Gilligan’s Island: Passion Fruit, Part Three

The Dream of Poor Bazin

Jerry Stratton

What if the Three Musketeers were journalists in Washington, DC? What if journalists were swashbuckling, swaggering, hard-drinking warriors of truth? Find out in Jerry Stratton’s The Dream of Poor Bazin.

  1. Part Two
  2. Passion Fruit
  3. End Credits

Gilligan was crouching in the bushes, peering through the foliage, as Ginger waded into the sweetwater pool under the waterfall.

Her back was toward him as she moved under the waterfall. He saw her drop her clothing and caught a glimpse of her bare ass before it was covered with the white water.

“C’mon, Ginger, turn around,” he whispered. “Turn around…”

He reached down into his pants and gripped his penis, already erect. He pulled it out and stroked it, watching the shadowy image of Ginger’s naked bottom through the flowing water.

Ginger turned around under the waterfall, and stuck her head through the flow. “Gilligan!” she shouted. “Get your ass over here right now!”

Gilligan stood up and ran down to the pool. He pulled off his clothes and waded to the waterfall. Ginger reached through the flow of water and grabbed his hand, pulling him under the falls to the little alcove underneath.

Ginger wrapped her arms around him, drawing him into a passionate kiss, rubbing her wet, naked body against him.

She reached down and grabbed his penis, stroking its length. She lowered herself in the water, pulling him down on top of her.

Gilligan kissed her breasts, as she guided his cock to the entrance to her pussy. He pressed it inside her, and she moaned with pleasure, taking his full length easily. He began slow, easy strokes, the resistance of the water making his movements easier and slower.

Ginger’s clit pressed against the base of his cock with each stroke, and she gasped every time he pressed against it.

“Oh, gosh,” she whispered, “I’m coming…”

Her pussy grabbed at his cock as her body shook, with a warm glow flowing from her pussy though the rest of her body.

Gilligan pumped twice more, and with the pressure from her orgasmic pussy, he began to ejaculate inside her. He kissed her lips, as they caught their breath.

They stood up, finally. Ginger picked up her bar of coconut-butter soap, and they lathered each other up, giggling and laughing.


Roy Hinkley, “The Professor”, was making his bed.

Literally making his bed. He had gathered some nice pieces of bamboo, and was busily making a double-sized bed.

Whistling as he worked, he was also trying to decide just how to approach Mary Ann about moving in with him. Making love in the moonlight in the great outdoors was great, but the rainy season was approaching.


The Skipper was whistling, too, as he cast his fishing line into the surf.

He waited for a nibble, holding the fishing rod braced against his belly.

A strange, yet familiar voice sounded behind him.

“Welcome to Sherwood.”

He turned to see a man all in green perched on a fallen treetrunk. He was carrying a huge bow, and a quiver of arrows on his back.

He blinked twice, almost dropping his fishing rod. “Robin Hood?”

“None other,” the man in green said, grinning. “You look very familiar. Are you not the son of one of my merry men?”

“No,” the Skipper shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

“Strange,” Robin said. He looked at the Skipper’s fishing rod. “Fishing? Is there no game in the forest?”

“Not that we’ve been able to find,” the Skipper said. “How did you get here? Are you our rescue?”

“Rescue? From Sherwood?”

“This is not Sherwood. It’s an island in the South Pacific.”

The Skipper reeled in his line and set the fishing rod aside.

“South… Pacific? It looks like Sherwood…” Robin turned and looked around. “But then again…”

“Believe me,” the Skipper said, “it’s not England. Do you have a boat?”

Robin shook his head.

“A plane? A helicopter?”

Robin shook his head. Suddenly, he stood still. “Hark!”

“What is it…”

Robin placed a hand over the Skipper’s mouth, silencing him. “A deer!” he whispered, “A fine stag to make a man’s dinner.”

He nocked an arrow into the bow, and climbed over the fallen tree and into the jungle.

Moments later, Mr. Howell walked out of the jungle onto the beach. The Skipper was staring into the jungle.

“Captain…”

“Did you see him?”

“See who?” Howell frowned.

“Robin Hood.”

“Captain, have you been raiding my liquor cabinet?”


Mary Ann looked around the hut at her few meager possessions. She sat down on the cot, considering how quickly she could pack them all away if the Professor asked her the question she wanted him to ask. Five minutes, maybe less.

“But what about Ginger? Would she be all alone in this hut if I moved in with the Professor? Or would Gilligan move in here with her?” she thought.

