We got to a crest in the hill and we saw an old Japanese outpost. As a World War II history buff, it was like a dream come true. This place had all we needed to survive: rain barrels for water, casting nets for catching nearby sea life, one pistol and two rifles, all with spare magazines. I amused myself seeing my daughter and I slugging it out with some of those pirates, empty ejected shells flying.

Ellen said: "What is all this? Daddy, I'm frightened, what is to become of us?" She came up to me for a re-assuring hug; I gave her one.

I said: "This must have been an outer perimeter defense post for the Japanese during World War II. We're lucky, because collecting rain and catching fish are absolutely necessary, and an empty island would have had no help for that. Now if it rains at all, and if seafood come to these shores, especially at dusk, then we will be fine. I'm still hoping that Philippine Navy ship reported us in the water, though they could just as easily have thought us pirates who deserved to drown."

We were so lucky to have shelter, as well as those casting nets. As the sun set, I told Ellen to walk the east beach, I would walk the west. We would find inlets where sea creatures snuck in near shore at night. Sure enough, this mini-lagoon had rock shrimp, Pacific lobsters, scallops, and even a big grouper. I was lucky enough to find an officer's saber half buried behind the shed. That grouper became our biggest meal ever on the island. Ellen never cooked seafood before, but she learned as she went.

We put these huge jungle leaves on top of the otherwise moldy cots for bedding. We even found yards and yards of cloth, intended for camouflage from the air, but now to become our clothes.

We settled down to a life of seafood, warm ocean breezes, swimming, sleeping, and talking about home. If this were strictly a vacation, it would be idyllic. However, we knew another type of life and felt understandably displaced and abandoned.

One night I heard Ellen sobbing in her bunk. Wearing the material we found, in what you might call a toga, I went and sat on her cot. She wore the exact same type of crude frock. She said: "Daddy, I just turned 18 the other day. Am I now doomed to spend the rest of my life imprisoned on this island with only my old man?" She immediately regretted those words. "Daddy, I apologize, it's just that so much has happened so fast and..."

I smiled: "Honey, it's okay. We will be found any day now. We just have to have signal fires every night and hope to God that the good guys find us first. You told me we've had nothing but bad luck so far. Well, we found this outpost which will allow us to get by at least. That 'Rolex Mariner' that the pirates fought over before they executed us saved us when the navy appeared. That 'Rolex' only cost me $20 in Times Square...I wouldn't think anyone would want a 'Rolix Marnier' as they spelled it on the watch. And, not to be cold hearted, but if we return to the main land, we finally have free use of the trust fund. We don't have to go thru the torture that Beulah put us through. Most importantly, we still have each other. When Beulah knocked me out and attacked you, we could easily have been goners. Now your step-mom, sadly, is gone, and we are free. Come celebrate that at least with your dad."

To my joy, Ellen did. We hugged. I straightened her formerly brown now sun-bleached blonde hair, looked into her doleful blue eyes, and kissed her ever so lightly. I pulled back, shocked that I had done that.

Ellen sensed my concern; to re-assure me, she now kissed me, only much more solidly. Slowly, we hugged. She asked if we could please sleep in the same bunk in the future; she would feel so much more secure.

I looked at my petite princess. Any man in the world would leap at that invitation. Father or no, I couldn't resist either, and it was an appointment.

The day went like any other day. Drift netting a lobster, a little ray that we kept for bait, some scallops, and a bright yellow fish. The fish was really bitter, but we choked it down. We got pretty good at that. We had our usual re-creation of TV over the campfire, where I would regale Ellen with my recollection of TV series shows, with all of the Star Trek, Simpsons and South Park shows on re-call. Okay, most of the dialogue was imaginary, but she loved it, resting her soft, flowing hair on my shoulder. I would gently stroke her hair, massage her shoulders, and hug her to me.

This night was different. The moon was full, looming large over the lagoon, the bright reflection almost blinding as it filled up the eye in moonlight. Instead of rousing Ellen, prompting her to get up and go back to the hut, I chose to pick her up. Carrying my baby like Faye Wray was carried by King Kong, I brought that lithe, gorgeous, warm, loving companion to our communal hut and our common bed. Laying her down, she was obviously drowsy so I carefully let her be. I quietly lay down beside her and joined her in rest.

Minutes later, Ellen rose out of bed, asking groggily how she got in bed.

I said that I had carried her. For some reason, that touched her heart.

Ellen: "Daddy, we have to make some decisions, and maybe tonight is a good time to do it. We might be discovered tomorrow, but we might be as abandoned as those lonely Japanese soldiers that stayed at their posts for 40 years. You know, the ones you told me that old news story about. What we have to decide is, are we father and daughter, or, if we are to stay here forever, should we become, like umm, man and wife?"

This should not have surprised me, but it did. It shouldn't have thrilled me, as a father, but it did. I just kissed her lips. I held her beautiful sun-tanned face in my hands, saying: "Darling, whichever you choose will be fine with me and will be the right choice. I am proud to be your father, but I would be absolutely ecstatic if we decided to go further than that. I love you so much as it is, sweetheart, that the small leap from daughter to wife would be absolutely invisible." I brushed her cheek with my hand.