Amazon Archipelago
Keywords: Archipelago, Amazon,
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On the northern end of Stuart Island, in the far corner of the San Juan Islands in Washington State, an old lighthouse guards the broad, deep channel between the United States and Canada. No longer manned, the building and light tower stand empty now, replaced by a soulless but efficient solar-powered beacon, mounted on a plywood board. Ships inbound for Vancouver must turn sharply east here, following both the channel and the international boundary, and so the place is named Turn Point.
Just south of the lighthouse, backed by thick stands of cypress and madrona, a small meadow clings to the rocks, two-hundred above the frigid, blue-green waters of Haro Strait. It's a magical place, especially in early spring, when the grass and moss form a viridescent carpet so soft that it begs you to lay down and let the sun wash over your body while you listen to the waves whisper against the rocks a hundred feet below. And if you arrive before the first weekend in May—when boaters spew out of Seattle's locks and charge north like a fleet of polyester Vikings—you almost always have the place all to yourself. Almost always, that is.
I am fortunate to live only a few hours away by speedboat (there is no ferry service to Stuart Island), so I often use it as a place to escape from the pressures of life as a high-school student. But that part of my life was nearly over; I had just turned eighteen and graduation was only two months away. Since my birthday fell during spring break, I decided to take my ski-boat for a week-long getaway to the islands. Usually I would bring a friend or two along on these outings, but this year I had just split up with my girlfriend and I wanted some time alone to sort things out.
I decided to begin the week with the long run out to Stuart Island, and camp there for the first night or two. This would quickly put some distance between me and the mainland—and my ex-girlfriend—so it would truly feel like an escape. Afterward, I could work my way back toward home by hopping from island to island. The San Juan Islands are filled with marine parks, complete with mooring buoys and campsites. In some cases entire islands have been set-aside as parks.
It was a fine clear morning when I set out, and the crisp air warmed quickly as the sun got higher. I reached Stuart Island by noon and nosed into the narrow, deep cleft of Reid Harbor at a leisurely idle. There was only one other boat in the anchorage, but that was one more than I expected since boating season didn't officially begin for another two weeks. The white luxury cruiser was at least sixty feet long and loaded with every amenity, including radar and a satellite dish. I gasped as I recognized her familiar lines. No, it can't be.
I idled past the broad stern and glanced up at her name with dread certainty. There it was, printed in big, gold letters: "GIGA-BYTE - Seattle." Shit. A few years ago, Dad had cashed in some of his Microsoft stock and traded in our old boat, "Mega-Byte." I hated it. It wasn't a boat, it was a floating palace, and I was embarrassed to think how much fuel it consumed. I wanted us to get a sailboat, but Dad said the yacht was better for entertaining his clients.
But that didn't explain how Dad's floating palace had gotten here. He was in Paris on an extended business trip, Mom was at some fancy fat-farm in Palm Springs, and my older brother was away at Harvard. That only left my bratty big sister, and... Shit. I just remembered her college spring break was the same time as mine. Why, of all places did she have to show up here? Cancun was more her speed, or Cabo, or some other place where she could show off her magnificent tits and ass in front of throngs of oiled up jocks and spoiled frat-rats.
I cruised quietly past, hoping she wouldn't see me. Luckily, there was nobody on deck. Maybe she was down below, screwing her latest boyfriend. Then I noticed that the davits were extended, and the dingy was missing. Dingy hell, the shore boat was as big as my ski-boat boat. I didn't see it anywhere in the cove. The bitch must have zoomed over to Roche Harbor. She's probably posing on the deck of the Hotel de Haro sipping an iced latte and ogling young waiters through her three-hundred dollar Oakley sunglasses.
I tied up to a park buoy, inflated my rubber dingy, and paddled in to the beach at the end of the cove. From there I planned to hike across the island to the lighthouse. It's a pleasant two-mile jaunt, meandering uphill along a seldom-used dirt road shaded by fir and madrona trees. The few scattered year-round residents kept to themselves or worked off-island during the day, so when I saw there were no other boats on the beach—not even stray footprint—I knew I'd have my solitude.
The hike up to the crest of the island was the steepest part of the journey, and although it was shaded, I was sweating when I broke out of the trees at the top of the grade. I took off my shirt and walked down through the small valley that splits the island. I passed a rustic farm and a grass airstrip without seeing a soul. The final one-mile climb toward the abandoned lighthouse is not as steep, but it was now the hottest part of the day, and I was definitely feeling it.
