John lay on the sand, staring up into the sky. The soft sound of waves caressing the beach drifted through his ears, and the salty aroma of the ocean drifted through his nostrils. As he watched the blank blue expanse above him in an equally blank manner, he could not prevent a thought from drifting through his mind. Though vague and billowy, like a cloud, the thought had a basic shape, a shape which had to do with this day being the first of the third month during which he had been stranded on this island, alone.
Stranded, shipwrecked, marooned; any way that it was phrased, it was not a particularly joyous concept. It had, of course, begun more pleasurably; John had decided to use the extra money that he had been saving over his thirty or so years to go on a fancy cruise to the Bahamas. Having grown up in Iowa, it had always been his dream vacation to visit a tropical island. 'Well, be careful what you wish for,' he thought.
The navigation equipment on the cruise ship had somehow malfunctioned, and the ship had gone off course. It had stricken a submerged rock, which had turned out to be a fatal blow for the vessel. Most of the crew and passengers had managed to make it safely to the lifeboats, but John had previously taken a sleeping aid and locked his cabin door. In the confusion of the crash, the ship's crew had failed to realize John's predicament, and by the time he awoke, he was the only one left on a ship that had almost completely sunken. The fates had granted him a remaining lifeboat, along with a few traces of civilization - a cigarette lighter, for example, which he used to start fires, and a pair of scissors and mirror, with which he had been able to roughly manage his hair - but after the first month on the island had passed, John had given up the hope of being rescued. He had no way of communicating with the mainland, and considering his single, self-employed life back at home, it seemed unlikely that anyone would come looking for him.
Life on the island could have been a whole lot worse, in fact. The weather had been exquisite day after day, the supply of tropical fruits was far beyond adequate, and, though there was a clearly active volcano on the other side of the jungle, it had shown no signs of wanting to erupt any time soon. Nevertheless, there was something desirable about functional plumbing and electricity, and John knew not what he would with himself were he never to be brought home.
Feeling the pangs of evening hunger, John, taking a deep breath, sprang to his feet. Though the island held a great supply of food, some effort was required in order to collect it, and the two months of physical labor would be apparent to anyone who saw John's chest muscles, which would not have been difficult for anyone who were to arrive on the island: John had not salvaged any extra clothes from the ship, and the shirt that he had had on during the cruise was now functioning as a carpet for the floor of his lean-to. Entering the lean-to, John pulled the battered remnants of his shoes onto his feet, then headed for the jungle.
By dusk, John had eaten his fill of foraged fruit. As he considered how much of what to bring back to camp, he noticed that the Sun seemed to be taking an unusual amount of time to set. Based on his prior experience on the island, John estimated his location to be atop the small plateau overlooking his campsite, which was on the western side of the island, where the sunset would be clearly visible from the beach. John approached the edge of the plateau. Pushing aside some low-hanging leaves, he looked down upon his campsite. There, less than fifty yards away, he saw something that he had not at all expected to see; something that he had not seen in over two months: a woman.
Clearly, she was no ordinary woman. The Sun had indeed slipped beneath the horizon, and the amber light that John had attributed to the sunset was in reality radiating from this amazing woman - and indeed was she amazing, for John felt that he would have easily ranked her as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life even if she had been at all clothed. Her shining skin was completely free of any blemish, boil, or wrinkle, and its color could only be described as gold. Her breasts were enormous, shapely and firm, and her facial features were too gorgeous for words. Though the hair on her head was waist-length, she had none elsewhere on her body; her hair was black, somewhat contrasting with her golden glow, but it looked as smooth as silk and as glassy as polished onyx. Her waist was slim, though not out of proportion, and her butt was well-sized, round, and tight. Every tiny movement she made, and every one she did not make, amounted to the absolute pinnacle of extremely attractive femininity.
John's heart stopped upon seeing this woman. His brain ceased all major functioning as well, placing all of its effort on observing this irresistible golden beauty.
She simply stood for a moment, glancing around slowly. She then stretched her arms in the air and walked toward the ocean. Her hips swayed in the most tantalizing way as she strolled. She stopped to look out to sea briefly, then turned to the left and slowly walked away, causing the light around the campsite to dim and then fade wholly.
John was too shocked by what he had seen to react for several seconds. His heart had started beating again, and it was going as fast as it had when he had found himself alone on a sinking ship, but for quite a different reason. As he slowly regained control of his body, there was but one immovable thought in his mind. It was more of an instinct than a thought, in truth. Holding in his mind the image of this angelic creature, he slowly unzipped his torn and tattered pants.
Though from then on John continuously searched for the strange, beautiful woman, a week passed without another sighting. John could not stop thinking about her even for a moment - although she certainly seemed to shatter the limitations of human beauty, not to mention defy certain laws of physics, there was no doubt in his mind that she was real. His desire to observe her once more grew with each passing minute, and he became quite anxious and found it very difficult to sleep. Finally, after a week, he started to lose hope.
As he stood staring at the sea on that seventh day, much as the woman had done one week earlier, John, a little dazed, became aware of a yellow light increasing in brightness behind him. Snapping to his senses and swirling around, he saw her standing there on the beach with him, as stunning as ever. His insides turned to jelly.
"Hello, John," she said in the most wondrous, musical voice.
John was breathless, but managed to whisper, "You know my name?"
"Yes," the woman replied, and left it at that. She walked up beside him, once more looking out at the ocean.
John wrestled up words again. "Who are you?" he asked.
"I am Vanna," the woman replied. "I am the goddess of this island."
John was now exercising all of his will in order to prevent himself from gaping at Vanna's body. He tried to look out at the water like her, but he could not take her out of the corner of his eye. He felt as though he should say something more, but could think of nothing worthwhile. Eventually, he mumbled, "You're so beautiful . . ."
She laughed, and it was perfect. A choir of angels would bow in the presence of her laugh. After a pause, she spoke again.
"You are the first human to land on my island in over four hundred years," she said.
Again, John could think of nothing to say. His heart was pounding uncontrollably once more. He probed his thoughts and pulled out, "Nice to meet you."
Vanna laughed again. "I am the island," she explained. "We have already met." She paused again, but then, before John could make another awkward comment, she continued, "You have been wonderful company for these past days, John."
"Uh, really?" John muttered. "I . . ." He felt that he should not lie to her. "I've been hoping to escape the whole time . . ."
"Indeed," said Vanna, "but even so, you have never cursed the island, you have only cursed fate."
"Well."
Yet another pause.
"It is so lonely for me when no one else is here," said Vanna. "You are my first friend in many ages, John. I would very much like to thank you for your companionship."
By this point, John's heart was trying to rip itself out of his chest, and something similar was going on in his pants.
"I, uh . . ."
"Is there anything that I can do for you to thank you, John?" asked Vanna, smiling at him. Her smile was positively unbelievable.
"Well, uh . . . I . . ."
Vanna walked toward the water, putting a little extra swing in her hips. It was torture - wonderful, amazing torture. She turned back toward him.
"I know what it is that you want, John."
John was unable to speak.
Unhurriedly, Vanna lowered herself onto the sand. She laid back, then spread her limbs apart. Lifting her head back up slightly, she smiled at John. "Come, John," she said, "you may have me."
John was tearing himself apart: he was fighting every feeling and voice in his head that told him to leap onto her and pound her into the sand like a jackhammer, for at least one tiny part of him realized that this was almost surely the only chance he was going to get, and he wanted to make it last.
He coughed. "You don't want any . . ." He cough again. "Foreplay?"
