Letters From Blackwell Island Pt 02

Author's Note:

So, hot on the heels of Part One comes Part Two, and our intrepid heroine Allie and her Irish husband Patrick finally make it to the strange little world of Blackwell Island. Once there, they settle in to life as temporary islanders and get to grips with the native P

ā'ele tribespeople's strange and rather erotic customs. For, as they are about to discover, simply going without clothes is just the tip of the iceberg.

As always, all characters are over eighteen, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, and any company and/or organisation past or present is unintentional and entirely coincidental.

One last thing, this story includes some words and phrases in Irish Gaelic and Hawaiian, the latter of which I have used as the basis of the native Pā'ele language spoken by the island's native population (don't worry, I have included translations in italics wherever possible!) But there is only so much one can do with Google Translate, so if you are a native speaker of Gaelic or Hawaiian, please accept my apologies if it looks like complete and utter gibberish!

Enjoy!

Part Two

Coming In To Land

Blackwell Island, richly covered in verdant tropical forest interspersed with houses and small homesteads, was spread out below us looking like a nugget of green malachite set in a glittering sea of sapphires and diamonds - it was an awesomely beautiful sight. The island was around ten miles long from north to south, and around four miles wide from east to west. The southern half of the island was dominated by the long dormant volcano of Mount George, named after King George III, the reigning British monarch at the time when Henry Blackwell and his fellow mutineers first landed on the island's shore. The natives however knew the volcano as

Mauna o ka ho'omaka,

which apparently translates as "Mountain of Initiation." Quite why it was called that I had no idea - I supposed that I would discover why in due course. However much I respected the native's name for the volcanic peak, I had to admit that Mount George was much less of a mouthful!

We circled the island a couple of times, gradually losing altitude as our plane made its final approach to the newly built runway at the northern end of the island where the land was flatter and lower lying, and a few minutes before landing the stewardess reminded us all to make sure we were wearing our seatbelts. The landing was a little bumpy, due mainly to a crosswind, but otherwise it was a perfectly executed touchdown. Once the pilot throttled back the engines and brought the plane almost to a complete halt, we taxied over towards the small airport terminal.

"Ladies and gentlemen we would like to thank you for flying with PolynesiAir today, and we wish you all a pleasant stay here on Blackwell Island," the stewardess announced as the aircraft came to a stop.

We disembarked the small airliner and went down the steps and touched Blackwell Island soil for the first time. The weather was truly amazing - pleasantly warm and sunny with just a gentle oceanic breeze to take the edge off the heat. We walked over to the small terminal building where we passed through the usual immigration procedures of passport control and customs, but after passing through the conventional formalities things took a rather abrupt departure from the normal airport arrivals procedure. Between us and the baggage reclaim area was a large room. A large sign above the exit of the room left us under no illusion as to what was expected of us:

ALL ADULTS MUST BE NAKED BEYOND THIS POINT

This was where we were to surrender our clothes. The other passengers, with the exception of the few under 18's on board, all started to undress, placing their clothes into plastic baskets that had been set out especially for the purpose of arriving passengers to relinquish their clothing.

"Oh well, I guess this is it," I said to Patrick as I started to unbutton my blouse. "There's no going back from here."

"Yeah, I guess," Patrick responded.

I took off my blouse, folded it, and laid it neatly in the basket at my feet. It didn't escape my attention that Patrick hadn't made any attempt to disrobe yet and was standing there looking decidedly uneasy.

"C'mon, Patrick - we're here now," I prompted him. "Time to get undressed."

"Uh, yeah, sure," he responded, and knelt in order to untie his shoes. "It's just that... well... I thought I was like, mentally prepared for this, but now that we're here and the moment has arrived it all feels, well, like

"shit just got real"

, y'know?"

"I know - I'm getting the same feeling myself," I assured him as I began unbuttoning my jeans. "But we're here now, and the only way to avoid having to go out there naked and face everything is to spend at least the next week here in this tiny airport until the next flight back to Hawaii - assuming it isn't already fully booked. So unless you fancy sleeping on the floor with no food or drink for at least the next week, I suggest you just take a deep breath and get your clothes off and come out there with me. I need you with me in all this, remember?"

