They had been on the island for a few days. Their boat, pieces of which had been washing up on shore. Neither of them were sure what had happened for all they knew their ship had crashed, sunk, and maybe even imploded. There was a lot of running, alarm bells; they had explained safety procedures and what to do if there was ever an emergency but when the crisis actually began it seemed like all those plans were useless against fear.

A lot of water, yelling, darkness, and then he was on the shore. It was a blur for him, which was fine, anything as bad as what must have happened on the ship wasn't something he wanted to remember anyway. He'd be just as happy to forget all about the boat, about wanting to get away, about all of it. All of it, except the woman.

To him she was the gorgeous epitome of female beauty. Long blonde hair, these sensuous curves and a tight red dress that the man was thankful the woman chose to wear the night the ship went down. Her lightly tanned skin, and bright green eyes that the man thought were looking at him more often than not over these past few days. And he could have sworn he had begun to see a need in them, a lust, a desire. A hunger.

I didn't know I was so appetizing, the man thought, laughing to himself as he sat barefoot on the white sandy beach of the island. This place was even more beautiful than any travel destination that boat could have brought him too because it was uninhabited, peaceful and serene. Nature left to it's own devices. Now if only he wasn't so alone. He had the woman and they talked often, but isolation wasn't just something you felt when you were alone, it was a state of mind that settled on you when you felt alone. And on this island, location unknown, the man challenged anyone to stay on it a few days without feeling alone. He missed technology, his laptop, and more importantly, internet, but not because of the simple pleasures such devices brought him, it was because that was his connection to a community of people like him, who, whenever he visited with them, he never felt alone, he felt like a part of something. Now what was he? A part of the island? He didn't think any human had been a part of this island for...well, probably ever. And here he was; well there would be one less wedgie fetishist in the world, he thought. Ever heard the one about the wedgie fetishist on the island? He joked to himself, trying to take his mind away from the fact that death really as a possibility. Yeah, the wedgie fetishist on the deserted island: he just couldn't get it up.

Not bad, he chuckled; missed my calling, could have been a comedian specializing in improv.

The water lapped against his feet and he wiggled his toes. What was he going to do? They had some supplies from a lifeboat, some emergency food rations, matches, life-preservers, but the food was running out. He had been a boy-scout when he was younger so he knew he could start a fire to bubble the salt water that surrounded them in order to purify it. But he didn't know how to make food appear where there wasn't any, that was something they must have glossed over in the scouts "how to survice alone on an island" handbook.

Wow, he was killing it with these jokes. Maybe when he made it off the island he'd write a book. "Keeping a sense of humour while stranded: my tale of survival and jokes." He'd work on the title.

The boy scouts had told him at one point though, if someone ever got really lost, say a plane crashed, you got stranded in the woods, or a boat sunk, the authorities would have no trouble finding you. They would locate you quickly. He had been stuck in an elevator once, and was really young when it happened so just when things started getting interesting, and he was beginning to really get into the novelty of the experience, the elevator got going again, he remembered wanting to stay in the elevator, continuing the adventure.

He always kind of doubted what the scout leaders had told him, and after a few days of being on the island he had cause to doubt them more. And he was sure if that young kid that he used to be was stuck in the elevator for a few days, he wouldn't be hoping it would stay stuck.

But the woman made it a bit easier, someone to talk to. Even though he didn't really know her. But he wanted to get to know her, maybe, if they were going to die, he could finally tell someone about his wedgie fetish that he had hid for so many years. His family, friends, no one knew. But what would be the harm in telling her, especially if they were going to be spending a lot more time together, it would be better if they trusted each other, and what better way to gain trust than to share your secrets?

All right, he decided, watching the sun set as he stood up, brushing sand off his orange Hawaiian shorts, and eventually heading toward their makeshift camp site, I'll tell her. What's the worst thing that can happen? She freaks out, think's I'm some kind of pervert, steals all the food, and runs to the other end of the island. He wants to laugh, but thinking about that happening stops him.

