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The Castaway By Kasumi This is my third story posted to Fictionmania. If you enjoy it, I'd love to hear feedback in the comments, and please check out my previous efforts, CosPlay and the multi-part Just Another Day in Paradise! Even if you don't love it, constructive criticism to help me improve my writing or ideas is welcome too. This story contains themes of transgenderism. If this offends you, please stop reading now. February 26th 2012 So I found this journal in one of the suitcases. I'm going to use it to record the end of the life of the only survivor of Flight 816, also known as me, Michael Cairns. If anyone ever finds this shithole, at least they'll know what happened, to both the plane and me. The sun's already starting to go down though, and I've still got to finish improving the shelter. I think there might be another storm rolling in, so I need to do as much as I can to waterproof it. I can't go through another night like the last two. February 27th 2012 The shelter held! Holy cow, I'm not sure how, but I only got a little wet, and that was a crazy storm. I even managed a few hours' sleep when it died down, my small amount of salvage seems to be fine, and my water setup even seems to work. Not bad for a guy who hasn't camped out since 5th grade! I guess sitting at home alone, marathoning Lost and Bear Grylls paid off after all. Anyway, seeing as I seem to be sitting pretty in the shade for now, I guess I'll start getting down on paper what I can recall of the crash and the aftermath. After all, who knows how long I can survive out here? Flight 816 from LA to Melbourne was full on February 25th 2012. I mean "sorry sir, we'll have to gate check your carry-on" full. It's not like I even wanted to be on the flight, but my company needed someone to attend a conference in Australia, and my boss nominated me so he could go fishing instead. I hate flying at the best of times - I'm only 5'6", so leg room isn't a problem, but I never exactly got the hang of eating healthy and exercising, so I always feel squished. That I had to be in that sardine tin wearing a business suit just made it even worse. I've been saying every morning for the 2 years since I left college and entered the working world that a suit and tie would be the death of me, and it looks like I'm half right. Given it's the only clothing I've got, I'm definitely going to be dying in it. Anyway, several hours into the flight, it was pretty obvious there were some problems with the plane. The lights kept flickering, the air would cut in and out, and the stewardesses were urgently whispering to each other in the galley any time I'd walk past to use the bathroom. Even so, the beginning of the crash still came with no warning - one moment everything was ok, the next the shriek of breaking, grinding metal, was combined with my own shrieks as my left side row of two seats dropped out of the plane. If I'd been a couple of inches taller, the bottom of the plane would have scalped me. As it was, the 6 foot plus Adonis sitting next to me found himself suddenly shorter by several inches, and my suit jacket found itself a fetching shade of maroon. Appropriate, given my new situation, marooned on a desert island. I don't think I'll ever know how I managed to gain the awareness to undo my seatbelt in those agonizing seconds, tearing through the air towards the Earth below. Even while my mouth was screaming nonsensically, my fingers apparently knew my only chance of survival was making myself as thin and arrow-like as possible in order to hit the waiting Pacific below. I somehow found the strength to push myself away from the seat, pointing my toes, and pressing my hands to my sides, like I recalled seeing in a James Bond movie, or some such. When I did eventually hit the water, my feet entered just fine, but my overhanging gut smashed into the water, winding me, and putting me in the worst pain I have ever felt. My feet hit the bottom, and somehow I gathered my wits enough to push back to the surface. Wherever I was, the water was shallow - I knew there had to be land close. Though I had never really done anything about it, I'd always hated being fat, instead of muscular. Now though, it didn't seem like such a bad thing. Added with the buoyancy of the salt water, my body naturally wanted to float. Though I was in a lot of pain, and scared out of my mind, I knew if I could figure out where the land was, I just needed to have enough strength to pull myself there. Somehow, the pain was helping me to focus on my situation, and as I bobbed in the current, I scanned the horizon. To my left, I saw it - a small collection of distant trees. I breathed in deep, psyching myself up to make up for all those high school years of avoiding gym class in favor of academics all in one go. I don't know how long it took. I just kept willing myself onward, even when it seemed like the trees weren't getting any closer. Eventually though, I was