Naked and Unafraid: Part 3.
Smoke on the Ridge.
Based on a post by inestimable. Listen to the ►Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Smoke on the Ridge
On the seventh day, we explored inland.
Bridget had been pushing for it since day three. "We don't know how big this place is," she said, crouched by the fire and sharpening a stick with her penknife. "We don't know if there's better shelter. More food. Higher ground for a signal fire."
Brooke sat across from her, braiding long strands of dried grass. "We also don't know if there are cliffs, snakes, pits, poisonous plants, angry birds;"
"Angry birds?" I said.
She pointed at me. "Don't start."
In the end, we compromised. We would go inland after breakfast, stay together, leave markers, and return to the beach well before dark. Bridget used strips of blue fabric from Madison's suitcase and tied them to branches as we went. Brooke carried water in a small, undamaged jug we had scavenged. The forest was thicker than it looked from the beach. Vines caught at our ankles. Leaves slapped our faces. Insects saw us as breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The air smelled like the mulch my next door neighbors put around their bushes every April.
After about an hour, we found the ridge. It rose behind the trees, not too steep at first, then sharply near the top. Rock pushed through the soil in places. Roots made natural handholds. From below it looked climbable, especially for an expert like Bridget. Perhaps not so much for me and Brooke.
"No," Brooke said.
Bridget looked at her. "You don't even know what I'm going to say."
"You're going to say we should climb up that very steep, very scary cliff."
"Oh, come on. It's not a cliff. It's a hill. And we need that kind of height to get a perspective of the whole island."
Brooke looked up the ridge. "Your wrist is still swollen. If you slip;"
"I can do it."
"It's a risk. We can't afford to take risks. If one us gets seriously hurt, that's really, really bad."
I voiced my approval of Brooke's concern. Bridget might have been an expert climber but she was not 100% and that ridge looked daunting. Still, she made a valid point about our needing a better perspective of where we were.
I watched Bridget wrestle with the options. "We go partway and make a decision then," she decided. "We go carefully. If it gets bad, we stop."
Brooke sighed. "I hate reasonable compromises."
We climbed. Our progress was slow, painful, and undignified. Bridget led because she knew rocks and how to ascend them. Brooke followed. I came last, partly to catch anyone if they slipped and partly because if someone was going to fall, it was probably me.
Halfway up, Brooke's foot slipped on loose dirt. She gasped and grabbed for a root. Bridget turned instantly, catching her wrist with her good hand.
"Got you," Bridget said.
Brooke regained her footing and let out a deep breath. "I'm okay," she said.
We kept climbing. Finally, at the top, the island opened below us. It was about the size I expected based on our ground observations; maybe a few miles long, curved like a comma, with our beach on one side and nasty, jagged rocks on the other. The forest covered most of the interior. Beyond our little oasis of land was the vast ocean; a seemingly endless span of blue that was equal parts beautiful and terrifying. There were no boats or other islands that we could see. There was no plane wreckage except a faint scatter far along the reef to the west. It was confirmation of what we had sensed all along: we were alone.
"At least we know," I said.
"Yes. But let's not dwell on the negatives. We have water, food, and shelter. And it's way too early to give up on a rescue. We can make a better signal fire up here than down on the beach," said Bridget. The words were upbeat but the tone wasn't. She sounded like she was about to cry.
"So what now?" asked Brooke.
Bridget didn't have an answer. She stood there for a quiet moment then turned and walked over to the edge, where she stopped and stared out to the sea. We waited for at least five or ten minutes for her to come back but she just stood there, her back to us. I noticed then that her shoulders had started to shake.
"Come with me," I said to Brooke and we walked over to Bridget together.
She didn't turn when she heard our approach. "I'm fine," she lied.
Brooke gave a little snort. "You are not, and that's okay."
"I'm supposed to know what to do," Bridget said, despair in her voice. She turned to look at me, her cheeks wet and a haunted expression in her eyes.
"No," I said firmly, "There are three of us here. No leaders or followers."
I put my arm around her first, then Brooke joined us. The three of us stood at the top of the ridge, holding each other. Bridget cried against my shoulder. Brooke pressed her face into Bridget's hair.
After that, the ridge became our "call for rescue" platform. We built a signal pile there over the next few days, carrying dry wood up in little bundles and arranging things so a bonfire could be ignited in short order. We arranged green leaves nearby to make smoke if we ever saw a plane. Brooke suggested spelling SOS on the ridge with pale stones.
Survival changed our bodies. We got thinner and stronger. Scratches blossomed everywhere. The sun bronzed our skin unevenly and my new beard was so scratchy that I longed for a razor. Bridget's shoulders got leaner and Brooke's hands grew callused from carrying wood and prying shellfish.
It changed how we saw each other too.