“And that would leave the Skipper alone… oh, my… how complicated.”

Ginger walked in, wrapped in her towel. She had been to the waterfall again. And from the glow in her face, it looked like she had been there with someone.

“Talking to yourself again?” Ginger grinned.

“Was I?” Mary Ann blushed. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“About the Professor?” Ginger sat on the other cot, facing her. “Has he asked you yet?”

Mary Ann shook her head. Ginger reached over and took her hand.

“He will. Don’t worry.” Ginger looked into Mary Ann’s eyes. “And if he does, do it. Don’t worry about me.”

Mary Ann reached out and took Ginger into her arms. “Thanks.”

Ginger’s towel fell away. “In the meantime,…” she cooed.


Gilligan sat down on a log near a clearing in the jungle. He sat in a position like Rodin’s “The Thinker”, his chin resting on his fist, his elbow on his knee.

He was considering his relationship with Ginger. He loved her, he really did. Or was it just lust? Did he want to live the rest of his life with her, or was it that she was available, and here, and…

His vision blurred, and he blinked. Next to him on the log was a golden-haired fellow, about his same age. He blinked again. The fellow was still there.

“Hi, Maynard, old buddy.” The golden-haired fellow grinned.

Gilligan sat up. “Maynard?”

“Hey, where’s your goatee?”

Gilligan rubbed his chin.

“What’s wrong, Maynard?”

“My name is Gilligan. Who are you?”

“You mean you don’t recognize your oldest friend? It’s Dobie” The fellow laughed. “And you’re Maynard.”

“Gilligan,” he said. “My name is Gilligan.”

“It’s Maynard, and I’ll prove it. Watch this… ‘work’”

A shiver ran up Gilligan’s spine. He shook it off.

“See there,” Dobie said. “You’re Maynard.”

Gilligan shook his head.

“Well, whatever, old buddy,” Dobie grinned. “What’s on your mind?”

“Ummm,” Gilligan squirmed. “I guess I can tell you since you’re imaginary.”

“Who’s imaginary?” Dobie grinned. “Qué pasa?”

“It’s a girl,” Gilligan said.

“I figured that,” Dobie smiled. “Why else would I be here?”

“I’m not sure what I feel for her. Is it love or is it lust?”

“Does it matter?”

Gilligan looked at him. “Of course it matters.”

“Okay. Do you want to be with her even when you’ve got your clothes on?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it’s probably love. Go for it.”

Gilligan glanced away. “Go for it?”

There was silence. He looked back, and Dobie was gone.

He sat there a moment longer. “Go for it…”


Lovey Howell adjusted her makeup in the small mirror. She had managed to get Thurston out of the hut for a while, anyway. He needed to get some fresh air, and away from the liquor cabinet for a few hours.

She adjusted her clothing; it was getting a bit tattered with the years of wear. Thank goodness she had brought all of the trunks she had; she pitied the poor younger girls who only had a few outfits.

And the Captain and Gilligan had only one set of clothes, since they had expected to be home that night so long ago.

When they wore out their clothes, I guess they’d have to go naked…

Thinking of the Captain naked brought a sly grin to her face. That might not be so bad after all.

She headed out the door toward the Professor’s hut. She needed to talk with him about the fruits.


The Professor tied the last knots, and slid the double-sized bed towards the wall. He had to adjust the position of his lab-table and trunk, but it all fit. At least he didn’t have to rebuild the hut.

He stood back and admired his work, thinking about the workout he wanted to give it.

There was a tap at the door. “Professor?”

It was Mrs. Howell. He invited her in. She sat in his ‘relaxing’ chair, and he perched on his lab stool.

“What can I help you with?”

“This is rather awkward, Professor,” she said, almost blushing.

“Go ahead. We’re all friends here,” the Professor smiled.

“It’s about those yellow fruits Gilligan found last week.”

The Professor paused. “Yes? What about them?”

“I know what they do, Professor.” She looked away from him, slightly embarrassed. “And I want to grow some more.”

“Oh?” The Professor squirmed on his stool. “Are you and Mr. Howell having… problems?”

“Yes…” Lovey lied. “That’s it exactly.”

The Professor reached over and picked up the two remaining fruits from his lab table. They had softened, and were giving off a sour fragrance.

“That’s funny,” he said, “I thought there were three.”

Mrs. Howell grimaced.

The Professor handed them to her. He opened his botany book, and read from the page describing the fruit.

“Looks like it should be planted in sandy soil, near a tree where the vine can climb. That’s all the information I have.” He closed the book. “I can’t guarantee they’ll grow, and I have no idea when the vines will bear fruit.”