painstakingly crawling my way up a sandy beach, collapsing in a soggy, puffing heap. I think I lay there, drying in the sun, trying to will my arms and legs to move again for at least a half hour. Of course my watch was waterlogged, so who knows for sure? Eventually, I pulled myself up on wobbly legs, and staggered to the small copse of palm trees, plonking myself back down in the shade to recover further. There was a coconut on the ground nearby, and I hammered at it with a sharp-looking rock until I was able to break it, and drink deeply from the milk inside, somewhat sating my thirst. I knew I couldn't stay where I was - I was going to need food, water, and shelter, which meant I needed to explore. I pulled my suit jacket over my head to protect myself from the sun as best as I could, and set off to take stock of my surroundings. Somewhere between the plane and the beach, I had lost my shoes, but even being careful about where I stepped, it still didn't take long to make my way around the island. It wasn't exactly Tom Hanks in Cast Away small, but there still wasn't a whole lot to it. The main feature was a low hill, sparsely grassed. On one side, I found a shallow natural cave carved into the volcanic rock much of the island appeared to be made of. It was only maybe 4-5 feet deep, but there was a low ceiling and somewhat of an overhang. It made for a promising shelter, though I expected it would need work if I was going to be here for any length of time. I also came across a few suitcases that must have fallen from my flight along with me. The hard case one was split open and empty, but the softer ones were intact. I dragged all of it to the cave to go through later. The most important find, though, was a stocked food cart from the plane's galley. I guess the crew had been preparing to serve dinner when the plane split up. I opened up what turned out to be chicken and rice, savoring every bite, along with some sips of bottled water. The rest of the cart I dragged down to the ocean, figuring the salt water would help preserve the food much longer than if it was left out. I dug it down into the sand under water, and was pleased to see that it did not move as waves washed up the beach. By the time I was done combing the island, the sun was starting to go down. I made my way back to the cave. The salvaged suitcases could wait, but one thing that couldn't was water. The bottles from the plane food cart wouldn't last long - I needed a way to collect more. Using my sharp rock, I tore the material lining from the empty hard case, before setting both sides on as flat a surface as I could outside the cave. As soon as it rained next, hopefully water would collect in them like a bucket. Back in the cave, I took off my jacket, wadded it up into a pillow as best I could, and tried my best to get comfortable. Volcnic rock does not make the best bedding. I tried hard to sleep, but the sound of the waves crashing outside and the sharp, poky rocks digging into my side meant that I was not well-rested by the time dawn broke. I fetched food from my underwater pantry, eating it cold. I made a mental list of things I needed to do - bedding, fire, rescue... And then, for the first time, it hit me. I was alone. Alone, in the middle of a vast ocean. And even if the powers that be knew where the plane went down, how would they find me on this tiny scrap of land? And if they didn't... I was stuck here, doomed to live out the rest of my life, however long or short. I sat down in what I realized was my new home. There was work to be done, but I didn't want to do it; a deep depression had come over me. I don't know how long I sat there. I wasn't even thinking about anything, just sitting, and staring at my meager salvage, my mind blank. I finally reached for the first suitcase, unzipping one at a time and throwing them open. Of course. Of fucking course. All 5 of Flight 816's bags that had joined me in hell had previously belonged to women. I was stuck in my uncomfortable suit, a suit that was already starting to fray and tear from yesterday's exertions. There wasn't even a hat to keep the sun off my head. I angrily shoved the suitcases to the back of the cave, sighed and threw my jacket over my head once more. There had been no rain overnight, so I used one half of the broken suitcase to cart sand into the cave, filling in the spaces between rocks, doing what I could to smooth out the floor. As the sun rose in the sky, the air got hotter and more humid, and I eventually had to retreat to the cooler air of the shady cave. My body just wasn't built for these kinds of efforts. Eventually I cooled down enough to head over to the palm copse, gathering fallen fronds to make a makeshift bed. With the long wait for cooler air during the middle of the day and the many trips back and forth, by the time I was satisfied, dusk was already approaching and I was losing light. I decided to take a closer look at the salvaged suitcases. Picking my way through the contents, I