The thing between Bridget and Brooke grew more visible first, maybe because it had been buried under hatred for so long that once it emerged, the affection was so unexpected. It started with small touches; a hand on the back while climbing, fingers brushing when passing the knife, Brooke tucking a wet strand of hair behind Bridget's ear because Bridget's hands were full of crab traps; but each contact was like a step on a path to greater intimacy.
That night they sat side by side again, not quite touching. I watched but didn't quite know how to feel about it. I pretended to adjust the firewood and tried not to stare. Meanwhile, Brooke and I had our own road to travel.
One afternoon, Bridget went inland to check the vine markers and I stayed with Brooke on the beach to repair the crab traps, which needed constant attention. It was an especially hot and humid day and the sun was high in sky of unbroken blue. We sat inside the ever-evolving shelter, legs stretched out on the sand, braiding vines into rope.
Brooke was having trouble and after about the fourth failed try, she made an annoyed noise and handed me the vines, but instead of letting go right away, she kept her fingers around them. Our hands touched. The moment was electric, at least for me. I can't say why, though; why this moment was suddenly different; but it was. I could tell she knew it too.
"You okay?" I asked.
She smiled faintly. "You ask that a lot."
"Yeah, I know. But given our history;"
She lowered her eyes. "Sometimes I'm not sure how to act around you."
"That makes two of us."
"No, I mean;" She pulled the vines from my fingers and set them aside. "I know how I used to be. With boys. With everyone, kind of. I knew how to be wanted, how to make people want me. I was good at that. I used that; skill; on you. I knew what I was doing." She paused, but I didn't interrupt. Then she plowed ahead. "I don't want to do that with you anymore, but I still want you to want me. Only for a different reason."
"It's not like it was. You're not the hot girl from high school finally noticing me. Yeah, I'm still insanely attracted to you but now I see you as a person. You're beautiful; I'd have to be dead not to notice; but it's so different with all the meanness gone."
She laughed softly, wiping one eye with the heel of her hand, then leaned closer. "Can I kiss you?" she asked.
I was stunned by the request. I wanted to. God, I wanted to, but just as I was about to lean in, I thought of Bridget. Brooke sensed my hesitation.
"We don't have to."
"I want to."
"But?"
"But I don't want to hurt Bridget."
Brooke sat back a little. "Neither do I," she said.
When Bridget came back, sweaty and scratched and carrying three fruits she thought might be worth testing for toxicity, Brooke and I were sitting six inches apart but not touching.
Bridget looked between us. "Did I miss something?" I couldn't decide if she was annoyed or amused.
I said, "Almost. Brooke asked if she could kiss me. But we didn't."
Bridget's expression was inscrutable. "Did you want to?" she finally asked me.
"What do you think?" I couldn't believe she had asked.
She looked at Brooke. "Why? Why did you want to kiss him? Why now?"
"Because he sees me for who I am now, and that gives me a feeling I've never felt before with any guy."
Bridget set the fruit down and pressed both hands to her face. "I don't want this to become about Ben in the middle," she said. "And I don't want to compete with you."
"You'd win," Brooke said.
Smiling sadly, Bridget started to shake her head.
Brooke interrupted. "You would. If this were a contest, you'd win. Because he loves you as much as you love him."
Both women looked at me. In high school, Brooke had been my white whale, but Bridget had always been there, our closeness masking deeper feelings. Once I recognized the truth, I had to admit it. "Yes," I said.
Bridget blinked her eyes in disbelief. Hope and fear chased each other across her face. "Yes what?" she whispered.
"Yes, I love you."
Bridget stared for a moment then tears started to pool in her eyes. It took a lot to make her cry and she hated to do it in front of other people, but she was doing it now, showing vulnerability not only to me but to Brooke. "Oh, you jerk," she said. "You absolute jerk."
She crossed the space between us and hit my chest with both hands. Not hard. Then she grabbed my shirt and pulled herself into me. I held her.
For a second, Brooke stood apart, her face a mask of indecision, as if proud that her words had instigated this but sad that she had put herself on the outside, looking in. She turned to leave, to give us some space. But Bridget wouldn't allow it.
"Don't go," she said to Brooke. "Like it or not, you're part of this too." Bridget reached for her, and she came.
It was awkward. All three of us trying to figure out arms and balance and how a three-way hug was supposed to work. I felt Brooke's hand press against my back, hesitant at first. Then firmer. And Bridget was warm against my body, feeling oh-so-right. We did nothing sexual or even really romantic, but that moment proved to be a major turning point in how we related to one another. It leached away the last vestiges of jealousy and replaced them with something warmer.
That afternoon, Bridget asked Brooke to walk with her to the stream. I stayed by the fire and did all the useful things that needed to be done: added another layer of fronds to the shelter's roof, sorted through our wood stock, built up the fire, and made a crab stew for dinner.