Patrick sighed - I'd half expected him to be like this, and to be honest I couldn't blame him. I may have had the outward appearance of being more confident in my bare skin than him, but underneath that exterior I was feeling the exact same emotion of

"shit just got real"

that Patrick was feeling. But I was gladdened when he finally slipped off his shoes and unfastened his jeans.

"I still can't believe we're doing this," he chuckled nervously as he undressed. "Sure this is feckin' insane!"

Having had a head start, I was the first of us to remove the final vestiges of clothing, and after slipping off my knickers and laying them into the basket along with the rest of my clothes I stood before my husband totally naked. He was down to his underwear by then and I smiled at him encouragingly as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants.

"Here goes then," he said nervously.

He pushed his underwear down off his hips until the elastic passed the apex of his narrow hips and gravity took over.

"There, that wasn't so bad," I said as he finally joined me in the nude, save for his old Saint Christopher medallion.

"Sorry for being a bit of a wimp just then," he said as we picked up our baskets and headed over towards a desk by the exit where they would be placed into storage.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my love," I said as I kissed his cheek and took his hand. "And

definitely

nothing to be ashamed of," I added as I took a quick downwards glance at his penis.

We handed our baskets in to two women who worked behind the front desk of the clothing storage facility, both of whom were totally nude as per the island's law apart from a set of beads they wore around their neck. We wrote and signed our names on self-adhesive labels so that if and when we needed them back we could reclaim them. With all that done we headed hand in hand into the baggage reclaim area to pick up the small amount of luggage we had brought with us.

The airport was too small to have a proper baggage carousel installed, and none of our fellow passengers had travelled with much more than a couple of small overnight bags anyway, and so it was all lined up on the floor of the room. Between the baggage reclaim area and the arrivals gate there was one last checkpoint to get through. Beside the pair of glass doors that were between us and the outside was another notice.

ALL REMAINING ITEMS OF CLOTHING MUST BE SURRENDERED HERE.

Of course, we had been expecting this, and after picking up our luggage we were obliged to surrender any clothing we might still have in our possession. All we had in our bags was a change of clothes each that we had worn during our journey, and so we placed our bags on the desk and took out the final items of clothing we had on us.

The young man at the desk, who of course was also totally naked save for a small necklace of beads similar to the ones the two women working the clothing storage desk were wearing, took our clothes from us and informed us that they would be placed into storage along with the clothes we'd already taken off. He was the very first male Blackwell Islander that we'd encountered, and if he was anything to go by, I would be in for quite a visual treat over the next twelve months!

He was absolutely stunning to look at - blonde haired and blue eyed with a handsome and kindly face, broad shoulders, smooth and well defined chest with strong looking pectorals and pert little nipples. His skin was a wonderful tone of bronze and he was practically glowing with health and masculine vitality. He was slim, with narrow hips, athletic looking legs - and a penis that just made my heart flutter! I knew I shouldn't ogle him, but I just couldn't help myself.

We unzipped our bags and emptied out the clothes - all they amounted to between us was a couple of T-shirts each, a couple of pairs of jeans each, two bras and two pairs of knickers for me, two pairs of boxer briefs for Patrick, and a few pairs of socks each. The young man, clearly sensing that we were newcomers, issued us both with a pair of sandals each to wear. For some reason though, he returned my knickers to me, informing me that I was allowed to keep them - quite as to why I was allowed to keep my underwear whilst Patrick wasn't allowed to keep his was a bit of a mystery. I guessed we would find out why in good time.

With that last hurdle cleared, it was finally time to go outside and meet our guides to this strange island.

We stepped out of the small terminal building and out into the bright equatorial sunshine. Even though we'd briefly been outside after disembarking our plane, now that we were naked it felt a whole lot different. It was quite an exhilarating experience, and I had to glance across at Patrick to make sure he was okay. He looked back at me and smiled.

