Jordan was a half mile up the gravel road before he realized that something was wrong. He had felt it as soon as he got off the ferry, because what was supposed to be an island with shops and hotels and a historic fort just looked like a gravel parking lot. But Jordan was a college student on vacation, and the area was unfamiliar to him. The entire idea of ferries and islands was unfamiliar to him. So when he walked off the ferry, he assumed the center of town was up the road and around the bend. But after walking for 10 minutes up the gravel road, he turned a corner and saw the road stretching ahead, nothing but pine trees. A lone shed without windows stood in a gravel cul-de-sac. And Jordan got nervous.

He looked up at the sky, and realized that clouds were gathering, and that the sun had disappeared behind a knot of them on the horizon. He ran back to the ferry landing, to see the ferry had already disappeared out into the fog. He looked at the sign and saw that the Pine Island Ferry wouldn’t return until the morning. He wasn’t supposed to be on Pine Island. And he certainly wasn’t supposed to be here overnight!

And so that is how Jordan, barely 20 years old, and on an adventure during summer break that was supposed to be fun, ended up wandering around a deserted island off the coast of New England in the dusk. Since there was nothing going on in the direction he had first come, he took the gravel road the other way. And, just as the mist stared turning to drizzle, he saw what looked to be lights a ways off. He started walking, then running fast, as the drizzle turned to rain. He found himself in front of a small, charming white-sided New England cabin, and quickly opened the gate, moving to the front door and knocking on it.

There was no response for a minute, and he became more worried. But then the door opened in front of him, and he saw the home’s resident: an older woman, dressed in a grey dress. “Oh my,” she said, “but you do look very cold. Come in quickly.” He didn’t ask questions, even though he might have. When he entered the door, he found a small, cozy living room, with a hot burning Franklin stove. It was good to be out of the cold.

The woman was looking him over. “You will probably want a shower,” she said. The house seemed so old that he was worried the shower would be decrepit, but she led him down a hallway into a modern, clean bathroom. “Go ahead, get warm,” she said, with a smile.

He realized the oddness of it all, but the cold fabric against his skin was unbearable. As soon as she closed the door, he stripped and turned on the how water and sunk into the tub. As he did so, he realized how tired he was. Before taking the ferry, he had been travelling all day, if not all week. His body started to dissolve into the hot water. And, being a 20 year old college student, as the hot water filled the tub, he realized he had another problem. He had the libido of a college student, and as his immediate worries melted away, he felt his penis hardening. He didn’t risk touching it...he might become too aroused, and that would be quite embarassing in a stranger’s bathroom. He told himself to calm down, and after realizing that too long of a shower might be rude, he got out. He did have a problem, in that she had taken his old clothes, but he noticed a pair of pajamas on a hanger on the doorknob. Comfortable flannel, exactly his size. He slipped into them.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Despite the wearing day, his face had a fresh scrubbed glow to it. He had blond hair, clear peach complection a little red from the hot water, and a square jaw. He had just enough scruff in his hair to avoid looking too preppy. That was part of the reason for this trip---he was tired of people thinking he was only a clean-cut jock.

When he returned to the living room, he blinked for a minute. She was sitting in an easy chair, but she seemed different. When he had first seen her in the doorway, she seemed older, but now she seemed like a middle-aged woman. Jordan was 20, so for him 32 might as well have been 52, but she was somewhere in there. She also looked more cheerful. She had a twinkle in her eye. The grey dress that had seemed so severe in the dark now seemed like a fashion statement in the cheery living room. He sat down, and, by way of explanation, told how he got here. He wanted to apologize for barging in, saying that it was just because he was lost. She laughed and said, “This isn’t the first time it has happened”. She seemed amused. He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but he felt his eyes getting heavy. It had been a long day, and it had finally caught up with him. He also realized now, looking at her in the warm living room, that she was pretty. And he subtly crossed his legs, with the realization that he might start embarassing himself soon.

“I think you need to sleep,” she said, and her voice sounded like it came from far away. He nodded in agreement. She stepped close to him, and took his hand. “This way she said,” as he shuffled behind her down the hallway. Her hand was cool, but he could feel the pulse inside of it, surprisingly strong. A minute later, he was looking into a nicely furnished, warm guest bedroom. The pillows and blankets seemed heavenly. He barely remembered crawling into bed, and she hit the light, leaving him in the dark, moonlit room. He was asleep within minutes.

He didn’t know when he woke up, other than the moon was still out, and he could hear a creak. The events of the previous day flooded back to his mind, but his body felt too heavy to move. He heard the doorknob turn, and then he was looking into the eyes of his hostess, standing in the doorway. The silhoutte of light showed a body that wasn’t wearing a shapeless grey dress, but something that showed off her curves. Her feet made creakings on the floorboard as she moved over to him, bent down, and kissed him. Her lips, like her hands earlier, were cool, but warmed up as her tongue travelled up and down his lips. He still felt very heavy, but he could still move enough to open his mouth to her questing tongue. She pulled back with a pleasurable gasp. Looking up at her, in the moonlight, she appeared different. Her hair must have been up in a bun earlier, because now it cascaded around her face, a curtain of curly locks. Her face looked timeless and mysterious, and really the same age as him.

