My First Time

Visiting Nick's Island

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Visiting Nick's Island.
My best friend's teenage daughter wanted to go on
a boat ride. Things didn't go as planned.

Based on a post by Alaskan

Devil. Listen to the Podcast at My
First Time.



One of my favorite old-time TV shows is Gilligan's Island. Every

Saturday morning, I sit back in my Lay-Z-Boy recliner, sip on my
Bailey's and coffee, and watch the Bouncing Beauties Sitcom Power
Hour on my favorite YouTube channel, Classic Television Titties. The
channel is dedicated to classic TV shows with hot babes in skimpy
outfits, including two of the best-looking broads on the small
screen, Mary-Ann and Ginger.

Now for those of you that are too young to know about classic TV,

Gilligan's Island is about a group of idiots that get marooned on a
deserted Island. There's Gilligan, a mentally challenged man-boy
obviously on the spectrum. The Skipper, a grotesquely obese abuser
with a stupid hat. The Professor, an asexual nerdy science type. Mr.
Howell, a rich capitalist, presumably from Florida, and his annoying
wife Mrs. Howell (man, can I relate to annoying wives).

Lastly, there's Ginger and Mary-Ann. Ginger is a tall sexy redhead

actress with gravity defying dairy pillows, and Mary-Ann is a short
brunette girl-next-door type with two perky polo pumpkins who enjoys
making cream pies and baring her midriff.

There isn't a man alive who's seen the show and not bludgeoned the

beefsteak to one or both of these bodacious babes. I've definitely
spilled more seed thinking about Mary-Ann because she always seemed
like the biggest whore on the island, but I've pounded the pink pony
to Ginger a handful of times as well. Hell, I've even made the bald
man puke to Mrs. Howell once or twice, although I won't say I'm proud
of it.

One of my favorite pastimes is daydreaming about what it would be

like to be stranded on an island with one or two horny single women
with nothing to do other than drink from their coconuts and teach
them how to ride the bamboo golf cart.

It turns out that dreams sometimes come true.

It all started last June. My best friend from high school, Tony,

who lives in South Carolina, came to visit for a week. He was
accompanied by his wife, Penny and their nineteen-year-old daughter,
Lorna.

Penny and Tony are a bit more traditional than my wife, Margaret,

and I. Hell, I think they even go to church twice a week. Tony got
married pretty young and you could say his wife rules the roost.
While I maintained my dignity and my luscious full head of hair, Tony
sacrificed his manhood and lost most of his hair, probably because of
Penny's constant nagging and surly disposition.

Penny's fashion style is designed around destroying boners. I'm

surprised that Tony was able to keep his pocket mongoose hard for
long enough to deposit his seed in his wife's icy cooter cave, but
I'm not one to pry into a friend's personal business.

While Penny is no fan of my keen wit and often turns her nose up

when I make a funny, at least Tony somehow maintained his sense of
humor. I guess laughter is better than divorce when you have a kid.

Unfortunately, their daughter Lorna took after her mother. With a

perpetual scowl on her chubby face and baggy clothes, Lorna looks
like she's considering a career in virginity.

When they arrived at the house, we sat around the living room

catching up and watched the Miami Dolphins play the Dallas Cowboys.
At one point, the camera panned to one of the Dallas cheerleaders,
her pom poms shaking so hard it looked like they were about to spill
out all over the Astro-turf.

"Holy hell, Tony," I said, "Will you look at those

Julius Squeezers! Now there's a tight end I'd like to blitz!"

My wife punched me in the shoulder. Tony laughed but Penny looked

disgusted. Lorna lifted her head out of her phone for a split-second
with a stupid look on her face like she was trying to make sense out
of a Kanye West tweet.

When Tony and his family visit, I take them out fishing in my

boat. Tony and Penny enjoy fishing for some reason. Fishing for me is
all about drinking beer and checking out bikini-clad bombshells
hanging out in the marina, where I'm a bit of a legend for my charm
and good looks. Most men in their 40s are well past their prime but
it's obvious to all the lonely housewives that I'm just getting
started.

Our fishing trip was planned for Saturday morning. When I got home

from work on Friday, everyone was out of the house, so I took
advantage of the quiet to participate in a game of tug-of-war with
cyclops.

My jerkin' Jurgens was in the upstairs bathroom. When I went to

retrieve it, I noticed a phone sitting by the commode. Unsure whether
it was Margaret's or one of the guests, I picked it up, surprised
that it was already on and unlocked.

