It

by Libertine

"Why would you agree to live on an island for a

year?  You won't find a suitable young man there,

and you can't wait a lot longer to give me

grandchildren"

"Mom, I haven't met any suitable  man, young or

old,  where I am.  The guys I meet are all married,

gay, or pedophiles, sometimes all three.  Aunt

Martha has given me a way to start a new life."  In

college, she had had a brief friendship with a

graduate teaching assistant, but for years she hadn't

had a date.   She'd been propositioned, by truck

drivers and such, but she had never said yes.

Maud huddled in her bed, her breasts tingling and

her vagina wet, wondering why she had ever agreed

to the terms of Aunt Martha's  will.  The  will was

strange but explicit.  Maud could have  an annuity

for life and clear title to the lighthouse  if she would

live in it for 365 consecutive nights.  Otherwise, it

and the money would go to the Seashore

Preservation Trust.  The monthly payments would

be enough to live on, with no rent to pay, so in June

Maud quit her job at Jefferson Elementary School

and she moved to the lighthouse.  It was only about

three  miles off shore, an easy run in the little

outboard runabout, as long as the weather was

good.  Maud used her savings to stock up on food

and books and CDs and paints and canvasses and a

whole list of things Aunt Martha had

recommended, kerosene, lamp wicks, matches,

plastic garbage bags, a spare can opener, a good

first aid kit and medicines, the things one might

need if isolated for months at a time. 

There was no electrical service to the island, but

Aunt Martha had put in solar panels and batteries.

It wasn't much, but the batteries could power the

radio/CD player or a weather radio or a tiny TV,

though reception was very poor.  Otherwise, living

was very rustic, with oil lamps for light  and a scrub

board instead of a washing machine.  There was no

proper running water, but there was a cistern to

collect rain water and a solar collector to warm it

for bathing.  Drinking water came from the

mainland in plastic jugs.  The light, and the huge

Fresnel lenses and the  clockwork to turn them had

all been removed to a museum, so the actual light

room was empty and was a perfect place for Maud

to paint, with plenty of sunlight and an all around

view.

The summer months were fun and carefree, and

Maud had even found a gift shop down the coast

that took some of her paintings on consignment.

She was free to travel, as long as she returned to the

lighthouse by dusk, according to the provisions of

the will.  All that changed with the first storm in

September.  In the morning, she found her boat had

disappeared, though she had moored it very

carefully, and she realized that it was, perhaps, a

false economy to forego a satellite phone as too

expensive.  She did not even have a CB radio!  She

was trapped, imprisoned, on the island.  First thing,

she painted herself a sign: HELP.  Then she

resigned herself to life as a recluse.

That night was her first encounter with It.  She was

sitting in the light room, at the top of the tower,

staring at the blackness of the night, no stars or

moon, just flickers of distant lightning.   There,

beyond the glass, she saw an ephemeral light, a

kind of shimmering something, luminescent with a

bluish glow, quite faint and formless.   Ball

lightning?  No.  Some light reflected off spray or

mist?  No.  She could think of no explanation.  The

thing, It, circled around the tower, came closer and

retreated, disappeared from time to time, and

finally, as Maud stared in confusion, it seemed to

pass right through the glass and out the other side of

the chamber.

Maud went down the confined spiral stairs to the

room below, once housing the clockwork, now her

bedroom.  She grabbed a battery flashlight and went

down another level to the kitchen, where,

uncharacteristically, she poured herself a water

glass of wine and drank half of it in one draft.  She

lighted an oil lamp, topped off the wine glass, and

went back to her bedroom.  She lay there, propped

on pillows, and sipped her wine and thought about

what she had seen.  Why was she frightened?  On

the other hand, who wouldn't be?  She checked the

weather radio   more of the same, winds from the

northeast at 20 to 30 knots.  The regular broadcast

band was mostly static and inane commercials.  She

turned off the radio and began to undress, sitting on

her bed and taking off her boots and socks.  Then

she unbuttoned and removed her flannel shirt and

peeled off her t-shirt, feeling the cool, damp ocean

air on her skin.   She put the big flannel shirt she

slept in beside her and removed her bra.   She felt a

sudden moment of embarrassment, as if she had

exposed her breasts to a stranger, but, of course,

there wasn't another human being for at least three

miles.  She put on the night shirt and then reached

under it to remove her jeans and panties.  Again,

she felt strangely embarrassed, for no reason at all.