mentally inventoried what I had available. The clothes were all women's, and even if I had been inclined to wear them, they all appeared to be sized too small for my frame. There were the various creams, lotions, and liquids that could no longer be kept in a carry-on, and I put those to the side, in case any of them could be useful. Shoes, of course, and feeling the ache from my socked feet, I realize that checking if any of them fit would be a good idea - walking around in women's shoes would be infinitely better than stepping on any more sharp stones - I put the larger looking ones to the side too. At the bottom of the fifth case, I found my salvation. The blade was only about the length of my hand, but if Bear Grylls' shows had taught me anything, it was that being out in the wild was a whole lot easier with a knife. I was already thinking about the various survival tools I could make using this bad boy. Alongside the knife were a few novels that could help pass the time in the hottest part of the day, and this journal, along with a pack of pencils. With the light almost gone, I set my prized finds onto a natural shelf in the rock, and tried to settle myself into my new bed. I awoke to howling winds, the crack of thunder, and heavy rain spritzing me through the opening of the cave. It was pitch black outside - apparently a storm had rolled up in my sleep, and I could do nothing about it. I had never liked storms at the best of times, but at least in the past I had had four walls around me and a roof over my head. I pressed myself into the very back of my cave, and I could hear myself moaning with every roll of thunder and flash of lightning. Tears were streaming down my face. Why was this happening to me? Why couldn't I have just died like everyone else on that godforsaken plane? With that knife so close to hand, I don't know how I made it through that storm, when I could have ended it all. Eventually dawn arrived though, the sky gray and sullen looking as the storm clouds took their time to move on. Like the previous night, I had had maybe an hour or two's rest, but I clearly had work to do. I needed to make some kind of door in order to keep future rain out. I picked up my knife, threw my jacket over my head again, and headed out. Stripping bark off palm trees is not easy. I spent all frigging day tearing pieces off the copse of trees with my knife in order to weave together more fronds, carting it all over to my cave, and putting my new door together. I also found a large piece of driftwood, a log that was not native to this island, that seemed heavy enough to hold it all in place at the top of the overhang. As I ate dinner from the galley cart (I had been so thankful to see it still in place, despite the storm), I made my first note in the journal, watching the storm clouds begin to gather once more. I put the finishing touches to my shelter entrance, pulling it into place as the first raindrops fell. And that brings me up to today. The shelter door worked, my cave was nice and dry, but I was exhausted from so little sleep, food rationing, and all of the efforts I had put in so far. I've had to make a few minor repairs to yesterday's work, and between that, this journal entry, and a midday siesta, the day has gone already. I'm going to keep track of everything that happens to me on this island though. Maybe one day it will be found, and history students will learn about the last days of Michael Cairns, last survivor of Flight 816 to Melbourne. February 28th 2012 Ugh, there was another storm last night. At least that means I have plenty of water still, but I'm going to put the stupidity of this morning down to the lack of sleep from it. My suit was fast becoming a collection of tears, frays, and holes, and I realized that I needed to start exposing my pasty, fat body to the sun, in order to build up a resistance and prevent burning. In my bleary-eyed, lack of sleep state, I stripped down out of all of my clothes, intending to wash them all in the ocean water, grabbed what I thought was sunscreen from the pile of lotions I had found, and slathered it everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Except for the hair on top if my head, if there was a chance it could ever be exposed to the sun, it got cream rubbed into it. Oh god, that was a mistake. I can still smell the burning now, several hours later. And talk about burning, this felt like the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. I could hear myself screaming as I sprinted to the ocean to wash off whatever it was I had put on my body, completely submerging myself, and scrubbing at my poor, stinging skin. When I finally felt my body return to a normal temperature and pain level, I gradually eased myself back out of the ocean waves. I was pink all over, but that wasn't the worst of it. My body, except for that on top of my head, was entirely hair-free. I looked like a giant baby. I walked back to my cave, pink, smooth, and entirely naked, and looked