I figured the quickest way to find out who it belonged to was to

open the photos. Much to my surprise, the pictures were all of Lorna.
There was an album entitled, "Florida trip," so I opened
it.

The photos were taken from my upstairs guest bedroom. The first

few were of Lorna dressed in a tight-fitting tank top and black lacy
panties. The photos were shocking but not because they were
particularly racy. I was shocked because my best friend's frumpy
teenage daughter actually looked sexy.

Lorna's face was definitely hinting of chubby, but in a teenage

baby fat kind of way. She was average height but curvy, with thick
thighs and a plump ass that spilled out of her underwear. Lorna's big
brown eyes, long ash-blonde hair, and full lips were standard fare
for a teenager. Most surprising was her ridiculously massive milk
melons that seemed to defy the physical limitations of a cotton tank
top.

Fuck me in the ass, I thought to myself. If only I

could see Lorna's shirt potatoes after they're peeled!

A few swipes later, my dreams came true. In the photo, Lorna has

her top lifted above the biggest pair of pontoons I've ever laid eyes
on. I'm not even sure there is an official bra size for blouse
balloons of such magnitude. I began to wonder whether NASA had
categorized the gravitational pull of Lorna's twin mammary moons.

No wonder she wears baggy clothes!

The more photos I scrolled through, the better they got.

Apparently, Lorna was exploring her naughty side because there were
photos of her totally nude and even spreading her pussy, which was
plump and meaty like the rest of her body. She wasn't overweight, She
just had a classic Dutch 'big boned' body. Adding the more recent
infusion of massive female hormones, and you get a young buxom
wonderland that can entertain a man's interest better the best
amusement park can delight a crumb-cruncher.

Then I saw a thumbnail for a video.

It started with her talking to the camera as though it were an

audience.

"I have to be quiet because I'm on vacation with my family

and they're in another room."

Lorna then proceeds to get totally naked, spread her legs, and

fuck herself with a massive dildo while pinching her nipples and
playing with her milk mountains. Watching a giant penis-shaped hunk
of silicone slide in and out of Lorna's tiny teenage honey bucket
made my jackhammer hard enough to pulverize concrete.

After whipping it out, I sat on the toilet and practiced the

five-finger shuffle while watching Lorna's entire video. It became
obvious to me that she had some kind of video channel where she
performed for monetary donations. She even mentioned some of the
online audience members by name.

The crescendo of the video showed Lorna on all fours, her

chesticles hanging down almost to the bed, swaying with every thrust
of her hips as she fucked a dildo with a suction cup that was
attached to the headboard.

I came so hard, I thought my splooge was going to reach terminal

velocity and escape Earth's gravitational pecker pull.

Just as my banana batter began running down the shower curtain,

there was a knock at the door.

Fuck me in the ass!

It seemed as though someone else was at home, and I had a pretty

good idea who it was.

I answered the knock with, "Who is it?" while stuffing

my trim tickler back into my pants and clumsily trying to wipe my man
smoothie off the shower curtain.

"It's Lorna. I think I left my phone in there."

I couldn't be sure if Lorna had heard me playing the video. It

wasn't loud but Florida homes aren't known for their high-quality
construction standards and the walls were thinner than Kiera Knightly
in a corset.

"Oh yeah, I see it. Hold on a sec while I finish freshening

up."

Upon exiting the bathroom, Lorna was waiting in the hallway.

Handing her the phone, I couldn't help but try to make out the
slightest hint of her mommy melons poking and pressing against her
oversized sweatshirt.





Alas, my effort was to no avail. Lorna took her phone and

scampered off to her bedroom, presumably to play a one-string melody
on her gash guitar for her adoring fans.

Being honest, and I always am, the thought of chubby little Lorna

tickling her taco in my guest bedroom made me hornier than a lonely
housewife at a high school football game.

Live and let live is my motto. If the girl wants to earn some cash

by showing off her goodies, more power to her. There are far worse
ways to make a living. Just ask anyone working at IKEA.

That night I was lying in bed watching a rerun of The Love Boat on

TV. It was an episode with Charo dancing around like she found a
brick of cocaine in her balcony suite. The sight of her Twin Peaks
bouncing around like two overfilled water balloons reminded me of
Lorna's video and made my Undercover Brother harder than sitting
through an episode of Friends.

Of course, my wife noticed. Pointing at the tent pole under the

comforter, Margaret said, "Oh wow, Nick, you must be thinking
back to our wedding day! Do you want to use that thing or are you
going to rub one out to this week's celebrity guest?"

"Charo isn't my type but at least I can turn off the TV when

I don't want to hear her talk."