“I understand, Professor,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. I hope the problems work out.”


Lovey went into the jungle, looking for likely spots to plant her seeds. She found two trees close to the pathway that looked hopeful. She dug a shallow hole next to each tree, and placed the rotting fruits in them, covering the hole.

She kissed her fingers, then the soil. “Grow, please grow,” she whispered.


Thurston Howell walked along the beach.

“Damn this island,” he said aloud. “Damn this beach, damn this ocean, damn these waves, damn…”

He was so distracted by his tirade that he nearly fell over the barrel. He kicked it. It didn’t move, and he hurt his foot.

He hopped around on his good foot, holding the hurt one. He sat on the barrel, which was lying on the sand. He massaged his toes, muttering, “and damn this barrel.”

As he worked on his sore toes, he looked down at the barrel. Stenciled on the side of the barrel was the name “Inverness.”

He looked up at the sky. “If there’s a god in heaven, let this be full.”

He got up and pushed at the barrel. It was very heavy, it had something inside.

He pushed harder, and the barrel rolled over, exposing the bung. It was intact.

“Praise the gods!” he shouted, then clamped his hands over his mouth. He looked around.

“I’ve got to find Gilligan,” he muttered.


Mary Ann and Ginger were in a sixty-nine position, with Ginger on top. Ginger’s lips were locked around Mary Ann’s clit, her tongue dancing around the tip of the sensitive nubbin. Mary Ann had her hands around the cheeks of Ginger’s ass, her fingertips brushing her asshole.

Mary Ann’s tongue was stroking over Ginger’s clit, her concentration on her nearing orgasm. Her body began to quiver under Ginger’s ministrations.

Ginger’s fingers slid into Mary Ann’s cunnie, pressing upward against her g-spot. Mary Ann’s body tried to levitate, as an explosive orgasm shook her body.

As her contractions slowed, she again applied herself to Ginger’s pussy, sucking hungrily on her clit. Her fingertips approached Ginger’s asshole again, and slowly, Mary Ann slid her middle finger into Ginger’s ass.

“Mmmmmmmmm,” Ginger moaned, “Oh, yes.”

With her other hand, Mary Ann slipped two fingers into Ginger’s pussy. Ginger raised up, pushing back against Mary Ann’s hands and mouth.

“Yes… yes, that’s it,” she gasped, “Oh yes…”

Her body began to quiver, and a gush of cunt honey ran down Mary Ann’s face.

Ginger’s orgasm shook the bed, as Mary Ann slowed her tonguing of Ginger’s clit.

Ginger got up slowly and turned around, and lay beside Mary Ann in the narrow cot.


Gilligan was sitting at the table in the compound, contemplating the basket of fruit. Which one was he least tired of?

Mrs. Howell approached the compound. “Gilligan, there’s something I want you to do for me.”

“What’s that, Mrs. Howell?”

“Do you think you could find any more of that yellow fruit?”

Gilligan goggled at her for a moment, but remembered that she couldn’t possibly know what it was good for. “I’ll try, Mrs. Howell,” he nodded.

“Thank you.” She headed for her hut.

At that moment, Mr. Howell came running up the path from the beach. “Gilligan, dear boy. Just the man I was looking for…”

“What do you want me to do?” sighed Gilligan.

Howell looked back toward his hut. Lovey had gone inside. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’ve made a wonderful find on the beach, and I need your help.”

“What did you find?” Gilligan asked, in a normal voice.

“Shhhhh…” hissed Howell. “Keep your voice down.”

“Okay,” whispered Gilligan, “what did you find?”

“A whole barrel of Inverness Scotch.”

“A whole barrel?” Gilligan’s voice rose to a normal level again.

“Shhhhh!” Howell hissed again.

“Sorry,” whispered Gilligan.

“Come with me. I need to roll it up away from the tide, and I’ll need help to get it open.”


The Skipper landed his catch; a very nice, big fish. As he pulled it up the beach, he glanced at the jungle, half expecting Robin Hood, or Tarzan, or some other character to come popping out. But nobody did.

He pulled out his knife, and started cleaning the fish.


The Professor strolled over to the girls’ hut, and tapped on the door. “Anybody home?”

“Just a minute,” Ginger’s voice sounded from inside. The Professor heard some scrambling around.

Ginger jumped up, and grabbed a dress, slipping it over her head and zipping it up. Mary Ann retrieved her shorts and slipped them on, and buttoned her blouse.