On a lark, I stopped and removed my pants, then thought what the hell, and pulled my briefs off as well. I hiked on, naked now except for my running shoes. The cool air felt great on my bare skin. I can see why nudist camps are so popular. What I was doing was probably illegal, but this end of the island so isolated there was little chance anyone would see me. The feeling of freedom, combined with the very small risk that I might actually run into someone else, was strangely erotic.
As I neared the abandoned lighthouse I left the road and cut straight through the woods toward the bluffs. The nudity had gotten me pretty aroused by then, and as I ran through the trees like some crazed forest nymph, my cock slapped heavily against my thighs and belly. Eventually I came out into the sun-drenched meadow at the top of the cliff overlooking Haro Strait. I dropped my bundle of clothes, walked out to the edge of the cliff, and gazed across the strait at the Canadian islands. I was literally at the edge of my country. As I stood there in the bright spring sunshine, completely exposed in all my naked glory, a stirring in my loins told me that I was near the edge of something else too. Down, boy.
The view was magnificent, and standing there so close to the cliff-edge was exhilarating. A huge ship steamed by only a mile off shore. Someone was standing on the bridge-wing, looking my direction. I waved, and a moment later they waved back. I didn't bother to cover myself; at this distance they surely couldn't see anything. Then I remembered that ship's officers usually carry powerful binoculars.
As the ship passed from sight, my pent-up passion overcame me. I hadn't had sex since breaking up with my girlfriend the week before, and when you're eighteen that's like a lifetime. A jack-off session was long overdue, and my cock-flopping naked romp through the woods must have been an unconscious outgrowth of that. Literally. My cock knew what I wanted, and right now it was rock hard with anticipation.
I laid down in the meadow and masturbated, with the sun warming my bare skin. I felt it building sooner than I expected, and with a loud groan I rolled over on my stomach and pressed my cock into a soft carpet of moss. It felt like I was humping Mother Nature herself. I climaxed explosively, nearly swooning as my hot sperm erupted out into the velvety moss.
Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice shout, "Wow! That was quite a show!"
My heart skipped a beat. I rolled over to see my older sister, Lisa, the redheaded college bitch, standing at the edge of the meadow with two other women. She had on a one-piece bathing suit with a tennis skirt over it, both of which she filled out very nicely. Her friends—probably sorority sisters—weren't too shabby either. There was a tall blonde with tits at least as large as Lisa's, and a cute Japanese brunette. They all laughed and applauded as I struggled to cover myself.
"Lisa! What are you doing here?" I was up on my knees now, facing them with my hands over my crotch. I looked around for my clothes, then remembered that I'd dropped them at the edge of the meadow. All I had on was my shoes. Shit.
"This what you're looking for?" Lisa had retrieved my clothes and tied them into a nice, neat bundle. "Come and get them," she teased, dangling them from her finger.
"Come on, Lisa," I pleaded. "Toss them over. Please?"
"Oh, all right. Here, catch!" She tossed the bundle towards me – too hard!
Ignoring my nakedness, I jumped up and tried to catch the bundle as it sailed overhead and disappeared over the edge of the cliff. That was almost a fatal error.
"Oops." Lisa giggled. "Sorry."
I didn't hear Lisa's half-assed apology. I was much too concerned with staying alive. I had landed face down in the grass at the edge of the cliff. One arm and one leg were hanging over into the void while the fingers and toes of my remaining arm and leg were already beginning to tear free of the turf. A few more seconds and I'd be just a red smear on the rocks below.
The women stopped laughing and rushed toward me.
"Be careful!" I gasped.
They stopped, and Lisa got down on her hands and knees and crawled toward me. Her bathing suit was low-cut, and I couldn't help but notice the glorious tops of her beautiful 34-C breasts, and the inviting cleavage between them. We lived in a large house with our own private bathrooms, so I'd never gotten more than a few peek-a-boo looks at her before now. Little did I know it then, but I'd soon be getting more than just a look.
She caught me staring and smiled. "Nasty boy. Don't you think you're in enough trouble as it is?"
I grasped her hand just as another pair of hands took hold of my ankle. Then I felt two more hands dig into my bare buttocks.
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Keywords: Archipelago, Amazon,