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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]
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