They were gone long enough that I was starting to get worried. When they came back, the change in the dynamic between them was obvious. It went way beyond a mere thaw. After eating, we sat around the fire but, instead of me being between them, they now sat close together, almost like lovers.
Later, when Brooke took the crab shells far from camp to dissuade any scavengers, Bridget sat next to me. I waited patiently for her to talk because I sensed there was something she wanted to say. Needed to say, even.
"I kissed her," she said finally. After a pause, she added. "On the lips."
"How did it feel?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral. I knew this was a big deal for her and I didn't want to make it about me or my confused feelings.
"Good," she said. "Terrifying. But good."
"I'm glad," I said.
Bridget studied me. "Do you mean that?"
"Yeah." Did I mean it? Yes, but that was only half the story, because I wanted to kiss Brooke too. And Bridget. So I was happy for her but maybe feeling a little left out.
She leaned her head against my shoulder. For a while we watched Brooke by the waterline, washing the plate in the last light. She moved differently now, no longer a diva or would-be Instagram model. She was just a survivor like us, with needs and wants that had been re-calibrated by our shared nightmare.
"She started by kissing me," Bridget admitted. "But I didn't mind, and that surprised me. So I kissed her back."
After that, more barriers were lowered. Touching became more purposeful and sometimes teasing. At night, we slept closer. The first time Brooke curled against my side, she asked with her eyes more than words. I nodded. Bridget was already tucked against my other shoulder, watching.
"Okay?" Brooke whispered to her.
Bridget nodded. Then, after a pause, Bridget reached over me and touched Brooke's hand. Brooke closed her eyes.
On day ten, rain trapped us inside the shelter for almost the entire day. It was much better than our first shelter, but still no better than serviceable. Given time, I was certain we could improve it. It had a sloped roof of palm fronds, the airplane-bin panel on one side, and a raised floor of branches and leaves that reduced our contact with mud.
Rain hammered the roof. Water dripped in three places. The fire was covered but low, sending smoke sideways into our faces whenever the wind shifted. We sat knee to knee inside, damp and bored.
Brooke started humming first.
Bridget looked at her. "What is that?"
"A song."
"I know what humming is."
"Then why did you ask?"
"Because it's terrible."
Brooke gasped. "It's Fleetwood Mac."
Bridget said, "Whatever you think it is, it most definitely is not Fleetwood Mac."
Brooke started singing louder, badly on purpose. I joined because I happened to love Rumours. We sang until we forgot everything for a little while. Then, almost on cue with the song's lyric, thunder exploded overhead and Brooke jumped so hard she grabbed my arm.
The old Brooke would have laughed it off. This Brooke whispered, "I hate storms now."
Bridget moved closer immediately. "Me too."
The rain got harder, its intensity pressing us together; all of us damp and warm. Brooke leaned into me, her forehead against my neck. Bridget rested against my other side, her arm crossing in front of me so her hand could stay on Brooke's. It wasn't sexual at first, then it was.
Brooke lifted her head. This time she didn't ask; she knew I wouldn't refuse. And when she kissed me for the first time, Bridget was there. Surprisingly, Brooke's mouth was unsure at first. I had imagined Brooke would kiss like she had done everything in high school, with unselfconscious confidence. But she kissed like someone who was doing it for the first time. I kissed her back, slowly. I knew how to kiss; college had imparted some experience in that department, and I eventually took the lead. That's when I understood; Brooke knew how to kiss for show but not when it meant something.
When we parted, Brooke looked at Bridget immediately. Bridget was breathing shallowly, her eyes fixed on Brooke's mouth. Something wordless passed between them and they shifted positions to come together. Their kiss was different from the one Brooke and I had shared; more fragile and charged, but with a newfound familiarity.
And then, of course, the moment arrived. After she disengaged from Brooke, Bridget wrapped her arms around my shoulders and kissed me like she was angry at all the years we lost. At some point Bridget pulled back, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes shining.
"I'm overwhelmed," I said, and I think everyone agreed.
That night, after the rain, the air had that freshly-scrubbed smell, seasoned with a tang of salt. We sat by the revived fire, quiet in the way people are after something big has happened.
That's when Brooke suggested a further dismantling of increasingly unstable barriers. "I think we should all get naked." She kept talking, increasingly animated as she warmed to the subject. "We've been here long enough. These damn clothes are always damp and dirty. As for our bodies; Ben, you've seen me. You've seen Bridget. Bridget and I have seen plenty of each other. What's missing from the equation here? I want to see your cock. I'm not saying we have to do anything. Just look."
Bridget blinked. "Sounds fine to me. Anything to stop wearing a top."
"I'm in," I said. I didn't need Brooke's arguments to get to that point.
Bridget shot me a look. "Finally."
Brooke stood up first. It was clear she intended to push this forward, and she knew we would follow. How could we not? She pulled off her shirt without much ceremony. Her tits came free, nipples already hard from the night air. She pushed her shorts and underwear down and just stood there, bare, waiting.