The island, thankfully, was a lush paradise, full of trees that were covered with all kinds of fruits. But fruit alone couldn't satisfy them, they needed meat and other things that constituted a healthy diet. He wasn't exactly sure what that was, but he knew eating the packages of food that the cruise ship had on board that only needed to be heated up, were good. But when those ran out, eating only fruit would cause them to die, slowly sure, but without anything else it was a certainty.

If only they had something that could satisfy them for a while. He was spending all day waiting for people to show up right away, but he had hope that if they could hold out for a week, maybe a bit more, they would get rescued.

One day at a time, he reminded himself.

Their campsite was basically a few palm trees that shaded them from the worst of the sun. The trees were right where the beach met the forests of the island. At first they had been afraid of animals coming out of the forest at night, but they hadn't seen any animals since they landed on the island. The crates that held their supplies were placed under the trees at the edge of where the forests met the beach.

They also had a few blankets that washed up shore a day after the two of them had arrived. They dried them out and now used them for when it grew colder in the night. The weather on the island was hot and sunny most of the time, again, idyllic, except for the fact there were only two of them and they were running out of food.

She was sitting under the shade of the trees staring at the crates, probably mulling over the problem of food as well. He hoped he could take both their minds off it for a while.

"Hey, I was thinking-"

"We're running out of food," she said, cutting him off. He had been wearing his slyest grin, a clever crooked smile, but now it faded. You expected this, he told himself, got try to relax her. You only need a week or a bit more, you can't have her freaking out.

"I was thinking," he tried again, and was relieved when she let him finish, "that we don't really know each other that well."

"What are we going to do?" She asked. He knew what she was referring to, but he wasn't going to let himself get distracted. If they couldn't have any fun then being stuck on this island would drive them crazy quicker than if they actually did run out of food.

'Well, how about we play a kind of game. I tell you a truth about myself, something I've never told anyone. And then you do the same."

"I meant the food," she said, without looking away from the crates. She had a soft, musical even, sort of voice, but it grated on him when she talked to him like this.

"I know," he said forcing himself to be patient, and understanding. This obviously wasn't easy for her, and he didn't want to upset her. "But we have to keep ourselves distracted. If we don't... welli think the result would be worse than starving."

"Nothing's worse than starving."

He assumed this was true, and it was basically why he didn't want to think about it, but she wasn't making this easy.

"True, we can worry about it alter though. Our hunger we'll still be there when we come back to it. How about we try to relax a little."

"If we relax we die."

He almost sighed. This was proving to be harder than he thought it would be. Might as well give her a wedgie steal the food and fend for himself in the island's jungles. But he couldn't do that, if he let those primal urges win, those instinctive desires control him, then, even if he survived the island, he wouldn't be alive, not really anyway. Not in the ways that counted.

"We can afford to relax a bit. If we don't, we won't get anywhere. Let's take a break and try to enjoy the island, our lives, and each other's company. How about it?"

She seemed about to say something, probably give some snappy retort about how they could enjoy each other's company when they were dead. But she didn't say anything, she stared at the crates for a bit, and then finally, turned to him and smiled. She had a brilliant smile with these perfect white teeth.

"OK," she said, "let's spend the night together, just you, me and the Island."

"Hey, that's a pretty good title for a book: Me, Myself and Island. We can write it together, when we're back home."

She giggled, either at the title of the book that he was sure if he didn't copyright, someone would steal, or at the thought of them writing it together.

"So, how do we do this?" She asked.

"Well, I guess I'll go first," he said. He couldn't just start with the wedgie fetish, not only would that really throw her off, but he still wasn't sure he could tell her. He could feel the weight of the secret around his heart, which was weird, since his fetish was a sexual thing. He was surprised he didn't feel it in his mind, or an even more appropriate body part. But it was his heart that ached when he thought about telling her. He hadn't told anyone, and it had gotten so, he didn't even think of telling anyone. Maybe he should just call this off. Not so fast, he thought, so you can't tell her about your wedgie fetish right away, that's fine. You don't even know if you can tell her, and again, that's understandable, but you can't call it off, not right when you got her to agree. That'll upset her for sure, and she'll go back to thinking about food, and then you'll never get her mind off of it. So, here's what you do, he told himself, you start out easy, simple. And then, see what she says, go for a bit and then get really into it.