at the discarded bottle of "sunscreen". The brown and gold bottle looked just like Coppertone at first glance, but if I'd just taken a moment to read, in big letters on the front were the words "depilatory cream". Why on earth did women use this torture device? What was wrong with a razor? I sighed, covered myself in actual SPF30, grabbed my clothes, and made my way back to the water. I washed myself in the salt water, before carefully washing my clothing. There were so many tears in them from my adventures, I was worried about how much longer they'd stay together. I carried them back up to my cave, and laid them out to dry. My feet are still too soft to walk around completely barefoot with my socks drying, so I looked through the shoe collection, finding a pair of black of shoes that I could squeeze my feet into. They had a small heel on them, but it wasn't too hard to find my balance, even walking on the rocks. Other than the shoes, I was still naked, but it wasn't like there was anyone to see me, and I still had work to do. I felt a little self-conscious, with everything swinging around in the breeze, but I also felt silly feeling that way. There wasn't a soul around to see me. I know my food supply won't last long. I'm being very careful about how much I'm eating, even though my stomach is constantly grumbling. Besides the food cart, which will only last another week or so, the island has a ready supply of coconuts from the palms I had already foraged from, and there's also a couple of citrus trees dotted about the island - some kind of oranges, and some very bitter red grapefruits. The citrus will be invaluable in helping stave off diseases, and I knew I could get some healthy fats and a small amount of carbs from the coconuts. I know I'm going to need protein though. In my forays into the ocean, I had spotted a lot of fish, and the occasional sea bird landed in the trees as well. I needed a way to make these into food, and I had a plan. The storms had blown all sorts of driftwood onto the island, which would be useful, but it was the orange trees I visited first, finding a good size branch and sawing through it with the knife. I carried it back to the cave, along with some of the driftwood, kicked off my shoes, and started to shave and whittle it down to what I wanted. It took most of the day, but eventually I had what I wanted - a supple piece of wood with two notches cut into the ends. Using the knife, I started cutting the rest of what I needed from one of the suitcases - decorative twine-like material that served no purpose other than to be pretty. For me, though, it has a very important purpose - the string on my new hunting bow. In the small amount of light I have left, I'm going to try cutting some arrows from the driftwood pieces. Hopefully I'll be able to test it out tomorrow! February 29th 2012 Happy Leap Day, I guess. The bow was a... qualified success, I suppose. The theory is sound, I even caught a fish, which I'll cook later, once I get a driftwood fire going. There's just... a problem with the execution. I think I made the bow too long. I have to stand at a weird angle in order to draw the string and point it into the water. I'll spare the details, but suffice to say the string hit the tip of a certain piece of anatomy that sticks out a bit, though nowhere near as much as I'd like. I'm just going to spend the rest of the day laying here and putting lotion on it until the blinding agony goes away. Afternoon How did cavemen ever have the persistence to start fires? I did manage to get one going, but my lord, the blisters and splinters! Still, once that first flame burst into life, I was yelling and screaming like I'd scored both the World Cup-winning goal and the Super Bowl-winning touchdown at the same time. I cooked some of the fish, and it was delish! The rest I cut into strips, laying them out on the hot rocks to dry and cure. Fire, food, water, shelter... I'm a survival king! March 1st 2012 I'm still in a lot of pain, so I've basically moved as little as possible today. Besides getting food and water, and relieving myself, I've stayed in bed napping and reading. At first I tried reading some of the novels, but trashy romance just isn't my thing. Besides, it didn't seem like getting an erection would be a good idea right now. Instead, I looked back at the old entries in the journal, from before it came into my hands. I dithered over whether I should respect the person's privacy for a while, but eventually decided that, if it was me who was dead and gone, I'd want to be remembered. I mean, isn't that why I'm writing all this? The previous owner was a girl named Katie - I haven't come across a last name yet. She talks about school a lot, so I think she must have been college-aged. The clothes in the case appear to be for someone around that age too. A lot of the early entries are about friends as well. Someone named Ryan gets a lot of mentions, I'm guessing a boyfriend, or perhaps a boy she wanted to be closer