Bridget went more slowly, taking her time removing her tank top, then her shorts, and finally her underwear. I marveled again at her nude form, which almost looked sculpted in its athletic perfection. She threw her arms wide, flashed a smile, then trilled, "Ta-da!"
Then it was my turn. There were no nerves. Even though it was technically true that I had never been fully naked in front of them, they had glimpsed plenty. With a shrug, I stood, yanked my shirt off, dropped my shorts, then pushed my boxers down. My cock was already half-hard and getting harder fast. It was a natural reaction to the circumstances with no way to hide it. I just stood there and let them look.
Brooke whistled. "Damn." Bridget was quick to echo the sentiment.
Meanwhile, I couldn't stop staring at them. My eyes drank in all the details, re-inventorying what I had glimpsed at the pool. Bridget sat down cross-legged, totally relaxed. Brooke joined her, knees up but not covering anything. I occupied the space they left between them. Brooke reached over and put her hand on my thigh while Bridget mirrored her on the other side. My cock was fully hard now, standing up, and they were both looking at it.
Brooke's thumb rubbed once on my leg, then stopped. I don't know if she noticed the drop of precum that appeared. I certainly did. "We don't have to go further than this. Not tonight," she said. The promise of "Not tonight" arrested my attention.
Bridget's hand stayed where it was. She looked at me, then at Brooke. "I know where this is going, and I'm okay with that. But I think this is enough for right now."
I nodded. My cock, however, violently disagreed. But it didn't get a vote; at least not yet.
For the first time, we lay together naked for the night. After both of them had dozed off, arousal kept sleep at bay for me. I crept a short distance away from the fire and wrapped my hand around my still-hard cock. It didn't take long; maybe five or six strokes; to find the relief I needed. Then I returned to the shelter to find Brooke's eyes open. She smiled and gave me a wink.
The next morning while on an exploratory walk, we found footprints. They were near the far end of the beach, a few miles beyond our camp, next to the black rocks where the tide left a long stretch of wet sand. Bridget saw them first and dropped the bundle of wood she was carrying.
"Ben!" I followed her gaze: bare footprints. A line of them, leading toward the rocks, half-erased by water.
Brooke came up behind us. "Oh my God."
We followed the tracks along the sand until they ended at the rocks. It was hard to determine much about them since the water had blurred the details. They must have been recent, no older than the last high tide.
"So someone is here?" Brooke asked.
"Someone was here. Now we have to figure out if they're still here," said Bridget.
We spent the next several hours searching that whole side of the island and found nothing: no camp, no scraps, no voices, no other signs of life. By afternoon, the surge of optimism had faded, leaving a deepening sense of loss in its wake. There was nothing worse than having hope snatched away.
"They were there," Brooke insisted as we climbed back over the rocks, heading toward our camp. By now, the tide had washed away the footprints, making us question what we had seen.
"Yeah, they were. But they're gone," I said. "I guess someone came here and left. Like, in a small boat that we didn't see come in. Not for a rescue but just because people come here sometimes. There could be other islands in the area that we just can't see."
Bridget nodded slowly. I could see she thought that made sense. Brooke's face brightened. "Then they'll probably come back."
That afternoon, we made sure everything was in place to quickly light a signal fire. We carried leaves, dry branches, driftwood, anything that would smoke. Then, near sunset, Brooke slipped on the way down. Her foot went out from under her on loose dirt. She fell sideways, grabbed a branch, missed, and hit her shoulder against a rock. She let out a scream of pain.
Bridget was by her side in seconds, examining her shoulder with practiced hands.
"I'm okay." The tightness in Brooke's voice belied her words. She tried to sit up, but needed help.
Bridget probed some more before issuing her verdict. "Not broken. Maybe sprained. Definitely bruised."
"Fantastic."
"We need to get her down," I said.
Brooke closed her eyes. "I can walk."
"I know," Bridget said. "But let us help anyway."
Working together, we got her back to our beach camp; Bridget on one side, me on the other. We settled her near the fire. Bridget cleaned the scrape on Brooke's shoulder, which was already a deep purple. I warmed water in a shell and handed it over. Brooke took it with her good hand.
"You two are hovering," she said.
"Yes," Bridget agreed.
"It's unattractive."
"No," I said, "it's deeply charming." That earned me a faint smile.
The next few days were gentler because they had to be. Brooke was one-armed. Bridget's wrist flared from overwork. My shoulder still complained whenever I tried to do too much, which was often. We stayed near camp, repaired things, rested, and talked.
Brooke told us about her first year of college; how she'd tried to become high school Brooke again and failed. People saw through her faster there and weren't interested in playing her games. She'd dated a guy because he was popular and a girl because she was cute and then hurt both of them in different ways because she didn't know better. She started to dislike sex because she found it emotionally unfulfilling and physically demanding.