"Well, we're here, Allie," he said, taking my hand in his as we briefly surveyed our new surroundings.

"It's so beautiful," I observed, although it wasn't just the tropical island scenery I was referring to - the people in all their naked glory were beautiful too.

I had no doubt in my mind that Patrick would be appraising the physical attributes of the female islanders just as much as I would be ogling the men, so I guess I couldn't begrudge him the occasional lingering glance. We'd both agreed that as long as neither of us allowed ourselves to get carried away with erotic thoughts of members of the opposite sex, then I figured a little bit of "window shopping" was permissible and relatively harmless.

Ahead of us stood a couple who appeared to be in their mid fifties - they were holding a placard with

WELCOME, ALLIE AND PATRICK!

emblazoned on it in thick black marker pen. Jackson and his wife Marea, our landlords and guides to the island for the next twelve months greeted us with broad welcoming smiles. Their naked and golden tanned bodies practically glowed in the tropical sunshine, and even though they were twice our age they both radiated a youthful vigour.

Jackson appeared like an older version of the young man in the airport terminal - he had a solidly masculine build but without appearing too stocky. Muscular, but not

too

muscular. As I expected, my gaze was drawn towards his crotch - and the penis I saw dwelling there was quite a beauty! He must've been at least four and half inches and with a girth to match, and his testicles looked to be above averagely sized too. I estimated him to be at least seven inches when fully erect. Marea was indeed a lucky woman to have such a nicely proportioned husband!

Of course, I was perfectly satisfied with Patrick's size (it sounds corny I know, but we genuinely fit each other like a glove in that respect) and even though his penis was smaller than Jackson's, there was less than half an inch in it.

Marea was almost dwarfed by her husband, with quite a slender frame, small pert breasts with perky nipples, shoulder length blonde hair, a slim waist and broad hips that gave her a nice hourglass figure. She had long slender legs, and at the nexus of her legs was a perfectly symmetrical, perfectly smooth cleft.

It did not escape my attention that neither Jackson nor Marea had any body hair on them whatsoever - both of them were shaved totally smooth. And both of them were barefoot too - they clearly took nudism very seriously here!

I also noticed that Jackson wore a bead necklace that was almost identical to the one worn by the young man we'd just encountered in the airport. It consisted of three beads on a length of what looked like braided leather twine. Two of the beads were spherical and made of what looked like turquoise, whilst the third bead suspended between them was cylindrical and made of black obsidian. The arrangement had a vaguely phallic appearance to it. Marea also wore a bead necklace, although hers had five beads rather than three, all of which were spherical and of equal size, and each of them were a different colour. Their only other adornment were small satchels woven from what looked like some kind of palm tree leaves that they wore draped over one of their shoulders.

"Welcome, weary travellers!" Jackson greeted us warmly as we approached the couple.

"Hi!" Marea beamed. "Welcome to Blackwell Island!"

"Thank you - it's good to be here at last," I responded.

We exchanged brief hugs of welcome - the sensation of bare skin against bare skin felt odd, magnified by the fact that these two were total strangers to us.

"I'm Marea Mahi'ai, and this is my husband, Jackson," Marea went on, introducing themselves formally. "Mags at Estelle told us this is the first time either of you have gone nude before, so I guess the first thing I ought to do is to tell you that you'll soon get used to being naked - and in a lot of ways it actually makes sense in this climate."

"Well, it's not technically our

first

time going nude," I replied.

I told her all about our trial run at the nudist spa.

"But we were indoors the whole time," I went on. "This is the first time we've been nude outdoors, isn't that right, Patrick?"

"Uh, yeah," my husband responded, perhaps a little distracted by Marea's nakedness.

"Well, I expect you're both tired after your journey, not to mention the assault on your senses at being naked, so I guess we ought to get you settled into your new home," Marea continued with a smile.

"Our car's parked just around the corner," Jackson added.