"So, a truth about me. Well," he took a shot, "I've always wanted to be stuck on an island alone with an attractive woman."

She giggled again; like her voice it was a light, soft and melodic sound.

"What straight guy hasn't?" She asked. Well, truth be told, because he liked wedgies he didn't even know if that made him straight or now, but he could talk to her about that later, once he got the courage to tell her he liked giving and getting wedgies...yeah...this wasn't going to be easy.

"Your turn," he said, taking up a position on the ground beside her and the crates, the sun was setting over the water in a beautiful cacophony of colour, he took a moment to savour it and watch it fade away. When he got home he promised himself that he would take a bit more time to appreciate simple things like the sunset.

"OK," she said, "well I've always wanted to be alone on an island with an attractive man." Cop out, he thought, and wanted to call her on it, but didn't want to upset her, so he went with it.

"Guess you got your wish," he said, casually laying down on the sand, gazing up at the palm trees and the darkening sky above. Much to his surprise she moved to lay down beside them, close enough that their arms were touching.

"Guess I did," she whispered. The man almost choked on his own breath he was so surprised. He never thought of himself as attractive, that was a joke, but apparently she didn't think so. Unless he was just joking. But she didn't sound like she was joking. But to his credit he played it cool and didn't say anything.

"My turn then," he finally said, letting the silence grow between them, making it clear that he had indeed heard her, "um..." He thought about lying, but decided the truth was easier. She would probably spot his lies anyway, and even if she didn't, he would probably let something slip at one point that revealed the truth.

"I'm a virgin," he said. And although he kept his eyes fixed on the sky and the clouds that rolled by overhead, not troubled by land, or ever having to be worried about food and distracting one's self, he could clearly feel her eyes on the side of his face. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, and briefly thought about how sandy her dress must be getting. He also wondered what kind of underwear was underneath that dress, but banished those thoughts. It was her turn, hopefully she would just go and not say anything. Having a wedgie fetish isolated him in a way similar to what the island does. He didn't know if he could get close to people because he was afraid if he did, and then he told them about his fetish, they would reject him, and he would be left all alone all over again. He didn't want to have to deal with that pain, so he kept himself alone.

"Me too," she said. YEAH RIGHT! He wanted to shout. Nice try but I'm calling your B.S. He turned to look at this beautiful woman who was, he was sure, in no ways a virgin. But when he saw her face he reconsidered. Even though now it was her looking up at the sky, she had an open look on the side of her face he could see, and the look in her eye seemed to say she was telling the truth. Why would she lie? What would be the point? True, he thought, so he turned back to the sky, but he still wasn't sure she wasn't just copying him, and he wanted to find out if he could get her to share some truth of her own. Before he even knew what he was doing he said something he didn't think he would be able to, but when he started tom say it, the truth came a lot easier than he thought it would.

"I have a wedgie fetish."

Dead silence except for the wind in the trees, the splashing of water against the beach, and the sound of their breathing.

He realized what he had said, and wished he could take it back. Too soon, he said, she won't understand, she'll freak out, take the food, leave me alone. And it will be all my fault. You have to keep it secret, no one gets it.

"What?" She asked. I knew it, he thought, I knew she wouldn't understand. I should just say I'm joking and make something up. But he had come this far, he guessed he could always say he was joking, but he had gotten this far, further than he thought he would ever get, and he wanted to at least try to explain before she took the food and ran. He even thought about telling her that she had to tell a truth first, those were the rules, but he didn't.

"Basically," he said, inhaling deeply, tasting the salty air, and wondering how to explain this, where does he even begin?

"I like wedgies. A lot. I mean, they...turn me on. They're kind of...I think...the only thing that does... turn me on."

"Wedgies?"

