Lost and Found: A Stranded in Paradise Romance

Stranded in Paradise

"So what happens now?" I shouted to Dylan over the roaring wind, clutching on the safety line surrounding the top edge of the life raft.

"We wait out the storm and hope somebody finds us when the weather clears," Dylan said, blinking against the pelting rain. "The pilot would have sent out a mayday before the plane went down and hopefully somebody got the message before we ditched at sea."

"Hopefully?" I said with bulging eyes.

"That's assuming the transmission got through," he nodded. "Judging by how long we were in the air before we crashed, I estimate we're somewhere in the middle of the Pacific, thousands of miles from any airport."

"Will it be hard to find us?" I said, flashing back to the stories I'd read about survivors of other wrecks drifting at sea for months on end before anyone found them.

"It depends how far the plane traveled between the time of the transmission and its eventual crash. With the drifting current and the heavy winds, who knows how far we'll travel before they send up a search plane."

"Will they be able to spot us in the middle of the ocean?"

"I packed a couple of flares I found in the rear stowage area," Dylan nodded. "So if they get close enough, I'm confident we'll be able to flag them down."

"What are the chances of that?" I said, still worried.

"Let's not worry about that right now," Dylan said, taking the bucket of provisions from my grip and placing both of my hands over the safety line. "Right now, our main priority is staying afloat and not getting tossed overboard. If that happens, we'll have zero chance of surviving."

As if on cue, a giant swell suddenly reared up behind us, throwing us sideways against the heaving sea. A stream of material flew out of the bucket and Dylan catapulted over the side, catching the lanyard with one hand just in time. While he held onto the flapping line, I reached out and dragged him back into the boat, then he glanced into the half-empty bucket, shaking his head in dismay.

"That was a close one," he said, turning over the bucket so the open side rested against the floor of the raft between his legs. Then he pushed me up toward one of the inflated sides, pressing his weight over me while we both held onto the safety line with two hands. "Let's just focus on staying attached to this thing until the storm passes. If we get turned over, whatever you do, don't let go of the rope. It's more important that we stay attached to the boat than we save our supplies."

"Okay," I said, thankful to feel his warm body pressing against me while I chattered my teeth against the lashing waves.

Funny how my fantasy had a strange way of manifesting itself, I smiled, feeling his hips bouncing against the back of my ass while our raft buffeted in the swirling sea.

* * *

After a few hours, the winds started to subside and we began to relax our grip on the safety line, falling asleep from exhaustion in the sloshing puddle in the middle of the raft. Sometime later, I felt a soft thump, and I opened my eyes to see that we'd landed on a tropical island with a deserted beach. I shook Dylan's shoulders and he peered up, clearing the cobwebs out of his head.

"What happened?" he said, turning his head from side to side. "Where are we?"

"I have no idea. But it looks like we caught another lucky break being in the right place at the right time."

"Mmm," he grunted, standing up and pulling the life raft onto the shore. "Maybe we'll get really lucking and find somebody on this island who has a radio."

He turned over the bucket and reached inside it, pulling out a water bottle and tossing it in my direction.

"We should get hydrated before we take a look around."

He peered up at a tall mountain rising a few hundred meters above the sea and nodded.

"We can get a better view of the island from up there and see if there's any sign of habitation nearby. Are you up for a little hike?"

"Sure," I smiled. "It'll be kind of nice to stretch my legs after being cramped in that plane and tiny raft for so many hours. Besides, this place looks like Shangri-La compared to San Francisco. I suppose there are worse places to be stranded than on a remote island in the middle of the South Pacific."

"That depends on how remote it is," Dylan said. "If there's nobody here, it could be almost as difficult to find us as if we were still drifting at sea. There must be thousands of square miles to search, and without some kind of signaling mechanism, they'll never even know we're here."

"Maybe we can build a fire on top of the mountain?" I said, peering up at the steep peak.

"You didn't happen to bring any matches or a lighter with you by any chance?" Dylan smiled.

"I'm afraid I don't smoke."

"Me neither."

"What about eyeglasses?" I said. "Can't we use those to focus the sun's rays?"

"I left mine in my laptop bag on the plane," Dylan sighed. "I was a little more concerned about getting off the plane before it sank than thinking about all the extra equipment we might need while stranded on a deserted island."

"Same here," I said, patting my pockets and pulling out my few remaining possessions. "All I've got with me is this makeup kit and my phone. Which still works, amazingly. I suppose it would be too much to hope for a signal out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"I would expect so," Dylan chuckled. "But save the makeup mirror. We might be able to use it as a signaling device if we see a passing ship."

He reached back into the bucket and pulled out a flare gun, stuffing it down the front of his pants.

"Our best bet is to find some people with access to other forms of communication. I see a small stream over there emptying onto the beach. Let's follow it up the mountain to get a better look."

As we began to walk inland through the tropical forest, I kicked my feet playfully in the stream.

"At least we have abundant fresh water," I smiled.

"True, but it's probably not safe to drink," Dylan said. "River water is often filled with viruses, bacteria, and other parasites that can lead to intestinal diseases. It would be best to boil it before drinking it."

"And how are we going to do that without a lighter?" I said, stepping gingerly over the slippery stones at the side of the riverbank.

"The old-fashioned way, unfortunately," Dylan nodded. "By rubbing two sticks together and creating some friction."

"How do you know all this stuff?" I said, peering up at the lush canopy of trees over our heads.

"I suppose I watch a few too many of those wilderness survival shows," he laughed. "It makes me feel more manly."

"Well I'm lucky I got stuck here with a man who knows so much about survival," I said, staring at his flexing calf muscles and firm ass while he forged the way ahead of me. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't saved me from that sinking plane."

"You can thank me once we get rescued from this island," he nodded. "I imagine your family will be worried sick about you once they find out about the airplane crash."

My expression suddenly turned somber as my thoughts returned home. I'd been so focused on saving my own skin and that of Dylan's that I'd hardly had time to think about my life thousands of miles away in San Francisco. I had no idea how long the two of us would be stuck on this island in the middle of the Pacific, but suddenly it didn't seem like such an exciting adventure to be stranded in paradise.