to. Her handwriting isn't the best though, it's kind of hard to decipher it all. There's a couple of references to "the big decision", but there's nothing to indicate what that decision even is. From what I can tell, though, it seemed like she was a generally happy girl. Popular, into fashion, partying, and dancing. The typical late teen girl that I could never pluck up the nerve to talk to. It's strange, peering into the life of someone you've never met, only through their writing and opinions. I suppose anyone who finds this book will be doing the same for both Katie and me. After several pages, I found myself putting the journal down, contemplating this young girl that I'd never have the opportunity to meet. What did she look like? What did she love, or hate? Did she have family that would grieve for her, or were they on the plane with her? I found tears rolling down my face, for the girl that was gone, and the man that was still here. For my parents that, by now, would have been told Flight 816 was missing in the Pacific, and that no survivors were expected to be found. I can't write any more. This is too hard to think about. March 2nd 2012 I think I have an idea to solve my bow problem. March 5th 2012 Ok, I know it's been a few days since I last wrote in here. I've been, well, embarrassed, I suppose. I mean, it's just... Oh, I suppose I should just explain. I mean if anyone ever reads this, I'll be long dead, so it's not like I'm going to care if they're judging me. Right? It turned out I wasn't 100% accurate earlier. When I'd gone through the suitcases, I had really just assumed there was nothing that would fit me, probably partly because the tiny part of my brain that says alpha male thoughts didn't want people to see me as some kind of sissy drag queen, and another, equally tiny part of my brain that cares about my appearance didn't want people to see my fat ass in revealing clothes. Thing is though, for either of those to happen, there would need to be other people. There was a bright teal one piece swimsuit in one of the cases, made from a lined, stretchy spandex material. Testing out the stretching capabilities, I had a feeling that, while it would be tight and constricting, it should be able to fit me. I had a weird feeling in my stomach as I put my left leg through the leg hole. It was somewhere between excitement and dread, and it only increased as I stepped in and began to tug it up to my torso. As the bottom of the suit reached my crotch, I tucked my penis back between my legs, so as to put it out of harm's way next time I tried to catch my dinner. It was on the tight side for sure, but that was really what I needed. It kept everything in place. I could have stopped there, really. My bits were safe, and it just felt like a pair of size-too-small tighty-whities. For some reason, though, the bodice and shoulder straps hanging loose at my waist gave me a mild case of OCD. I tugged it up into place, sliding each arm through the straps, feeling it squeezing my belly and man boobs into a new shape. I slipped on "my" shoes, the ones with the small heel, strung my bow, grabbed a few makeshift arrows, and made my way down to the ocean. I was expecting to hate it. I didn't like not having room, and usually wore my clothes baggy. For some reason though, as I walked I felt the best I had done since I arrived on the island. True, the swimsuit was tight, but in such a way that it was holding everything in place. Normally with each step, bits of me would jiggle uncomfortably, but it seemed to be supporting all of those wobbly bits in a way they never had been before. The ocean water was fairly still that morning, the storms of the previous nights long having moved on. I started to step forward to find a good fishing spot, but stopped as I caught my reflection in the surface. It wasn't exactly clear, as the water was still moving around somewhat, but what I saw... Well, it looked surprisingly feminine. My skin was still completely smooth from the sunscreen incident, I had gained a surprisingly nice tan from the sun exposure, my crotch was flat, all evidence of maleness tucked away in the tight teal swimsuit. And in the cups, there were tits. Not big ones by any means, but the material of the swimsuit had pushed my fat together in such a way as to create cleavage. Topping off the image was my hair. I had been wearing my hair around shoulder-length for a few years now. It disguised some of the fat around my neck, in my eyes. As I had been living rough for a few days now, it was a little unkempt, but it also had sun-bleached blonde streaks running through it. A few more inches of hair, a lot of makeup, and a good bath, and I could almost be some kind of plus-sized swimsuit model. I stood there, staring at my reflected image, before turning around to look at the back. My butt wasn't exactly round, but it did look surprisingly good peeking out of the sides of the swimsuit bottom. I could feel my tucked away parts pressing against the