He also thought she might even say that she too has a wedgie fetish. But he wouldn't have believed her. There weren't a lot of them, especially females, so the chance of two wedgie fetishists ever meeting up on a deserted island were so low they might as well be non-existent.

"Yeah," he said, exhaling just as deeply as he inhaled, "you know, wedgies, when underwear gets pulled up someone's butt?"

"I know what they are," she said, and he waited for her to tell a truth, hoping that she wouldn't say anything, but also really hoped she would say something. "And...you like them? A lot?"

"Yes," he said, "it's called a fetish. I really like girls giving and getting wedgies. It arouses me unlike anything else."

"So..." she replied automatically, she must have had the question waiting, "You would like to give me a wedgie?"

When did this island turn into my own private confessional booth? He wondered, impressed by his wit, but still dismayed by the conversation.

"Yeah," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse as if strained from too much talking, but he cleared his throat and it quickly returned to normal.

"And you'd like it...if I gave you a wedgie."

"Yes," he said a little too quickly, and she giggled again. She moved closer to him, so close in fact that she was able to rest her head on his chest.

"Have you ever given a wedgie before? Or gotten one?" She asked. He really wanted to tell her that it was her turn, but he found that he couldn't, he really liked the feeling of her head on his chest, and he really liked where the conversation was going, even though it did make him a bit uncomfortable to be talking so much about something that for years he had kept a secret.

"Uh, well, not to or from another person," he said, hoping she'd get it. She did.

"You just gave them to yourself." It wasn't a question, but he responded as if it was.

"Yeah," well if she didn't think you were some kind of pervert before she does now; listen to you, talking about giving yourself wedgies because they arouse you.

"You poor thing," his first thought was that someone else had suddenly stumbled out of the forest and was in terrible condition; who else would she be calling a 'poor thing?' He looked up, didn't see anyone, realized she must be talking about him, blushed, and laid his head back against the cool sand. It was getting darker and they would have to light a fire soon, for light and warmth, and for the chance to get a good look at her face. To try and see what she was thinking.

"Me? Why?"

"All alone, no one to please you. If I had to guess, wedgies gotten and given with another person are far better than the ones you do to yourself."

He thought he knew where this was going and he instantly got very excited, his arousal making itself known through the awakening of the organ he most associated with his fetish. She wasn't talking about... She wasn't actually saying they should... Was she?

"I did OK," he said, trying to sound nonchalant while having no idea of what to say or do.

"That's what I'm saying, all those years, growing up, I assume there aren't a lot like you. And you were only able to do OK? I think we can do better than OK!"

We can? He thought, and then, we can! Of course we can. But what is she suggesting? He knew, but he never expected when he thought about sharing truths that it would ever lead to this. It really was a dream come true.

"We can?" he asked.

"Yes, we can. How about this-" she pushed herself off of him and took a position on her knees facing him. Again he worried about her dress getting ruined, but she didn't seem to care, and his curiosity kept growing, urging him to find out what she wore under it. One part of his body was making a noticeable impression in his Hawaiian shorts, as it in particular wanted to find out.

"We get into positon across from each other like this," she said, gesturing to herself and her kneeling positon on the sand, and we can...countdown I guess. And when we reach zero, we both give each other a wedgie." Those words were enough to almost pleasure him without him even having to visualize a wedgie. She's probably pranking me, he thought, I'll get into position and she'll push me over, joking, saying something like, 'you honestly thought I'd let you give me a wedgie? What a freak!'

But he found himself getting into a position across from her, their bodies only inches apart, him slightly taller, her more attractive. She was looking into his eyes and he looked back, he wondered why she would be doing this, but then he saw the hunger again. The same need in her eyes, and he understood the longing she had within her. The desire to please someone else, and maybe get pleasured in return. He didn't want to tell her that if she didn't have a fetish for wedgies, he didn't think she'd get much pleasure from this, but he was already floating on this euphoric sense of arousal that he had never felt so purely before. This must be what it feels like when real life is for once better than your fantasies, he thought.
He opened his mouth to speak but his throat was dry and he found that he couldn't speak. He closed his mouth again and saw that she was smiling widely at him.

