The Island, Chapter 14 - Sex Stories

The Island, Chapter 14

... little intense,” I said. “I’m going to clean up, then I think I’m going to lie down.” “Dave, are you OK?” Janie said quietly. “What’s going on?” “I’ll be all right,” I lied. “I just need a little time to process this.” Mechanically, I walked to the stream and forcefully scrubbed off all the evidence of my encounter with the terrorist girl. I walked back to the beach naked, people kindly averting their eyes, and laid down in the shade. My overwrought brain turned itself off almost immediately. I woke an hour or two later, by the look of the sun. Someone had covered me with a blanket. I squinted around. People seemed to have respected my wishes and left me alone. It looked like a framework of bamboo was being erected near the fire pit. The common shelter ( mess hall? ), I guessed. I sat up, gingerly. My head was ringing a little, but it was nothing compared to the churning in my conscience. I could see the appeal in believing that cosmic justice had been responsible for what had happened, but my role in her degradation and death was a little too personal for my comfort. I felt like I needed to talk this over with somebody, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak of this to Janie. God, what would she think of me? I decided to take a walk. Slipping on some fresh pants, I slipped away from the busy beach to search my soul for some answers. I aimlessly wandered down the game trail, past the pool, and deeper into the jungle. Eventually I found myself at the clearing where Janie and I ...

... had made love that first time. The juxtaposition in my mind between that happy memory and my most recent sexual travesty almost sickened me. As I shambled into the grassy space, a beam of sunlight picked out a life-sized jewel in the center of the grass. I stopped, shaken, as I assessed what the hell I was looking at. Finally, as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I saw what seemed like a vision to me, almost a religious visitation. A beautiful creature dressed in flowing orange and green silks was perched silently in the center of the clearing. She looked so peaceful and calm I felt better just being in her presence. The way the light shone in her clothing and reflected off her hair in a golden nimbus made her look like a medieval painting of a saint, or the Virgin Mary. Eventually I realized this was Anjali, the Indian woman who had boarded our flight in Johannesburg. She seemed to be meditating. I hesitated to disturb her, but something drew me to her. I silently walked up and stood in front of her. She rested like a leaf on the grass, almost weightless, in a lotus position. Her eyes were closed and a serene expression blessed her face. Her breathing was almost undetectable. I waited in silence. Eventually her respirations quickened, and her eyes opened. She smiled at me. “Mr. Connor,” she said. “ I thought you might come.” “How….” I started to ask her, then just gave up on it. Larger forces seemed to be moving me around like a pawn on a chessboard. “Sit down,” she said ...