tight material, trapped between my legs. This was crazy! Was I really excited at the sight of my own reflection dressed as a woman? I shook my head to clear it. I still had to test my theory. I waded out a little way into the cool ocean water, nocked the bow, and stood still as I scanned the water. Soon enough, there were fish around me, getting closer as they got used to my presence. I spotted the one I wanted, and waited for it to get a little closer, closer, closer, until THUNK, I released the string and an arrow was pinning it to the sand below. Success! And pain-free success at that! I unhooked the string from my bow, releasing the tension in the wood, and retrieved my catch, carrying it back home to prepare. I slipped out of the swimsuit when I got back to the cave, worried about confining myself for too long a time. March 9th 2012 Happy two weekiversary, island. If you'd told me two weeks ago I'd be thriving on Craphole Island all by myself, I'd have probably laughed in your face, yet here I am. I've settled into a kind of daily routine. Bottle some water from my suitcase buckets, fish (not always successfully), repair the shelter, make new arrows as old ones break, gather, place, and replace rocks to spell a large SOS on the beach. It's not the life I would have chosen for myself, but it keeps me busy. Besides, I can live vicariously through Katie's journal entries. I've since found out she was a sophomore at UCLA, though, while she talks about college life in general, she rarely talks directly about her studies, and I'm not entirely sure what she was, or was planning to be, majoring in. This Ryan character was definitely some kind of love interest, but it looks like he'd friend-zoned her. Any time she mentioned that they had hung out, there was always some kind of note on the lines of "still can't figure out how to get him to really notice me." It's kind of sad, really, to see her write about this desperation. Granted, I still have no idea what she looked like, but the clothes and makeup in her case would suggest that she was someone who really made an effort in her appearance. I wonder what I'd say to her, if she were here? And, you know, not miles and miles under the Pacific Ocean in a broken steel tube. One thing I will say for desert island life, if I ever get off it, I can make millions selling books about the revolutionary Cairns Island Diet. I've still got a lot of extra poundage, but I can already see I've lost inches in just two weeks. My teal fishing swimsuit is much more comfortable now, and my own suit pants are just too loose to wear. I mostly just wear my underwear and shirt if I need to protect myself. I say mostly. Actually, I don't wear them all that much. The swimsuit really is the more comfortable option, especially now it fits better. Somehow it just feels right. Two weeks by myself. No sign of any ships, planes, or any other glimpse of humanity. They must be searching for 816, but where? Not here, clearly. March 11th 2012 I got a little bit of a wild hair this morning. I had caught a particularly large fish this morning, and it was going to take a while to cook on the firepit I had created. In the meantime, I had needed something to occupy my time and thoughts. I found it in the bottom of a makeup bag. Looking at myself in the compact mirror, I was again surprised at how feminine the image was. Two weeks removed from the sunscreen incident, and still no hair had sprouted anywhere on my smooth, gradually darkening skin. My hair had grown out surprisingly quickly in the exposure to nature, and was tickling the tops of my shoulder blades. The only issue was my face, very clearly that of a male. It was a matter of some internal debate whether to do it or not. In the end, much like the swimsuit itself, the matter was settled when I realized it was not like anyone else was going to see me. I had no idea what I was doing with any of the powders, creams, and so forth, but lipstick, eyeliner, mascara, and eyeshadow were easy enough to figure out at least the basics of what to put where. Finally I put everything down, and surveyed the results in the little mirror. Even as I was putting it on, I already knew I'd been using too much, and I looked a bit clownish. Having said that, the makeup did make quite a difference to my face. The green of my eyes seemed to pop more, and they appeared larger. My lips looked smooth and pretty, not the chapped mess they had become from exposure to sun and salt water. Somehow, even my nose appeared smaller and pointed, I suppose because attention was being drawn elsewhere. I wouldn't say I looked pretty by any means, but... there was definitely something about the image I couldn't quite put my finger on. Not wanting to think about it further, I washed everything off my face, and turned my attention back to the nearly-cooked fish. March 12th 2012 Ok, I lied two days ago. The swinsuit doesn't quite feel right. The straps have a tendency to slip off my shoulders, even if I'm just