"Three," she whispered, and he shivered in the growing night, although it was getting colder, this was a shiver born from pleasure, that racked his body, not generating more heat, but acknowledging the heat that was already building in a certain part of his body.

"Two," her voice, a sweet coo, was almost lost under the combined sound of the swaying trees and the waters that surrounded them, but he heard her as if she was the only thing on the island.

She had already started moving her hands, these supple fingers that spoke of strength, but also tenderness, were behind his back, resting atop his Hawaiian shorts, feeling the waistband of it as if she were practicing what she was going to do to his underwear. He thanked himself quickly for taking such good care for the underwear he was wearing right now as well, being alone on an island some people might not have cared, but as a wedgie fetishist he was always looking to get a wedgie. So he always kept his underwear in nice condition. The worst thing that could happen now was if they were dirty and she freaked out.

"One," he moved his arms around her back, he had to flip the bottom of her dress up a bit, but she had moved it enough so she wasn't sitting on it. He pushed the dress aside and felt the skin of her back, she trembled under the touch of his cold hands touch.

She returned the favour by putting her hands on his bare back above his shorts and he shook. The two of them laughed, but it was a shy laugh born out of a bashful nervousness from never having done anything like this before. They looked deep into each other's eyes, he saw the desire, the lust, and the whole situation began to feel all the more real to him. His heard picked up speed, and he could feel, despite the cold, a small sweat break out over his skin

She giggled again, he knew more than a second had passed, but was waiting for her to make some kind of move, he could feel her fingers in the back of his shorts, fondling the waistband of his white briefs. He didn't want to jump the gun, and surprise her, thus ruining the moment, but it was so tempting to just grab her underwear, he still wasn't exactly sure where it was, but feeling around quickly and he touched a soft fabric, it felt like a full back of panties which to him doubled the excitement, it would have been a bit of disappointment if after all this build up, she was wearing a thong that ripped after one pull. Although the wait was starting to irk him, he willed himself to wait. It was better if you had to wait, he tried to tell himself, it built the excitement up more. But he was plenty excited already, and was growing tired of waiting.

He felt her hands tighten on the waistband of his briefs and he gripped her underwear, and as one, they shifted toward one another. They dragged their knees across the sand as if simultaneously agreeing that the wedgie would be better if they were closer together.

He thought they were only going to move a bit closer, but she kept coming, scooting across the gap between them getting closer to him until their chests were almost touching. She leaned forward, her butt staying in the same place, with his hands still holding the underwear. She leaned toward him, until her head was resting on this shoulder. She moved nearer to him, until their bodies were pressed together. He could feel her heart beating she was so close. Or maybe it was just his heart, beating unusually fast. He hoped she couldn't hear, or feel it. But he also wondered what she would think to know he was this excited.

She turned her head toward his ear, they were so close that her lips were almost touching it.

"Wedgie me!" She whispered, and she slowly began to pull on his underwear. His briefs crept up his back as she gave them a delicate pull, testing the fabric, and seeing what his reaction might be. He didn't even pull her underwear for the first few seconds after she pulled his. He was struck by the reality of his situation, here he was, trapped on a deserted island, with a hot girl, who was giving him a wedgie in one of the most intimate, and desirable ways he could imagine. The briefs tightened against his crotch, pressing on his groin, and began a slow rub like a rough hand, touching him, sliding along his skin, evoking an instant pleasure that he didn't understand how everyone couldn't feel.

"Wedgie me," she said again, and he could hear the desire, the need again. He didn't know why she was so anxious, but he didn't have to ebe told a third time. He lightly pulled on the back of her underwerar, trying to peek over her shoulder to see what kind of underwear she was wearing. A big part of the fetish for him was having to see the underwear as it was getting pulled. She didn't mind that he was getting closer to her, and as her rested his head on her shoulder to get a good look at her panties, she adjusted her head so she was looking not at him, but at the beach and the water behind him, staring out toward rescue and the home, but the guy wondered if she was thinking that all she needed was right here and right now. In the moment as she pulled his underwear up, and it climbed into his butt, and he tugged, as slowly and softly as he could, he wondered if this really was a paradise, and he had reason to believe it was. He was careful not to hurt her; pain wasn't really his thing anyway, but he knew wedgies could hurt, and also knew that hurting her would be the quickest way to make sure something like this never happened again. And, he was somehow able to joke despite the pervading feeling of pleasure that was beginning to permeate his body, that would make living on a deserted island unbearable.