She wasn't possessed of undue modesty.  Just to

prove to herself, she took off the night shirt and

stood, stark bark, in front of the full length mirror.

"Maud," she said out loud, "you are not a bad

looking woman for a 28-year old spinster."  Her

breasts, B-cups, did not sag excessively, and her

tummy, while slightly convex, was nothing to be

ashamed of.  Her legs, as a result of hiking and stair

climbing, were shapely and muscular, with no

cellulite, yet.  Her face was undistinguished, but not

ugly, and her hair, now that she wasn't teaching,

might be improved with a bit of color.  Blonde or

red head?  She should let it grow out some, also.

More than once, she thought, people seeing her in

shirt and jeans and short hair had supposed she was

a lesbian.  Well, she'd have a year to work on her

hair.  She raised her arms, watching how her breasts

lifted in her reflected image, and that strange

feeling of being watched returned.  Quickly, she put

on the night shirt again and got into bed.

She was reaching for the oil lamp, a bit out of

reach, when, unbelievably, it went out on its own,

leaving her in total darkness.  She crawled under

the covers and closed her eyes, but she couldn't

seem to sleep.  She opened her eyes, now dark

adapted, and saw, to her amazement, a glow in the

room, It.  It seemed about the size of a door, that is,

bigger than herself but not monstrous, and its shape

was indefinite, shifting, like smoke.  It seemed to

move along the curving wall of the tower room,

until it arrived next to her bed.  She reached out a

hand and tried to touch it, but it was like reaching

for smoke.  She felt nothing.  It settled on the quilt

which covered her legs as she sat up and stared.

Maud felt a subtle sort of touching of her breast,

almost tickling.  Her hand went to the heavy flannel

over her breast, but the sensation continued.  She

grasped her breast in her fingers, as one might

squeeze a dinner roll, but the sensation simply

increased, and now the other breast felt it too.  She

sat bolt upright, holding each breast, but the strange

sensations continued, tingling, not unpleasant, and,

she could tell her nipples were erect.  She stared at

the ephemeral glow, down by her knees, and it

seemed to shimmer and shift.  Suddenly, she felt

something between her legs, something disturbing

her pubic hair.  She slipped one hand under the

covers and felt for whatever it was, some animal

perhaps?  She found nothing.  She began to be

really fearful.  Intellectually, she knew she could

not afford to be afraid, and there was nothing,

really, to be afraid of.  She closed her eyes, rolled

over onto her front, and pulled the covers up over

her head.  There, breathing her own exhaled air, in

total blackness, she tried to relax, but the strange

sensations continued.  It felt like insects crawling

over her skin, over her buttocks, between her

thighs, over and between her labia, and,

simultaneously, over her breasts, which were

pressed hard against the sheet.  She tried rubbing

them away with her hands, though she knew there

were no insects.   The sensations grew stronger, and

whatever it was seemed to intrude deeper, touching

her pink membranes, even though she crossed her

legs and squeezed her thighs together, which would

have squashed even ants.  She threw off the covers

and desperately groped for whatever was invading

her private places.  Her heart pounded.  She gasped

for air.  And then, for the first time in her life, she

felt the fluttering, shuddering, insanely intense gut-

shaking waves of orgasmic release.

Maud huddled in her bed, her breasts tingling and

her vagina wet, wondering why she had ever agreed

to the terms of Aunt Martha's will.  It, the glow,

now hovered at the other side of the bedroom, as if

watching and waiting.  "Go away!" she yelled.  "Let

me sleep."  The glow disappeared, as if through the

solid masonry of  the tower, and, almost instantly,

Maud fell asleep.