Patrick picked up our small, and now considerably lightened cases, and we followed our host couple to where they'd parked their car. Something unusual caught my eye as we followed them - both of them had small black tattoos on their buttocks. Marea had one - a triangle inscribed within two concentric circles - about the size of a fifty pence coin on her right buttock. Jackson had two tattoos on his left buttock - the first one identical to Marea's, and just above that was a tattoo of a crescent moon surrounded by eight small stars. I immediately switched into journalist mode in order to sate my curiosity.

"Er, forgive me for asking, but I can't help but notice you both have tattoos on your, er, your backsides," I said as we followed them along the pavement.

"They're our

Ohana Māka'u

," Marea answered matter of factly.

"

Ohana Māka'u

?" I queried.

"Family markings," Marea explained. "Every family on the island has its own unique marking - a bit like a coat of arms. When a boy or girl turns eighteen they receive their family marking - girls have theirs tattooed on the right buttock, boys have theirs on the left."

"So, why does Jackson have two?" I asked her.

"Well, because he's my husband of course," Marea chuckled. "Which is why he has my family's

Ohana Māka'u

in addition to his own. We're a matriarchal society here, you see - when a couple gets married it is the man who takes his wife's surname. His bachelor name was Clarke."

"Oh, I see," I responded with obvious surprise.

"But before you get carried away, this isn't a female

dominated

society," Marea added. "Everybody is equal here, it's just that when it comes to marriage and family life it's generally the women who take the lead role. After all, women are the ones who have to bear children, so we're the ones who make the decisions about when to try to get pregnant and how many children to have. A husband's role is to provide for his family and to support his wife. I guess you could say it's a sort of "soft" role reversal from most of the rest of the world."

"So, men aren't like oppressed or anything?" I asked her.

"Oh, good heavens, no," Marea giggled. "If anything we're a more equal society than anywhere else. You see, although women make the decisions about when to have children, once they're born both the mother and the father share the nursing and feeding and nappy changing equally between them. Employers are obliged by law to give men as much paternity leave as women receive maternity leave, and once they are ready to return to work the government provides free childcare."

"Do you two have children?" Patrick asked as we approached the car.

Well, I was immediately charmed when I saw their car - it was a Mini Moke, something I hadn't seen in years!

"We have twins," Jackson responded as he helped Patrick put our bags into the back of the car. "A boy and a girl, seventeen years old - you'll get to meet them tonight."

"They turn eighteen in a couple of months," Marea said as she got into the driver's seat. "So we're both busy planning their big day."

Rather than turn the ignition key, Marea simply pressed a button on the dashboard, followed by a slight whirring sound. It took me a few moments to realise the Mini Moke had been converted to run on electric power. As soon as Patrick and I were in the back seat, Jackson joined Marea in the front and we gently whirred off down the road towards the island's main town, Malmesbury - named after Henry Blackwell's hometown back in England. See, I'd done at least a little homework on the island before we set out! There was a lot however, that I had yet to learn about.

The relatively modern paved road that led to and from the airport soon gave way to a dusty track, but it was relatively smooth and not too bumpy and after a couple of miles we entered Malmesbury with its cobbled streets and got our first proper introduction to the island's residents.

I knew that the island supported a population of around eight thousand, with at least another two thousand tourists on the island at any one time. The native islanders were easy to spot with their bronzed skins, beaded necklaces, woven satchels and the little tattoos on their buttocks. The adults were all naked, but those under the age of eighteen were obliged by law to be clothed at all times. It became clear quite quickly that amongst the island's junior population, swimwear was predominantly the attire of choice, with boys in t-shirts and board shorts, or simply just a pair of speedos, and girls in bikinis or one-piece swimsuits - understandable attire in the island's hot equatorial climate.

The architecture of the small town was a mixture of colonial styles with bright white or light blue stucco walls and corrugated metal roofs, and more native styles with walls built of carved blocks of dark volcanic rock and roofs thatched with dried grasses and banana leaves.

"That's the island's main church," Jackson pointed out as we passed along the town's bustling main street.