"Wedgie me!" She insisted, her voice still a whisper but her breath more laboured now, as if the slight pull she had given and received had already begun to tire her out. He obeyed feeling her hands do the same, forcing the fabric further up his butt, cramming it into him, and the rough hand that had lightly been rubbing him, not became more like sandpaper scraping at his butt and his groin, the feeling was a little discomforting, but like wood subjected to sandpaper, it had to be sanded down before it could be used.

The friction of the underwear grinding up and down his butt, began to create a slight heat in his groin and butt, but also inside of his loins. She squeaked as he gave her underwear a harder pull, they had only been doing this for a few seconds but just the sensation of the underwear being wedged up his butt, the fabric a hard stone, pushing against him, but harshly caressing his skin as it was moved against him was enough have him almost panting in excitement as his white briefs stretched up his back. He could feel her breathing and the quick beating of her heart. Her red dress prickled his skin as he kept a grip on her panties, he was thrusted forward by a hard pull on his underwear, and trying to be careful, returned a slightly harder pull. He imagined the underwear was entering her now, invading her by splitting her right down the middle. Her underwear was, thankfully, made out of a firm fabric that allowed it to endure constant strain that the man inflicted on it, he gave a few quick pulls, lifting up and down, she followed suit and soon the two of them were rocking against each other their bodies pressing and moving away in what looked like a synchronized dance move. Her hair flew over his face, and he pushed his face against the side of hers, they moaned in each other's ears, their bodies squirming because of the pulls delivered by the both of them, the underwear rubbing all the right places in all the right ways. Caressing and chafing against them, they seemed to be one person, gyrating in between two pairs of underwear that was extended behind the two lone survivors.

"WEDGIE ME!" She yelled, and he didn't tell her to quiet down, they were alone on the island. She could be as loud as she wanted.

He forgot all about being careful, and not hurting her, it was like he was possessed by the basest primal instincts, but what could he expect? He was living on a deserted island after all. He hauled up on her underwear, she fell toward him, and the two of them almost toppled over backwards. But he kept his balance on his knees, making sure to pull her underwear harder and further up her butt. Now the pressure of the underwear was starting to make itself known, the cloth began to tear as threads popped. And the pain in his butt was like someone taking a hot poker and forcing it all over his lower body, but the heat was so pleasing.

He wondered what it was like for her. This wonderful, beautiful; women who seemed to be giving as good as she was getting. Not letting his underwear fall below his midriff, tugging at it like it was something stuck beneath a door and needed to be pried out. Both pairs of underwear condensed until they more resembled rope than anything people would use to cover themselves. And the ropes clawed themselves deeper into them. He moved his face, turning it to, and adjusting his head so he could look into her eyes.

He didn't hesitate, as he gave the underwear another pull, he forced his lips against hers, but it wasn't forcing so much, because that's exactly where she wanted them to be.

Her lips parted by the movement of tongues of different fabrics that shared the same goal of giving pleasure. Their tongues danced in their mouths, their faces jammed together like their bodies that were moving with such commotion it was almost like they were vibrating. It became an all-out free for all, as both of them just began to tug the underwear as hard as they could, no longer even thinking about hurting others or what might be left of their underwear afterwards.

Their bodies rose together in one last literal climatic pull, their arms and muscles straining against the fabric, gravity and their own share pleasure that seemed to overwhelm them like the underwear that encapsulated it all. The fire in his crotch was surely felt by her as their underwear lifted the back of their feet off the ground, once more threatening to upset their balance. But they found equilibrium inn one another and pulled harder on the underwear, their mouths still pressed together as if their bodies had been melded together in the forges of their ecstasy.