Ginger went to the door. “Hi, Professor.” She batted her eyes at him. “I was just coming… er, going.” She walked out the door, winking at Mary Ann.

“Come on in, Roy.” Mary Ann sat on the edge of the bed.

The Professor sat down next to her, and took her hand. “Mary Ann… I want to ask…”

“Yes,” she said, smiling.

“You didn’t know what I want to ask.”

“Yes I do, and I do.” She kissed him. “Give me five minutes to pack up.”

She finished in four. The Professor picked up her little bag, and they walked hand-in-hand to his hut.


Gilligan and Mr. Howell rolled the barrel up the beach to the edge of the jungle. They tipped it up on end to keep it from rolling back down to the water.

“I don’t think the tide gets this high,” Gilligan observed.

“Good. Now, how to open it.”

Gilligan smiled and picked up the tool box. “I know how to open barrels.”

He took out the hammer, and took aim at the top.

“Wait! No!” Howell shouted, and grabbed the hammer. “If you break the top, we can’t close it back up!” He leaned over and looked in the tool box. He picked up a brace and bit.

“Now, this will make a small hole that we can plug up.” He set the tip of the bit on the top of the barrel-end, and Gilligan started to turn the brace.


The Skipper wrapped his fish filets in a sailcloth towel, and headed to the compound. Suspiciously, he looked all around him as he walked, half expecting to be accosted by some imaginary character.


The hole was bored through. Gilligan pulled out the bit, and Howell leaned over to sniff the contents.

“Heavenly,” Howell sighed. “It’s Scotch, all right.” Then he frowned. “But how do we get it out of the barrel?”

“I could still smash the top,” suggested Gilligan.

Howell just frowned at him.

“The Professor uses a kind of vine for tubing in his lab. Maybe we could find some.”

“Good idea. Go look for some. I’ll just sniff for a while.”

Gilligan dashed into the jungle. He was looking for the vine that the Professor used, but a flash of yellow caught his eye. He stopped and looked closer. It was another vine-full of yellow fruits, just like the ones he found before!

He marked the place in his mind, and went looking for the tubing-vine. He found some, and pulled it down. Using his pocket knife, he cut off the leaves from a length of it, and took it back to Howell.

Howell was standing over the barrel, his nose pressed against the hole.

“So near and yet so far,” he sighed.

Gilligan handed him the vine, and Howell lowered one end into the barrel. He placed the other end between his lips and sucked.

“Like drinking through a straw,” Gilligan noted.

The fluid finally reached Howell’s mouth. He filled his mouth, then pinched the end of the vine. He swirled the liquid around his mouth, then swallowed.

“Ambrosia,” he said, “Nectar!” He raised his eyes to the sky. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” said Gilligan.


Ginger walked toward the compound table, just as the Skipper brought up his load of fish.

“I’ll take that, Skipper,” she said, and he handed over his bundle.

“Thanks, Ginger.” He stopped to wipe his brow, and said, “I’m going to go up to the waterfall and wash up.”

He started up the path to the sweetwater pool. Ginger took the fish over by the fireplace, and added some wood to the coals still smouldering there. Flames started to appear around the new wood.


“Gilligan, dear boy, go back to my hut and get a couple of empty bottles,” Howell said, sipping from his straw.

“Sure, Mr. Howell.”

“Oh… If Lovey is there, don’t let her see you.”

“Okay.” Gilligan started back toward the compound, but remembered the fruits. He doubled back into the jungle and located the vine. He picked three of the yellow fruits, and rolled them up in his shirt. Then he headed back toward the compound.


The Professor and Mary Ann entered his hut… their hut. The Professor led her over to show her the new bed.

“Oh, Roy,” she said, “you expected me to say yes!”

The Professor nodded.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Let’s break it in,” she whispered, huskily.


Gilligan ran into the compound and looked around for Mrs. Howell. Not seeing her, he tapped on their door. “Mrs. Howell?”

“Yes, Gilligan dear?” She opened the door.

“I found some,” he said, breathlessly. He unrolled his shirt, and handed her the three fruits.

“Oh, thank you, dear boy!” She took one and sniffed it. “Smells delicious!”

“Ummm,” Gilligan shifted from foot to foot. “Mrs. Howell, Mr. Howell sent me for a couple of his empty bottles. But I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

Lovey frowned slightly, but she was delighted to have the fruits. “Of course you can have his empties.” She stepped away from the door and let Gilligan inside. “They’re over there in the cabinet.”

