It was to be but a three hour tour out from Pearl Harbor and around the surrounding islands. Small white puffy clouds dotted the deep blue of the sky as S.S. Minnow, crew and passengers departed without any fan-fare. The Skipper held the wheel in his steady hands guiding the small vessel around much smaller vessels and avoiding anything larger than they. Half an hour later the tiny yacht escaped the confines of the busy harbor and soon the swells of deep water rocked the boat.
“Gilligan,” the Skipper hollered through the open hatch leading below decks. “Get your skinny butt up here and give me a hand. There’s a squall line coming up and I want everything shipshape before the blow hits us.”
By now the seas were becoming more pronounced as larger and larger waves crashed over the bow spreading green foamy froth along the teak wood deck. As the tiny ship began being tossed on the every increasing sea a homely face poked up from the open hatch, the head covered by an upside down sailors ‘Dixie’ cup hat. To call him ugly would have been cruel, but he wasn’t anywhere near what could be called handsome.
“OK, Skipper, what should I do first?” Gilligan asked timidly. The pair had been together for so long neither could remember just how they came to become what could loosely be called a team.
“Dang it Gilligan,” the Skipper groaned smacking the skinny young man with his captains hat, “make sure all the hatches are secured and the passengers are wearing their life vests. Oh, yeah, pay special attention to the Howell’s. He’s got money enough to buy a thousand boats like this with just pocket change.”
“Sure thing, Skipper, I mean Aye, Aye captain.” Gilligan had quickly amended his words not wanting another smacking of the Skipper’s hat since it was now sodden from the salt water spray and he knew it would really hurt. “Hey everybody,” Gilligan announced after slipping on the wet ladder and coming to rest on the deck. “Skipper says to batten down the hatches and get ready for a storm. Oh, yeah, he said put on your life jackets. I wonder why he said that?” the skinny young lad wondered aloud.
“Gilligan, Gilligan,” came the harsh cries from above. “Get your skinny good for nothing worthless butt up here and help me. Here, take the wheel while I check the engine. It’s been running real rough and I can’t trust you,” the Skipper complained.
Gilligan grasped the wheel as the Skipper moved and skidded his way towards the engine room hatch. He was half way down the steep ladder when the tiny ship was tossed. The hatch cover banged his head and he went down hard and heavy just as his overly large fat laden body deserved just as the diesel engine died. The wheel was ripped from Gilligan’s hands spinning around and around until nobody could have guessed their direction. Below decks the passengers were tossed about knocking all of the unconscious. In the tiny cockpit Gilligan was finally overwhelmed, his head smacking the edge surrounding him and the darkness quickly engulfed his as well.
The sky was a brilliant blue dotted with puffs of white clouds as the sun warmed the tiny ship. There wasn’t much left of the valiant craft that had just weathered a most severe tropical storm as it lay beached, the bow deeply imbedded in the soft sand. Birds began their morning chirping ritual and slowly arousing the now to known cast-a-ways. It was the Professor to be first to awaken, gently shake his head and look about the jumbled mess of a cabin. He looked about and saw the Howell’s heaped together in a tangle of legs and arms and still quite unconscious. The same was true for the two other passengers, Ginger and Maryanne. As he began to regain some of his senses Maryanne stirred.
“Wha, what happened?” she asked with a slightly fearful voice.
“Without having time to look about,” the Professor began, “off hand I would say we’ve become shipwrecked, marooned on some small spit of and island,” he replied with the voice of authority. His gaze was looking towards the now open hatch and failed to see the how she had ended.
Maryanne took stock of herself and found nothing more than a few slight bruises. Other than that she was fine except for her somewhat skimpy blouse. Not only were all the buttons ripped off, but it was very open and exposing her very naked breasts of which she was blessed with an abundance. While being from Kansas and modest to most, Maryanne was none the less very proud of her body. She quickly pulled together the ripped halves and covered herself as best she could and noticed, with some small chagrin, that he hadn’t even noticed.
“Hello down there,” came the call from above decks. “Is everybody alright?” Gilligan poked his head inside and found only the Professor and Maryanne awake.
“Yes, I do believe we are none the worse for wear,” replied the Professor in his usual academic manner. “You might want to check on the others, however,” he continued. “By the looks of things they should be just fine. Now, where are we?” he asked.
“I don’t know, besides, why ask me? I’m just a deck hand. You’ll have to ask the Skipper, well, when he wakes up that is.”
Gilligan carefully made his way down the steps of the sloping ladder slipping several times before finally standing inside the cabin. He saw the young Maryanne sitting up while she held her blouse close, then went to check on Ginger. She was laying in what looked to be a comfortable position in spite of all the tossing about of the tiny ship. Her ankle length sheath dress that had so tightly covered her very tall form was torn in several places. The slit up one side had expanded upwards and now exposed all of one leg nearly showing her, well, what was normally easily hidden area of her body. The bodice of her gown, cut low enough to expose her bust and enticing cleavage, rose and fell with each breath she took. Gilligan’s eyes became transfixed on her bosom before he remembered the Howell’s. Mr. Howell looked to be resting peacefully, his eyes closed and his breathing slow yet regular. Mrs. Howell, on the other hand, wasn’t so well disposed. While being in her early fifties, she exuded a sensuality about her when awake and now that she was still unconscious she was absolutely lovely, or so he thought.
Dressed in a linen skirt that was now drawn up nearly to her crotch with a matching jacket, she looked so much younger than her years. The jacket was open and Gilligan saw her still damp silk blouse that was now almost shear enough to see through. He was able to see enough to know her bra was well filled, covered with lace and very erotic as the swell of her breasts all but overflowed the very small cups containing her breasts. A slight breeze wafted through the cabin causing her nipples to thicken and swell as the poked at the thin material covering them.
Maryanne hadn’t said a word as she watched Gilligan inspecting the passengers. She couldn’t put a finger on it, but she found him very attractive and sexually stimulating. Her nature beauty was in deep contrast to his homeliness, his so very skinny body, yet still it was more than enough to arouse her. She thought it best, at least for the time being, to keep her desires quite and wait to see what might happen.
“Gilligan,” came the weak voice from above. “Oh my aching head,” the Skipper lamented as his deck hand appeared. “Ah there you are little buddy. How are the others? Anybody hurt?”