They pulled their lips away long enough so they could moan in mutual signs of pleasure. The underwear inched itself against and into them as it had been doing since they began to pull, but now it was different, it was being pulled for a reason, to a destination, and they were coming to it together. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and their heads almost knocked together as they moved up and down like they were on a road permeated by speed-bumps. But they didn't slow them down at all. They sped up, bouncing up and down on their knees, gasping and panting, their hearts racing to the pulls and yanks of the cotton fabric being heaved up and up and up. He opened his mouth wide and raised his head to the sky to wail out a cry of such absolute pleasure he had only ever dreamed of before, the fire, an inferno, and the underwear, a hand, shook him with its friction and rocked his body until he was spent. His rocking ceased and for a moment there was nothing but the serenity this island seemed to have in abundance, no worry of food, or shelter, or rescue. There was only her, him, and the wedgies that could come.

She let out similar sounds and he slowly let go of her underwear when she quieted down.

He didn't say anything, and for a few seconds the two of them knelt on the beach in perfect silence, looking at each other, listening to the sounds of the waves and island. She released his underwear and it snapped against his back as hers did when he did the same. He kept his eyes on her, but slowly allowed himself to lay back on the sand, feeling it against his back, and feeling it gather on his underwear he didn't touch. He would have to get her to work the sand out with a couple pulls. He smiled at the thought.

It was growing late, and he didn't think himself tired, but he discovered he was at peace in a way he had never been before. It was funny how out of this horrifying situation he found such happiness. And he drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed of wedgies and the woman.

He woke during the night, a fire was raging near him, not a sexual one, but a real one, it seemed awfully close, and the man moved back slightly, amused at the sweat he had built up on this cold night. He had thought of a name for his book, they would write it together he decided and even knew what the...climax would be. He couldn't wait to tell her.

He turned his head and there she was, facing the forest, her back to him. The fire behind him.

"Hey, I got the perfect title for our book." She jumped slightly at the sound of is voice, cutting the dark silence of the night, but she didn't turn around.

"I want to name it-" he began, but was cut off when she rose to her feet and shuffled in a circle, he could barely see something in her hands, something heavy it seemed, because she was having trouble lifting it. He went to get up to help her, but she completed her turn quickly, pivoting towards him, and he had time to wonder what she was doing with a giant rock in both hands. But first he recognized the look in her eye. He saw it in the briefest of flashes, in its truest and purest form. It wasn't any kind of sexual desire, or primitive longing. It was a far simpler thing. It was hunger. She was hungry. And then she brought the rock down on his face. And he knew no more.

She put all her weight behind the rock, basically falling onto the man, with the rock crushing his face. But she didn't want to be surprised by him still being alive, so she lifted the rock up, it was slick with his blood, but she managed to lift it enough so she could drop it back on his face. She did this a few more times.

"Sorry," she whispered to the mangled mess that was left of his face. "I was hoping to do it while you slept, but I only just got the rock ready. You have to understand. I'm getting hungry...and the food...it wouldn't have lasted that long. Besides, we need meat. You understand," she said.

"But I wanted your last night to be the best you ever had. I hoped you were pleased," she said. And that was the last time she spoke to what was going to be her food for just over a week; at which point she was rescued.

-

Press Conference. The sole survivor, and soon to be author of Me, Myself and Island, having been on the island for close to two weeks, spoke to journalists as to how she managed to survive. What follows were her concluding remarks. It should be noted that she broke into tears when she spoke about the man, she would not however, say with any real detail, what happened to him. We can only assume he was injured when the boat capsized and didn't last long on the island.

"The most important thing, and the thing I have to say to everyone is that I didn't give up hope. I didn't let fear control my actions. I wasn't alone on the island, not at first, anyway, there was a man, a wedgie fetishist, he called himself, and he helped me survive. He's the reason I'm here today. I don't think I would have made it without him. He saved my life."