Bridget told us about being in love with me and how that made it too hard to commit to any kind of relationship. She said that when she lost her virginity, it had been an attempt to dispel my influence on her. The first couple of times she slept with a guy, she thought it had worked. The orgasms helped. But by the third time, she started imagining it was me, and when he was eating her out, she saw my face between her legs, not his. Bridget confessed all of this in a low voice, her deeply tanned face turning red from embarrassment, but she felt it was something she needed to share.
When it was my turn, I told them things they already knew; how much I had depended on Bridget's friendship and how besotted I had been with the one girl in high school who had treated me worse than dirt. But I also made it clear that I depended on Bridget now more than ever and I no longer held a grudge against Brooke for all the mean things she had said and done.
On day fourteen, two weeks since the crash, we went back to the ridge at dawn. Brooke's shoulder was better. Bridget said we needed to check things from the high perspective. I think all of us needed to be reminded that the hope for rescue wasn't gone.
The morning was clear. The ocean stretched every direction, a black slate against the blue sky, broken by occasional whitecaps. I walked to the edge of the ridge and looked west, where the reef broke against the rocky portion of the shoreline. At first I thought it was a bird. Then it flashed again; something sleek and white and moving in a straight line. My heart skipped a beat.
"Boat," I said, my voice hoarse with excitement. Neither of them heard. "Boat!" I shouted.
Bridget's head snapped up and Brooke staggered to her feet, their eyes following my pointing finger. Far out on the horizon, almost too far to trust, something was moving. It was a small white shape that could have been a boat or a trick of the light, the ocean's version of a mirage.
We moved fast to ignite a small, lazy fire. Bridget and I piled leaves and driftwood. Brooke tore green branches from a nearby shrub and dragged them over with one arm. Smoke rose, thin at first, then thicker; gray-white against the sky.
Brooke stood at the edge waving a torn blue shirt over her head. "Here!" she screamed, her voice cracking. I ran to stand beside her, waving both arms. Bridget fed the fire as the smoke poured upward.
But the white shape kept moving, its course taking it away from us until it vanished. For a minute, two, five, I had believed. But, as with the footprints, that hope was brutally and effectively crushed. Maybe there was a larger picture that should have made me optimistic. In that moment, all I felt was the brutal reality of still being lost and trapped.
Brooke kept waving.
"Brooke," Bridget said.
She didn't stop.
"Brooke."
"No," Brooke said.
I reached for her arm. She jerked away.
"No!" Her scream echoed from on high.
Brooke dropped the shirt and sank to her knees. Bridget went to her.
Brooke covered her face. "I can't do this."
"Yes, you can," I said. "Because you have us and we have you." I held out my hand and she took it.
Before the World Came Back.
For three days after the smoke signal failed, it was like we were in a fog. We did all our chores but without enthusiasm. We hardly spoke to one another. The growing intimacy stalled. Bridget did things that didn't need doing, just to keep busy. Brooke became moody and stand-offish. And I became obsessed with looking for boats or planes. I climbed to the top of the ridge multiple times each day and strained my eyes in the bright sunlight until they started to water. But there was nothing. We all worried that we had somehow missed a chance that might not come again.
On the eighteenth morning, a weary Bridget decided to take a long nap. She woke up, ate, threw some wood on the fire, then curled up in a fetal position and surrendered to sleep. For most people, that wouldn't have been a big deal. For Bridget, a Type A person who thrived on constant activity, it was an extraordinary concession to the exhaustion that had been building. She had worked harder and done more than either Brooke or me, and had borne the weight of being our assumed leader. And now she just needed a break. We were more than happy to enable her day off.
Brooke and I kept watch over her, but there was no danger. The beach was bright and still. Waves rolled in. Birds sang in the trees. Brooke sat beside me just outside the shelter, topless and barefoot, watching Bridget sleep.
"She looks vulnerable when she sleeps. Her face relaxes," Brooke said.
"She'd hate that."
"I know."
"She hates being protected."
Brooke's mouth twitched. "I know that too. She's the protector."
She was quiet for a little while, then said, "I used to think loving someone meant having power over them."
"That sounds fucked up."
"It was." She laughed without humor. "But I didn't know it. Now I think loving someone means giving them power and hoping they don't misuse it."
Time continued to pass and we gradually got back to where we had been before the Great Disappointment. Day nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Three weeks. We kept track by cutting lines into the inside wall of the shelter with Bridget's penknife.
We improved the shelter again. Brooke turned out to have architectural talents, at least insofar as tropical shelters were concerned. She insisted that we create "rooms," which seemed pointless because the shelter was one crooked space with a sagging roof. But we soon had a pantry for storage and a kitchen of sorts to separate the food prep area from where we slept.