Margaret wrapped her hand around Long Dong Silver and said, "Oh,

come on, Nick. Stick it in me and pretend you're on the Love Boat
shoving your dinghy into Cruise Director Julie's lifeboat."

"It sounds more like a ride on the Titanic."

But, like the Titanic, there was nothing I could do to stop my

veiny vessel from crashing into my wife's iceberg. Little did she
know that I wasn't thinking about Julie, Daisy Duke, Mary-Ann or any
other classic TV gash. While my white whale was destroying my wife's
pleasure boat, my fantasy revolved around sticking my sea cucumber in
between Lorna's Little Mermaids.

Saturday rolled around and everyone was in the living room ready

to head to the marina for a day of fishing. Everyone except Lorna.
Her parents said she likely didn't want to go and suggested we leave
without her.

"She's probably got her face buried in that phone again,"

said her mother, with a look on her face that reminded me of someone
sitting on the toilet after eating bad Mexican food.

I assumed she was doing another one of her shows, so I shrugged,

and we left.

Tony, Penny, and my wife; caught a bunch of fish while I sipped on

beer and spied on a hot little number, tanning topless on the deck of
another boat anchored right next to ours.

Margaret caught me eyeballing the young woman's flesh bobbers

through a pair of binoculars and said, "Jesus fucking Christ,
Nick, you came all the way out here in the Gulf, to perv on
unsuspecting sunbathers?"

"Can you shut the fuck up? I'm appreciating nature; Plus,

you're going to scare the fish."

Tony laughed but Penny looked even more disgusted than normal,

which slightly improved her looks.

When we arrived back at my house, Lorna was waiting in the living

room. It was obvious she'd been crying. When her mother asked what
the matter was, all hell broke loose.

We quickly learned that Lorna walked down the stairs mere minutes

after we left, ready to enjoy a sunny day on the water.

After some noise, she started crying again and said to her

parents, "You left without me! You don't even want me around!"

Fuck me in the ass! The only person allowed to cry in this

house is my wife!

Stepping in, I said, "This is all my fault. Lorna, I tell you

what, I'll take you out on the boat tomorrow morning to make it up to
you. We can all go together to make up for today."

My quick thinking did the trick and seemed to placate Lorna. Tony

thanked me later and said, "She's been very sensitive ever since
her cat, Puss Puss died."

I didn't have the heart to tell my best friend that his daughter's

puss puss was far from dead!

The next morning, Margaret wanted to sleep in, so she backed out

of the fishing trip. Lorna was ready to go by nine, but Tony came
downstairs still dressed in his pajamas and said he and Penny had the
shits and wouldn't be able to go.

Tony said, "Penny and I ate some ice cream out of your fridge

last night and we think it may be bad."

I said, "Fuck me in the ass, Tony! That ice cream has been in

there since George W was president! Turns out, neither Margaret nor I
like pistachio or stupid world leaders."

Just saying the word pistachio made Tony reach for his asshole and

run back up the stairs.

I turned to Lorna and said, "Well, it's you and me, kid. If

you still wanna go?"

Lorna smiled and said, "Absolutely!"

It was the first time I'd seen her smile. I'd seen her plunge a

dildo into her vertical smile a few hundred times but had never seen
the face-forward version.

As we motored out of the Marina, Lorna said she didn't care about

fishing and wondered if I knew any places we could explore.

I said, "A woman after my own heart! I would rather get a

root canal than handle a pole all day. Let's tool around for an hour
or two and see where fate takes us."

Lorna smiled yet again and I had to admit that the young girl was

starting to grow on me. When she took off her sweatshirt and
sweatpants to reveal the tiny bikini underneath, my one-eyed wonder
worm also started to grow on me.

Lorna's sand dollars were so massive, her bikini top was barely

able to cover her nipples and areola. My jaw immediately came
unhinged from my face and fell to the floor as my tongue unrolled and
foghorn sounds echoed through the humid Florida air.

Her tight bikini bottoms outlined a camel toe that would have

caused Ali Babba to become a flying carpet muncher. Her G-string
bikini bottoms were entirely enveloped by Lorna's substantial white
ass. Every step she took walking around the cabin made her butt
cheeks jiggle like that Jell-O dessert everyone avoids at Christmas
dinner.

"Holy hell, Lorna, are you sure you're not overdressed?"

Lorna giggled, obviously accustomed to her body getting attention,

online at least.

"I don't get to wear bikinis at home. My mother won't let me.

I'm glad my parents didn't come because now I won't have to be hot
all day."