“Miss Vivienne...” he stammered out. How did he know her name? Had she told him? Everything was so confusing, but the sight of her hard nipples pressing against her nightgown was something he could understand. So was the intoxicating, almost citrusy smell coming off of her. And so was the feeling of her hand sliding down his body, smoothly feeling for his hardness.

“What?” he managed to stammer out.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her lips finding his again, “everything is going to be okay”. Just as she said that, her fingers formed a ring around his hardness. “Oh my,” she said, 'we will have to do something about that,' and as she begin to stroke, they both gasped inwards, turning into low moans. He wanted to thrust his hips but he couldn’t. But she was an expert, gently and firmly using her hand to hold the skin of his cock, moving it over the glans in a steady rhythm.

He had never had sex before. It would surprise people who thought of him as a pretty-boy jock, but like many young men, he was awkward. The most he had done was kissing, and some hesitant, unskilled groping. Now he had a very skillful hand on his cock, and it wasn’t long before he could feel the sperm boiling up inside of him. He tried to warn her, but before he could, his body heaved and thick spurts of come jetted out. She didn’t break contact, continuing to stroke him as he emptied himself to the point of whimpering sensitivity.

She wasn’t done.

She pulled up the skirt of her nightgown, showing nothing underneath, just a trail of pubic hair above her slit. She placed it over his just spent cock and started rubbing up and down. He could feel her wetness. He looked up at her breasts, marvelling at how large they were, and how full. Her nipples were dark and large, and her breasts moved in an easy rhythm as she ground against him. He had never gotten soft, but as she ground and groaned, he felt himself engorging again, almost painfully so. He still felt himself unable to move, other than moaning and the slightest rotating of his hips. As soon as he had reached full hardness, she straddled him and brought herself down, in one motion. And now came the rolling, squeezing motion, her tightness around him, her face moving up and down over him, the moonlight making her face silver and black as she bounced up and down. She took one of his hands and directed it to one of her full breasts.

“Squeeze,” she ordered, and he did. He had enough control to do that. She squealed in happiness, urging him on.

He lost track of time, but deep inside of him, he felt it happening again. He was floating on a haze of the dark room and the scent of her, and he heard her voice start to raise in volume and pitch. Like most young men, his previous experiences had been furtive with intentional muffling, but he got the feeling she was going to scream as loud as she could---after all, who could hear her out here? And finally she did come, her pussy clenched around him, and of course he followed too, rocking against her. And then she pulled herself off, and kissed him.

His heart was racing, but at the same time, as the door closed and the moon moved behind a cloud, he felt himself so sore and heavy. And tired. His body stared melting into the mattress, and he could hear his eyes going down with heaviness.

He woke up the next morning with sunlight streaming through the window. And like many men before him, remembering what had happened, he wondered what to say. He could move perfectly now. And his laundered clothing were on a chair by the door. He did still detect his own semen across his thighs. His fair skin was overcome with a blush as he changed. Best to face it head on. He headed downstairs. She was in the kitchen, dressed in a cheery yellow dress, with a plate of pancakes. His heart skipped a beat in anticipation.

“Better get your breakfast! That ferry is coming soon,” she said, with the cheerful demeanor of a suburban housewife who knew that Target was having a sale on LaCroix. He did find himself very hungry, and he started scarfing down the pancakes, and drinking some orange juice. No pulp, the way he liked it.

“Thank you Vivienne,” he said

“You are welcome, Jordan,” she answered. The barest hint of a blush moved across her features. Before he knew it, breakfast was gone, and last night was no longer sticking in his memories. She gave him his backpack, and said he should rush. She walked him to the front gate, and gave him a hug that seemed totally friendly---but also confirmed that his memories of her being voluptuous under her plain clothing was not totally in his imagination. And then she was urging him to run, and run he did.

Down at the dock, the ferry had just reached the docks, and a few people were coming off--- hippies and backpackers, barely a half dozen. He was the only one boarding. The ferry was small, and other than the captain, there was only a single conductor to guide him on. The smell of the morning waves was bracing, waking him up. He thought he could still feel the faint scent of her citrus perfume on his clothing.

As they got underway, he told the conductor what had happened---that he had gotten on the wrong ferry, and had been here overnight, and had found a nice local resident who gave him board. (He, of course, breathed no detail of anything else that had happened.)

The conductor looked at him quizzically for a few moments. “Son, this island is a state park only for campers---the last resident left a half century ago, at least.”