Brooke started joining Bridget for morning water runs, while I stayed behind and scavenged the beach for anything that looked useful (infrequent) or interesting (common). They would come back sweaty, winded, and smiling. Then one morning, those smiles were somehow more secretive. Although Brooke avoided my eyes through breakfast, Bridget didn't. She looked at me like she was daring me to ask.
So I did. "Orgasmic run?"
Brooke choked on the crab she was eating. Bridget closed her eyes, as if praying for patience. "Ben."
"What? Doesn't running release endorphins? Or is it dopamine? I've forgotten."
Brooke coughed, half-laughing. "You are the worst."
"I'm trying to be supportive."
"Is that what you call it?" asked Bridget, ending the conversation.
Later, when Brooke went to check the drying line, Bridget sat beside me by the fire pit. She knew I was dying to know whether my suspicions were correct about the nature of the morning's exercises.
"We kissed," she said.
"Considering how sweaty you two were, it must have been some kiss."
She jostled my shoulder. "And a little more."
"How much is 'a little more'?"
She paused, then opted for total honesty. "We fingered each other. Both of us came."
I'll admit to being surprised, although more by the bluntness of her pronouncement than the actuality of it having happened. Given the emotional path we had been traversing, there was an inevitability to it. But after the initial shock came a wave of disappointment that I'd missed it; missed watching them, missed hearing the sounds they made. My cock twitched at the mental image and I hated how obvious it probably was.
"That would explain things," I said, trying to sound offhand, like it was no big deal. "How was it?"
Bridget's expression became distant. "Different. Good different. The orgasm totally took me by surprise. I didn't intend to have one; it snuck up on me."
"And Brooke?"
"After she made me come, she wanted me to try. I had a vague idea what I was doing but she was so turned on that it made things easy."
"I'm glad you two had a moment."
She studied me. "Are you?"
I sighed. "I'm happy for you and her. That you've reached this point. But part of me is scared you two are figuring out you don't need me. And of course I'm pissed I didn't get to watch."
Bridget stared at me for a second, then laughed. "Ben!"
"What?"
"You're in the center of everything I want. That hasn't changed. And Brooke;" She glanced toward the drying line. "She's terrified she's the extra one here. Not you."
Bridget leaned in and kissed my cheek. "You're not going anywhere. Neither is she."
That afternoon I went with Brooke to collect shellfish for a soup she was going to make. As we left, Bridget gave me a smile and the slightest of nods. Was that permission?
The rocks were slick from rain. Brooke's hair was tied up with one of Bridget's bands. Madison's shorts were fraying and her shirt kept slipping off one shoulder. Her tits often flashed into view; it was almost sexier than if she had gone topless. But Brooke no longer cared if I saw her naked. In fact, I think she enjoyed it. Bridget was a little more conservative; she still mostly covered up; but she didn't go out of her way to keep her body hidden and I got more than my share of peeks.
We worked in silence collecting crustaceans and mollusks until she said, "You know, don't you? She told you. She said she was going to."
I asked her the same thing I had asked Bridget. "How was it?"
She giggled. "Nosy."
"She didn't give details. Well, not many. So I'm understandably curious."
"Contrary to my reputation, I don't kiss and tell. But I'll say that she made me come harder than any man ever has."
A crab scuttled past. Neither of us chased it.
"Can I kiss you now?" I asked.
She didn't answer verbally but simply moved a little closer and tilted her head. The kiss began gently, her lips soft against mine; but hunger took over. Her hands cupped my face and raked through my hair. My fingers danced down her sides, slipped under her shirt, and slid over her warm stomach then up to her tits. She made a low sound against my mouth as I walked her backward toward a flat rock. I kissed her deeper, our tongues tangling, while my hand pushed into her shorts. The hair there was soft and a little wild after weeks without shaving. When my fingers parted her, she was soaked. I found her clit and rubbed in slow circles, and her hips jerked against me right away. Her breathing got shaky. Then her hand was on my cock through my jeans, squeezing and stroking like she was trying to keep up with me.
Part of me kept saying slow down, but I couldn't. I'd been wound tightly since the crash, and the only relief I'd had was that lame jerk-off session after we had stripped for each other. And this wasn't just some girl. Looking at Brooke's face; flushed with eyes half-closed and lips bruised from the intensity of our kissing; I felt something I wasn't ready for. In high school she'd been this cold, untouchable bitch I hated. Now she was shaking in my arms.
I slid two fingers into her, curling them the way she seemed to like, thumb still on her clit. Her thighs started trembling. She let out a half-growl, half-moan, her back arching as she came hard; clenching around my fingers, hips twitching, getting even wetter. I kept touching her until she couldn't take anymore.