Gilligan stepped over and opened the door. There were several bottles of different-colored fermented fruit juices, and several empties. He picked up two of the empty bottles.

“Thanks,” Gilligan said, clutching the bottles.

“Thank you, Gilligan,” she said, clasping the fruits to her chest.


The Professor unbuttoned Mary Ann’s blouse, and peeled it back over her shoulders. He caressed the smooth globes of her breasts, their dark brown nipples popping up like rubber erasers under his fingers.

She moaned, and kissed his neck.

His hands moved farther down, and unfastened her shorts, dropping them to her feet, where she stepped out of them, along with her shoes.

She reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, running her fingers down his hairless chest. She dropped her hands down to his pants, unfastening them, and they joined Mary Ann’s on the floor. He stepped out of his shoes.

Mary Ann sank down into the bed, and lay on her back. She lifted her knees, extending her arms towards the Professor. He climbed into the bed, slipping up between her thighs.

He ran his hands over her legs, and up her sides to her breasts, tweaking her nipples again. Then back down, running his fingers through her dark pubic hair to the warm wet place below.

His thumb found her clit, warm and erect under its tiny hood. She gasped as his thumb brushed over it.

The fingers of his other hand parted her labia, and he could see the moist pinkness within. He slipped a finger inside her, and she gripped it with her vaginal muscles.

He bent down and touched her clit with his tongue. It felt hot, and he rolled his tongue over it.

Mary Ann gasped and reached for his head, running her fingers into his hair.

He moved his tongue down further, sliding down the slippery skin past her pisshole, plunging his tongue as deeply as he could into her pussy.

She wiggled her hips, running her fingers over his head.

He moved back up to her clit, sliding his tongue, around and over her clit. He fastened his lips around her clit, sucking gently, brushing her clit with the tip of his tongue. She gripped his hair, holding him in place.

“OoooooOOOOOooooOOOOOOOoooooohhhhhh!” she moaned, thrashing her head from side to side.

The Professor raised his head, and as Mary Ann released her grip on his hair, he slid up her body, to kiss her waiting lips. His cock poised on its own at the entrance to her cunt, the cockhead parting her labia, and sliding to its full length inside her.

“Ummmmmmph” moaned Mary Ann into the Professor’s mouth. Her clit pressed against the base of his cock, as she tilted her pelvis back. Her vaginal muscles clamped around his penis, holding him in place.


Mrs. Howell walked around to the “kitchen”, where Ginger was stirring the hot coals, ready to place the fish filets on the grill.

“Do you know where the Captain is?” Mrs. Howell asked.

“He said he was going up to take a shower in the waterfall,” Ginger said.

Mrs. Howell’s eyebrow lifted. “Thanks, honey,” she said.

Lovey took another path, but moved around after she was out of Ginger’s sight. She headed directly for the waterfall.


Mr. Howell used the vine-hose to siphon his Scotch into the empty bottles Gilligan had brought back. Gilligan carved a piece of wood to fit the hole they had bored in the barrel. When he had filled the two bottles, Howell tamped the stopper into the barrel.

“Thanks, dear boy.” Howell grinned. “Now I’m a happy man.”

He staggered back toward the compound, clutching the precious bottles to his chest protectively.

Gilligan shrugged, and followed Howell up the path.


Mary Ann shivered, right on the edge of orgasm. The Professor’s cock was deep in her pussy, her clit pressed hard against the base of his shaft. The Professor made a small stroke, pulling back about an inch, then moving back in deeply.

Mary Ann gasped, the warm flow of orgasm sweeping over her, convulsing her body.

Mary Ann lifted her legs, placing them up on the Professor’s shoulders. This lifted her hips, and constricted her pussy, giving the Professor more friction in her slippery cunt.

He began a rapid stroke, diving deeply into her cunt, pulling back until his cockhead was nearly completely out, then back again.

He held his breath, holding himself back a little, but it was too late, he burst inside her, emptying his balls inside her.

She let her legs down, he rolled over to her side, holding her in his arms. She tucked her head down under his chin, clinging tightly to him, their legs entangling.


Mrs. Howell approached the sweetwater pool cautiously. The Captain was still there, under the waterfall.

She could hear his voice, singing. “Roll me over, in the clover…”

She ducked down behind some bushes, and watched, as the Skipper turned around under the water. She could see his cock, hanging down between his legs.

“I should call him ‘elephant’,” she thought, and smiled.

He finished rinsing off and stepped out from under the waterfall, reaching for his towel. He dried off, and wrapped the towel around his hips, hiding his manhood from her. He turned his back on her, rinsing out his clothing.