Nodding in approval, I said, "Well, you do you, honey. But in

that outfit, you're definitely going to be hot all day." Then I
pulled a beer out of my cooler and cracked it open.

Reaching it out to Lorna, I said, "Do you want a beer?"

"I'm not twenty-one."

"And I'm not a cop. Plus, I think these are international

waters now. We can go nuts."

Lorna smiled, grabbed the beer out of my hand, and took a sip.

After running for couple hours, I anchored in seventy feet of

water about twenty miles offshore. Within a half hour, it was so hot
I thought my balls were going to audition for the Swamp Thing reboot.
Lorna was lying face up on the bow of the boat wearing a pair of
sunglasses.

I suggested we go swimming and Lorna jumped in the water without

hesitation. We swam around for a while when I noticed the sky was
turning dark. I'd been so focused on my best friend's daughter's
buoyant blubber bouncers that I'd stopped paying attention to the
clouds that had been forming on the horizon.

By the time we were back in the boat, the weather started getting

rough. There was a massive thundercloud rapidly heading toward us and
lightning was starting to pop around the boat.

There was no way we could get back to the marina before the storm

hit so I aimed the bow at a small island about two miles to the east
and pushed hard on the throttle.

We were heading in the same direction as the wind, which caused

the boat to launch off the backside of the waves. Lorna was standing
right next to me, her tits bouncing so hard that they fell entirely
out of her bikini top. She was using both hands to keep steady, so
there was no way she could stuff them back in or cover them up.

Fuck me in the ass! Thank you, Jesus!

The air had cooled considerably because of the storm and Lorna's

wet nipples were rock-hard. Usually, massive marangos come adorned
with tiny nipples but Lorna's high beams were just as brilliant as
her headlights.

Mesmerized by the most deliciously decadent pair of teenage

torpedoes I'd ever seen with my naked eyes, the log in my pants
started to grow. Unfortunately, the teenage triple-D distraction to
my left prevented me from seeing see the real-life log in the water.

There was a hard thump against the hull and the engine suddenly

stopped. My tiny ship was tossed and began bobbing in the waves. When
my boat started listing to port, I knew we were in trouble. Before I
could radio for help or grab either of our phones, the entire console
was underwater.





Rain started coming down in sheets. Fortunately, the island was

only a little more than a hundred yards away.

Tossing Lorna a life preserver, I said, "Well, we are going

to have to swim for the island. Are you a good swimmer?"

Lorna, who didn't seem worried at all said, "I was on my high

school girls swim team."

By the time we reached the island my boat was gone, and all that

was left was some flotsam floating in the water. Fortunately, I had
good insurance. The rain was still coming down pretty hard but clear
skies were on the horizon.

Lorna and I sat under a stand of palm trees. Her bikini top met

the same fate as my boat. Lorna had her arms wrapped around herself
to keep warm, but she was still shivering. Had I been wearing a
shirt, I would have offered it to her.

It suddenly dawned on me that nobody knew where we were. Still, I

figured we would be able to wave down a passing boat and get a ride
back to the marina once the weather improved.

Being the gentleman I am, I said, "You okay, Lorna? That was

quite an adventure."

Lorna half smiled and said, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little

cold is all."

I took a quick look around to see if there was anything that could

be of use. It didn't take long because the entire island was no
bigger than a football field.

Fortunately, she brought along two
fleshy floatation devices.

Fuck me in the ass! No phone, no lights, no motorcar. Not a

single luxury!

All I managed to find was an old rusty crab trap, a shoe, and some

broken beer bottles. Walking back toward Lorna, I spotted the butt
end of a lighter poking out of a pile of seaweed. Shockingly, it
worked, even though the metal parts were a bit rusty.

The rain stopped, and after gathering some driftwood, I made a

small fire on the beach to keep warm. Lorna thanked me profusely, but
I should have thanked her because she stretched out her arms to warm
her hands, which meant her magnificent coconuts were back on full
display.

We struck up a conversation and Lorna told me about her

domineering mother and how she wouldn't let her move out into a dorm
because Peggy was afraid her daughter would make "poor life
choices."

She added, "My mother doesn't know a lot of things about me."

I said, "Look, I'm not the best guy to give a teenager advice

but you need to move out and start living your own life. Your mom may
say she has it all figured out but none of us adults have any idea
what we're fucking doing."

It was the closest I'd ever come to being philosophical.

About an hour later, I noticed my cooler floating in the ocean

only 50 feet from shore. I swam out to retrieve it. We shar

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