After she came down from her climax, she was quick to return the favor. She dropped to her knees on the damp rock, yanked my shorts down, and took me in her mouth. She sucked hard and fast, one hand working the base, the other braced on my thigh. I didn't last; a minute, maybe less. I groaned and came, emptying myself into her mouth. She swallowed it all, then looked up at me, lips wet and eyes bright and shining.
We stayed there catching our breath. I pulled her up and kissed her again, slower this time, tasting myself on her tongue.
"Okay?" I asked.
She laughed softly. "Very okay."
When we got back to camp, Bridget looked at us once and knew. But then she had known when we left. I suspected that she and Brooke had already discussed it, perhaps even planned it. What happened on the rocks had been her gift to me; to Brooke and me. It was her way of maintaining balance. With a big smile, she gave us the thumbs-up sign.
We laughed for a good minute until our sides hurt. Then Bridget took Brooke's face in both hands and kissed her. Once they were done, she turned to me, grabbed my shirt, and kissed me too. That night resulted in a frank discussion about the new sexual component to our relationship. At Bridget's request, Brooke gave her a detailed description of exactly what the two of us had done. Bridget seemed surprised that it hadn't gone further than fingering and a blowjob.
"You two didn't fuck?" she asked.
Brooke and I shook our heads at the same time. "It didn't seem necessary," I supplied. "We both came. Same as you and her."
"Just as well, cause I kind of want to be there when it happens. But the most important thing is that no one does anything behind anyone else's back. Openness is important. And anyone can refuse or opt out at any time. Agreed?"
We both nodded.
I said, "I love you both. I want you both. And I intend to fuck you both." I personally thought it was a nice little speech. Succinct and to the point.
"Ground rules?" asked Brooke.
"Well, there are some practicalities to consider. Chief among them is pregnancy. Since we weren't lucky enough to find any condoms, we're without birth control. So, Ben, you're going to have to pull out. This is non-negotiable. I know it's not 100% foolproof but there are various levels of risk and your coming inside us is way too big of one."
I wholeheartedly agreed. Being a father at twenty wasn't an aspiration. Being a father at twenty while stranded on this island would be a disaster even if the entire pregnancy and birth went smoothly.
"We have to be honest about what turns us on and try to maintain a sense of balance." With a shrug, she added, "That's really all I've got."
Then it was time for a three-way kiss. It started with Brooke and Bridget. Next, Brooke turned to me and our lips touched. Then it was time for Bridget and me. When we were done, Bridget looked at Brooke, and Brooke looked at me, and I said, "I feel like we need a traffic system."
Brooke burst out laughing into my shoulder. Bridget groaned. "You ruin everything."
"I improve everything."
Brooke kissed me again, probably to shut me up. If that was the goal, it worked.
Things went further that night. Clothes came off and stayed off. We touched more, although not aggressively enough to trigger orgasms. Brooke traced the scar on Bridget's wrist from the crash. Bridget kissed the fading bruise on Brooke's collarbone. I pressed my mouth to Bridget's shoulder and she shivered. We laughed more than I expected, but there were quiet moments too. Eventually, as slumber came for us, Brooke lay on her side with her back to my chest. Bridget curled up behind me, her warm pussy against my ass. Brooke took my hand and placed it on her tit, allowing my fingers to play with the nipple. And that's how we fell asleep, tangled together on the sand, skin to skin.
I woke up hard. Brooke's hair was in my mouth and my cock was nestled in the crease between her ass. For a second I just lay there, not moving, taking it in. Brooke shifted in her sleep, rubbing against me. Then Bridget stirred against my back, her arm wrapping around my torso and her hand sliding down my front. She found my cock, pulled it out of where it was pillowed, and wrapped her fingers around it. One slow stroke. Then another. And another.
Brooke's eyes fluttered open, alerted by Bridget's touch. She looked at me, then at Bridget's hand stroking me, then back at my face. A sleepy smile crept across her lips. "Morning," she whispered.
"Morning," I replied, my voice a little uncertain, the desire for an orgasm overwhelming other thoughts.
Bridget's eyes opened next. She glanced down at what her hand was doing but, despite blushing cutely, she didn't stop. In fact, she sped up. The precum I started leaking provided lubrication. I knew this was a big deal for her. Probably as big as it had been for me with Brooke the night before. This was her making real something she'd only let herself imagine. And it felt incredible for me too. Getting touched like this by my best friend after all these years;
Brooke turned and kissed me, her tongue sliding against mine. Bridget kept working my cock, but was careful to keep me from going over the edge. She seemed fascinated by its shape and length and this resulted in more exploration of it with her thumb and fingers than I was accustomed to; something I found intensely arousing. I reached between Brooke's legs and found her already wet. Running two fingers along her slit, I teased her clit, not yet penetrating her. Meanwhile, Bridget shifted and started kissing my neck, then sucking on my nipple. This was a new experience for me; none of my previous girlfriends had used their lips on anything between my neck and my cock. Meanwhile, I kept rubbing Brooke, fingers now slippery, until I finally slid one inside her. She gasped and started humping my hand.