She stood up, walked toward the pond, and cleared her throat. The Skipper turned, automatically checking to make sure his towel was in place.

“Excuse me, Captain,” she said, “I didn’t know you were up here.”

“Just taking a shower and rinsing my clothes, Mrs. Howell,” he said. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

He pulled his clothes out of the water and wrung them out. He threw them over his arm and started away from the pool.

“Oh!” Lovey said, as if she just remembered. “Gilligan found another one of these, and I knew how much you liked them.” She pulled the yellow fruit out of her pocket and handed it to the Skipper.

“Gee, Mrs. Howell, thanks.” He took a bite of the fruit.

“Don’t spoil your appetite for supper,” she said, smiling.

The Skipper blinked, smiled, and blinked again. “Mrs. Howell…”

“Lovey, please.”

“Lovey, did you just take off your clothes?”

She looked down, no, she was still dressed.

“No, why…”

The Skipper blinked again. “No, I guess you didn’t. Sorry.”

He started to turn to head back to the compound.

“But I could,” she said.

He turned to face her. She quickly unbuttoned her dress, letting it drop to the ground. She had worn no bra today, just her lace panties.

The Skipper stared. “Mrs. Howell!”

Her breasts bobbed as she walked over to him, her nipples beginning to erect. She glanced down; his towel was beginning to tent.

She put a hand on his cheek, then kissed him, her tongue pushing deep into his mouth.

The Skipper dropped his clothing in the grass, and wrapped his arms around her. She reached down and unfastened his towel, and grabbed hold of his penis with both hands.

She stepped back, pulling him by the cock. She lowered herself to the ground, pulling him with her. He crouched over her, kissing her mouth, while she guided his cock to the entrance to her vagina.

He pressed his hips forward; his penis began to slide into her.

It was getting easier, Lovey thought, easier all the time.

The Skipper’s cock filled her completely. She wrapped her legs around his hips, tilting her pelvis forward and back to rub her clit against the base of his cock.

She was coming already, she thought, and whispered in his ear, “Fuck me now, Jonas. Give it all to me.”

The Skipper began to stroke, slowly at first, but building to a faster pace. Lovey began to come, an orgasm sweeping through her, and right behind that one, another, even more powerful.

The Skipper grunted, and Lovey held on as he came inside her, and a third, even more powerful orgasm washed over her. The Skipper collapsed, rolling them over to their sides, still tangled together, his huge cock still filling her pussy.


Thurston Howell looked both ways before he entered his hut. He stowed away the two bottles of Scotch in his cabinet, hiding them behind the fruit hooch. He started back outside, but noticed two fruits on the endtable.

“Hmmmm,” he mused, picking up one of the fruits. “These were delicious, as I recall.” He took a big bite, chewing it with great gusto and a huge smile. The next bite finished the fruit. He picked up the second one. He ate that one as well.

He got out a drinking cup, and was reaching for his bottle of Scotch, when he felt a strong pressure in his pants.

The feeling was so unusual for him that he lost his balance, landing on his butt on the floor. He reached for his groin where the pressure was, and found he had an erection.

He stood up and dropped his pants, looking in Lovey’s mirror. “By gosh, it is a boner, and a fairly big one at that. Wait till Lovey sees this!”

He pulled up his trousers, blousing them around his erection. He went outside to the kitchen area, where Ginger was just taking the fish off the grill.

“Have you seen Lovey?”

“She went that way,” Ginger said, pointing down the pathway Lovey had originally gone down.

Howell headed toward the path, then turned slowly, looking at Ginger. “My dear, have you done something with your hair?”


The Skipper had dozed off. Lovey got up, stepped over to the pool to rinse off, and put on her dress. She stuffed her panties into her pocket. She draped the Skipper’s towel over him, and set his clothing nearby.

She headed back down the path toward the compound.


Gilligan stepped out of his hut and walked around to the kitchen area. Ginger was bending over the grill, removing the last few filets. He stepped up behind her, and caressed her lovely bottom.

“Gilligan, is that you?” she asked without turning around.

“Who else would it be?”

“Well, it could be the Skipper. He’s the only one not getting any lately.”

Gilligan looked around, and seeing nobody around, lifted Ginger’s skirt up over her hips.

“What are you doing?” she asked, straightening up.

Gilligan shrugged.

“Well, if you want a quickie, let’s not do it over the fire.” She turned and pulled the last piece of fish off the grill. “There. Now we have a few minutes until everyone comes in for supper.”

