The names in this story have been changed to protect the privacy of two young men stranded on a desert island in the middle of the last century.

No women anywhere. There were only magazine pinups and those movies at the outdoor Starlite theater, girlfriend's pictures, etc. There was work. There was Duffy's. Some swimming and fishing. The food was great. Just no women anywhere. What a hankering developed.

Horace was killing time walking along that scanty oceanside beach and he found a piece of driftwood. He started whittling almost without thinking. Then an idea formed and he brought this bit of flotsam back to the tent. Keeping his knife sharp and carving whenever he could, he sculpted a nice nude, arms akimbo and breasts standing out firm. He was pleased with his work and we were all proud of him. Strangers would stop by our tent and ask to see her. He continued to buff and polish on his creation and worked her up into a deep glowing finish. He kept her put away in his locker and never let her stand around like many statues do.

Then she disappeared. One day when he reached for her, she was gone. He had no idea who ran away with her. Well-- he did have some notions but nothing to base any accusation on. His little woman was gone and he had to forget her. Months still passed slowly. We all did nearly forget her.

Meanwhile, she was held prisoner in a strange locker. Something had come over Sam the day he took her. He had never stolen anything before. Sam worked night shift and could get some sleep early in the morning and after sunset but during the heat of the day he fought boredom. We all fought boredom. To fill this time he started sewing. He sewed some stretchy colorful fabric into the smallest two piece bikini you've ever seen. When his tentmates were allowed to see this little wooden beauty, she was dressed. They said he would lie on his bunk with her standing on his chest and he would slowly undress her and then slip the bikini parts back on, then off again, over and over. They were beginning to worry about him, but then he got his orders to ship out.

Sam was all packed the next day and ready to catch the bus to the air terminal when he came by our tent. He shook hands all around and promised to write, (Nobody ever did). He shook Horace's hand and quickly grabbed the wooden lady from the top of his duffel bag and thrust her at him. "Sorry I took her. I don't know why I did it. I made her this outfit". Then he was gone through the tent flap. We stood there in some kind of shock and then started laughing and whooping as we heard the bus gears grinding off through the dust.

The little nude cutie spent most of her time then behind locked doors. We all got our orders eventually and forgot the incident. I called Horace 45 years later and he reminded me of those happenings on that lonesome Isle.

She is still with her sculptor. She reminds him of those desert island days.

Harold R Wainscott
Email: hrw@dcr.net

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