Bridget continued her oral journey down my body until she engulfed the head of my cock. After taking a moment to find her rhythm, she began applying gentle suction, tongue swirling. Brooke watched, breathing heavier while I fingered her more aggressively. We were all breathing heavily.
After a minute Brooke pulled Bridget up and gave her a long, deep kiss. Their lips met above me, giving me a front-row seat to the dancing of their tongues. My cock, momentarily deprived of the warmth of Bridget's mouth, jutted out obscenely. Still kissing Bridget, Brooke pushed me onto my back and swung a leg over my face. Her pussy hovered above me; warm, wet, with the soft blonde hair brushing my lips. I accepted the invitation and began licking with long, slow strokes. I felt Bridget's mouth return to work on my erection.
Brooke came first, grinding down hard on my face, thighs trembling. A "huh-huh-huh" sound escaped from between her lips as her juices flooded my mouth, tickling my taste buds with her tangy flavor. I kept licking until she finally lifted off, chest heaving. She rolled over to watch; she knew what was coming and wanted to be a witness.
Bridget disengaged her mouth and climbed on top. A mischievous smile played about her lips. Our eyes locked; in them I saw her love mixed with an intense, overpowering desire. She paused to let the moment sink in, then lined me up and sank down slowly. I let my hands move over her, exploring every inch of her body: neck, shoulders, tits, stomach, lower back, ass, thighs. I watched myself disappear inside her as she started riding me, slowly at first, her small tits moving with each roll of her hips. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Brooke moved off to the side behind her and reached around to rub Bridget's clit. That pushed her over the edge. Bridget exploded and cried out, pussy clamping around my cock. She kept moving until the trembling stopped.
Not yet approaching the point of no return, I rolled her onto her back, hooked her legs over my arms, and fucked her in that position, my ass in the air as I pistoned in and out of her. Brooke knelt beside us, alternating between kissing me on the lips and leaning down to suck on Bridget's nipple. Bridget came again, nails digging into my back, legs locked tight around me. When her orgasm was finished, she gently pushed me away, too sensitive to continue.
I pulled out and turned my attention to Brooke, who was ready and waiting. She was already on all fours, looking back over her shoulder at me. I pivoted from Bridget to her in one thrust. She was still soaked from her previous orgasm, facilitating easy access. I plunged into her as hard as I had Bridget, one hand reaching down between our bodies to rub her clit. She didn't last long, coming with a cute little yelp. I kept going for the short time it took for me to ramp up to my climax, then pulled out and spent myself across her lower back and ass.
Brooke was still breathing hard when Bridget crawled over to her. She toppled Brooke onto her back, spread her legs, and glanced at me to make sure I was watching. Then she lowered her head and started licking Brooke's pussy; slowly at first with long licks up her slit before picking up speed and focusing on her clit. This went on for a little while, Brooke increasingly losing whatever control she had. She was making unintelligible, animalistic sounds. Bridget then added two fingers into the mix and began corkscrewing them, making squelching noises as they moved in and out. Brooke groaned and grabbed a handful of Bridget's wildly messy hair.
I propped myself up on one elbow and allowed myself the luxury of just watching, stroking myself, getting hard again fast. Brooke turned her head in my direction but I'm not sure she really saw me. Bridget stayed focused, pursuing her goal with single-minded determination. She licked and sucked and curled her fingers until Brooke lost it. "Bridget; fuck; right there;" Then she wailed so loudly that it startled a nearby seagull into flight. Bridget kept going until Brooke laughed breathlessly and gently pushed her head away.
Bridget then sat up, smiled brightly, and looked at me. "Got another one in you?"
I didn't hesitate, moving to Bridget, giving her a sloppy kiss, then pushing her onto her back so I could slide back inside her. She was even wetter now, literally dripping onto the blanket that comprised the floor of our shelter. Our pace wasn't as fast or frantic as the first time; we derived a different kind of pleasure from this slower, more loving coupling. With our arousal levels sky-high, it didn't take long. She came again, and I followed right after, pulling out just in time. Then we all collapsed in a sweaty, sticky tangle, the three of us breathing hard and laughing quietly. We fell asleep like that and didn't wake up till past noon.
Bridget and I were already awake, just holding hands, when Brooke joined us with a yawn and a stretch. Looking at us, she pronounced, "So; that happened."
"Yeah," I said. My voice was hoarse. "It did." A part of me still couldn't believe it. My mental voice had to keep repeating: I fucked Brooke, I fucked Bridget.
Bridget reached over and traced a finger through dried cum on Brooke's skin. "We're doing that again, right?"
Brooke grinned. "Fuck yes."
I just lay there between them, cock already starting to twitch again at the thought, and knew we were never going back to the way things were before. I was more than okay with that.