She took him into her arms, and kissed him. Gilligan’s toes curled in his worn sneakers.

“Come on,” she whispered.

She took his hand and led him into her hut, closing the door behind her. She flopped down on her cot, hiked up her skirt, and pulled down her panties.

“Give me your love tool, Gilligan.”

Gilligan, grinning, dropped his trousers and climbed on top of her. She guided his rod to her pussy, and he started stroking, fast, furious strokes.

He raised himself on his arms, arching his back as he came, pushing his cock as deeply as he could into her.

He collapsed on top of her. She stroked his hair. “You owe me one,” she whispered. “You want to move in here with me to make up for it?”

He raised his head. “What?”

“Move in with me. Mary Ann’s moved in with the Professor.”

“What about the Skipper?”

“Fuck the Skipper.” She looked at his expression. “No, not literally. I mean the Skipper can take care of himself. I want you here with me, I want you all night long.”

Gilligan blushed. He nodded.

She pressed his head to her chest.

“Where is everybody?” Mrs. Howell’s voice from outside. Gilligan scrambled to his feet and tried to get his pants on. Ginger got up, her skirt falling back down to cover her naked ass, and she leaned out the door. “Be right there, Mrs. Howell.”

“Have you seen Gilligan, dear?”

Ginger smiled. “Yes, did you want something?”

“Oh…” the light dawned on Lovey. “Tell him--when you see him--that the Captain is asleep at the waterfall pool, and he’s somewhat… undressed.”

“I will. Supper will be in a few minutes,” she nodded.

Ginger closed the door. She turned to Gilligan, who had managed to put his pants on backwards, and was unable to find the drawstrings.

“You heard that?”

“Yeah, I’ll go wake him up.”

He peeked out the door to see if Mrs. Howell was nearby before he headed out.

“Why are you doing that?” Ginger asked. “I want everyone to know.”

She threw open the door and shouted, “Gilligan is moving in with me!”

There was nobody in the compound to hear. She looked at Gilligan and said, “Oh, well. We’ll announce it at dinner. Go get the Skipper.”


Lovey went into her hut. She looked at the endtable where she had left her two remaining fruits. They were gone.

“Oh gosh,” she thought, “Thurston must have eaten them!”

She ran out the door looking for him.


Mary Ann snuggled up to the Professor again. She smiled with the thought that he would be there all night, so warm, so solid.

The Professor wrapped an arm around her, adjusting his position a bit. He had remarkably the same thoughts.


Gilligan ran up the path to the sweetwater pool. There was the Skipper, lying in the grass, a towel over his hips.

He went over to the Skipper and shook his shoulder.

“Skipper, wake up.”

The Skipper didn’t move.

He took his hat and dipped some water from the pool. He dumped it into the Skipper’s face.

Sputtering, the Skipper sat up, wiping his face. “Gilligan! What did you do that for?”

“You didn’t wake up when I shook you.”

“Oh.” The Skipper looked around. “Now why would I go to sleep up here?” He looked down at the towel. “And naked, as well!”

A frown creased Gilligan’s brow. “Did you eat any of those yellow fruits I found lately?”

The Skipper nodded. “Yeah. Mrs. Howell gave me one when I came out of the shower. That’s the last thing I remember.” He rubbed his face.

Gilligan understood. He helped the Skipper stand up, and handed him his clothing, which was now dry. The Skipper got dressed.

“It’s time for supper,” Gilligan said.


Lovey stood in the compound, wondering which way to go to look for Thurston. Could he have found Mary Ann, and… No, Mary Ann was probably off somewhere with the Professor.

She turned, and almost ran into Ginger, who was carrying a platter of fish filets to the table.

“Have you seen Thurston?” she asked.

“A little while ago, he was looking for you,” Ginger said. “He went that way.” She pointed.

Lovey headed down the path, and nearly ran into Thurston.

“Where have you been, Lovey?” he asked. “I have something wonderful to show you.”

He guided her hand to his crotch.

“Oh my, Thurston,” she gasped, “Is that a pistol in your pocket?”

“No. And am I happy to see you!”

He pulled her into his arms and tipped her backwards in an exaggerated “movie kiss”. Their lips met.

Then he dropped her.


Ginger tapped on the Professor’s door. “Supper’s ready.”

“Be right there,” Mary Ann’s voice said.

Ginger smiled and walked back towards the table.

Reluctantly, Mary Ann got up and gathered her clothing together. The Professor rose, and she handed him his trousers.