She awoke refreshed, feeling great, and, first thing,

she climbed the stairs to the light room, barefoot

and in her night shirt.  The sky had cleared

overnight, and the sun warmed the glass-enclosed

space.  No boats were in sight, just wisps of cloud,

whitecaps, and gulls.  Impulsively, Maud pulled off

her nightshirt and stood, gloriously naked,

absorbing the sun.  Then she opened the little glass

door and stepped out onto the narrow walk which

encircled the light room, to enable the keeper to

clean the glass.  The fresh winds frisked across her

untanned skin, and she shivered in delight at the

unfamiliar but exciting feelings.  Down the stairs

she went, humming a few bars from Beethoven's

9th, and, still naked, she cooked up some bacon and

eggs.  Eggs, she had discovered, will stay fresh a

long time without refrigeration, if you scald the

shells and paint them with an airtight covering.  She

had used her artists colors, and the eggs, before she

broke them, looked like Easter eggs.  God!  Life

was good on the island.  She read, listened to music,

and, when the sun had warmed the water, she

bathed, a delicious bath.  Taking advantage of the

opportunity, she shaved her legs, though no one

would ever see them, and then, impulsively, she

shaved her pubic hair for the first time in her life.

She couldn't think why she did that.  It was, she

mused, as if a new personality was invading her

body.  Still naked, but for shoes, she explored her

little island, hardly bigger than a football field.  She

lay on the rocks and watched the waves breaking in

the tide pools.  She only went inside when she

realized she was getting too much sun.  Her breasts

and bottom, which had never been exposed to the

sun, were turning pink and tender.  Her dinner, out

of cans, tasted especially good and, after watching

the sunset from the light room, she went, still naked

to her bed.

Perhaps it was the mild sunburn, but, as she lay

there, she was intensely aware of  her sexuality, of

her newly exposed labia and her pinkened breasts.

She touched her upstanding nipples and, when she

ran a finger over her sensitized, hairless outer lips

she discovered, for the first time, a swelling,

pushing out between her labia, her clitoris.  In the

darkness, It appeared, ever so faintly glowing, and it

came to her and ravished her.  She writhed and

moaned and called out, "Don't stop!  Oh, please,

more!  Yes, yes," until the juddering jack-hammer-

like shaking in her pelvis drove her into a dreamlike

post-orgasmic trance, followed by delicious sleep.

The weather stayed warm and sunny for two weeks,

and Maud enjoyed her solitude, talking to the gulls

and the crabs and the creatures of the tide pools

and, at night, to It.  Each night he came to her, and

each night she reached levels of ecstacy she could

not have dreamed of when she lived among

humankind.

Then, one afternoon, she saw a lobster boat

approaching.  She ran down to the dock, totally

nude but for her shoes and an all-over tan.  She had

forgotten about normal people.  "Maud," screamed

her mother, "you put some clothes on this instant!"

Maud ignored that and reached to catch a mooring

line thrown by the captain of the boat.  As she wove

the line over the cleat on the dock, her mother

swept up to her and threw her coat over her

daughter.  "What has got into you, behaving like

that?"

Maud just smiled.  It had got into her.  Back in the

lighthouse, properly covered with a robe, Maud was

introduced to the owner of the boat, Harold

Carlson.  Her mother explained that she hadn't

heard from Maud for weeks, and she had finally

hired   Captain Carlson to bring her out to check up

on Maud.  "Good thing I did.  You've lost your

mind, girl!"

"No, Mother, I've found the real me.   I've never

been more sane."

"Rubbish, you come with me back to the mainland,

back to civilization.  You need a medical

evaluation."

Maud just smiled and said, "No, Mother, I'm going

to stay here until this place is mine."  She smiled

again at her mother and then, unmistakably, at

Harry Carlson.  "Are you married, Mr. Carlson?"

"Not yet."

"Maud," said her mother, oblivious to the

electricity between the sailor and her daughter,

"you can't stay here all alone, without a boat or  a

phone or any way of getting help."

"Perhaps, Ma'am, I could help by stopping by from

time to time, to check on her, and I can give her a

spare radio, so she can call for help, or just to pass

the time."

"I'd like that, Mr. Carlson," said Maud, letting her

robe loosen and display a bit of bosom.

"I could bring you fresh lobsters," he said with a

foolish grin

"Oh, yes, please.  I'll be happy to cook them, for the

two of us."

Captain Carlson spent a lot of nights at the

lighthouse, to protect Maud from It, though he

never saw It.  The following summer he and Maud

were married, and Mother got her grandchild not

long after.

          [End]