“Let’s go eat,” she said, “then come back here for dessert.”


Thurston started to help Lovey up, but she said, “I’m fine, Thurston.”

She reached down and hiked up her skirt, revealing her naked cunt. “Let’s take care of that boner of yours.”

Thurston wasted no time dropping his pants and climbing between her legs. He slipped his cock into her.

He began to move, frantically.

“What he lacks in size,” Lovey thought, “he makes up for in enthusiasm.”

Without expecting it, she was actually getting turned on.

Thurston kept pumping, and pumping. Lovey put her legs around his, her feet behind his knees. She began to move with him, tilting her pelvis forward and backward with each stroke.

She was getting turned on! In fact, she was nearing orgasm. She clasped at Thurston, whimpering, moaning.

She climaxed, for the first time with Thurston in what… twenty years? Her cunt squeezed his small cock, her body moving in time with her contractions.

Thurston began to come, too, his semen spurting hotly inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, nuzzling at her neck.

From her experience with the Captain, she knew she had to get Thurston back to the compound before he went to sleep. She rolled him over and stood up, her skirt falling back down around her legs.

She pulled Thurston to his feet. He put a hand to his head.

“I feel so dizzy,” he said.

She pulled his trousers up and fastened them. She led him toward the compound.

Gilligan and the Skipper were at the compound when she approached with Thurston.

“Give me a hand with him,” she said. “He’s had too much to drink.”

“Must be the barrel of Scotch he found,” Gilligan said, and immediately clamped his hands over his mouth.

The Skipper and Gilligan helped move Mr. Howell to his hut. They lay him in his cot. He passed into a deep sleep.

“I guess we can save supper for him,” Gilligan said.

“Now, what was that about a barrel of Scotch?” Lovey asked.

“Let’s talk about that later,” Gilligan said, blushing. “Let’s go eat.”


Supper was uneventful until Mary Ann announced that she had moved in with the Professor. Then Ginger announced that Gilligan was moving in with her.

The Skipper clasped Gilligan’s shoulder and congratulated him.

“Then you’re not upset?” Gilligan asked.

“Why would I be upset, Little Buddy?” the Skipper grinned.

But there was something gnawing at the back of the Skipper’s mind. After supper, he wandered alone down to the lagoon. He sat on a log and stared out at the ocean.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” a voice behind him said.

He turned, halfway expecting some spectre. It was Lovey Howell.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” the Skipper smiled at her.

She stepped up and stood directly behind him. He sat, looking out at the moonlight reflecting off the top of the small waves.

She put her hands on his shoulders. He jumped at her touch. She began to massage his shoulders and neck. The Skipper relaxed under her massage.

“You’re worried about the young folks, aren’t you, Captain?” she asked.

“A little,” he nodded. “I hope they know what they’re doing.”

“Who ever knows what is going to happen when you start a relationship?” Lovey said, shrugging, continuing to knead the Skipper’s shoulders.

There was a moment of silence, then he asked, “So what brings you down here?”

“The young people paired off and left, and Thurston’s asleep. I didn’t feel like staying to hear him snore.” She stepped over the log and sat down beside him. “Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

“To me? What about?” He looked into her face. Was she blushing?

“Captain,” she said, shakily, “you know those fruits Gilligan found?”

“Yeah!” he grinned. “Do you have some more?”

“No… I must tell you the truth about them.”

“What do you mean? Truth?”

“The fruit has an… unusual… effect on people.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” She looked away, out to sea. “It makes people dizzy.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“It also affects memory…”

“Hmmmm. I get the feeling there is something else.”

“It excites people sexually.”

“Oh.” The Skipper nodded, staring out to sea. Then he turned. “Is that what’s causing the others to pair off?”

“Partially,” she nodded.

“And you were giving me those fruits…” His eyes widened. “Did you…?”

She nodded, blushing even more.

The Skipper took a deep breath. “What about Mr. Howell?”

“He ate some tonight. That’s why he passed out.” She turned toward him again. “Captain, Thurston is a fine man, and we’ve been married a long time. But…” She put her hand on his thigh. “But a woman needs… he’s not very well endowed.

“Now that Gilligan’s moved in with Ginger, you’re going to be alone in your hut at night.” She looked into his eyes. “Would you mind if I came to visit you some nights, after Thurston’s asleep?”

The Skipper mulled it over a moment, silently, then said, “I suppose we could work it out. But nobody must know, because Mr. Howell must never know.”

Lovey nodded. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks.”

  1. Part Two
  2. Passion Fruit
  3. End Credits