standing doing nothing in particular. It's been really bothering me, and I hate having to slide them back into place every time. I've been trying to understand why you don't see women on the beach having to do that all the time, and I think I figured it out by experimenting with the way the suit moves. The weight of their boobs kind of stretches out the material and pulls the straps tight to the shoulders. While I have some fatty build up there, and the suit gives me some cleavage, it's just not enough to have any effect on the straps. This is going to require more thought. March 14th 2012 Crap, crap, crap! What did I just do? I've been looking through the salvage again, pondering what I could do to make my clothes fit better. I found birth control pills. And I mean stacks of them, there's months and months worth in here, maybe more than a year, when it's all put together. Why did I take one? One by itself won't have any effect, right? But even so, why did I press it out of the foil wrapper, slip it between my lips, and swallow it down? What the hell is wrong with me? March 15th 2012 Two won't have any effect, right? March 27th (?) 2012 I'm not sure why I keep taking the pills, but every morning without fail, another foil wrapper is opened up. There's something addictive about them. Something comforting too. My birthday passed last week, and I've just not been dealing well with my situation at all. For some reason the little pill sliding down my gullet brings a sense of peace to my otherwise hellish life. I've lost track of the days that have passed. I could have been using the number of pills to help count, but... well, I haven't just been taking them in the morning. On the particularly low days, an extra pill helps me get through. I need off this island. Who knows what is going to happen if I stay here? Probably April 2012 Like me, Katie had been going through some rough times in her life. Things had not been going well in school, her grades had been dropping. My guess is the failure to get closer to Ryan was draining the energy out of her, much like my lack of rescue was draining it out of me. She had been cutting herself. I wondered if the knife I found in her case had been the one she had used? The cutting... I had read before that it wasn't about suicide; it was a control thing. When things were spiraling out of control, pain became the only thing that could be controlled. At this point, I had picked up the knife, looking it over, holding it to my wrist. There were tears, I know, and I could feel my breath was hard to come by. But I couldn't do it. This wasn't what I needed. Definitely some point in 2012. Maybe late May? I've neglected the journal for a while, I know. It was easier to just numbly get through each day, than actually have to think about what I was doing. There have been changes. Some more obvious than others. Somewhere around three months of healthy eating, small portions, and serious regular exercise will do that to you, no matter what you looked like before. I have a waist, hips, muscles. I can even see the beginnings of abdominal muscles. I was actually, for the first time in my life, fit! That wasn't all though. My nipples have gotten kind of puffy, and they're very sensitive. My old shirt has long since been discarded - not only was it now way too big, the rough material just did not feel good on my skin. My butt and hips also feel different. More... cushioned? It's definitely more comfortable to sit down now. Is this my cutting? Is this what I can control? I don't really understand my own thinking about what I'm doing, just... that it feels like the right thing to do, somehow. The one thing I can decide about my fate. I'm not just wearing the teal swimsuit anymore. In fact it's actually a little big on me, strangely enough. Crazy to think that, given where I was even two months ago. There are some bikinis I wear for fishing now. I particularly like the bright yellow one, as it matches my ever more blonde, lengthening hair, although the deep red one looks great on my tanned skin too. There's also some workout clothes - tights and a sports bra - that I've been wearing when maintaining my home, or foraging for coconuts and fruit. I've used the depilatory cream again. I got so used to not having hair on my body, it felt weird and unpleasant when it finally started to grow back in again. It didn't burn nearly as badly the second time around, but maybe because I was expecting it this time! There's other things in the cases I haven't touched yet, but is it only a matter of time? Some days later When every day is basically the same, it's so easy to lose track of time. I think it's been 4 days since my last entry, but who's counting? I was right, though, it was only a matter of time. I tried on my first pair of panties today. In fact I'm still wearing them as I write this. I've been wearing bikinis for weeks, so this shouldn't be that monumentous, but it really is! I think, maybe because the bikinis were serving a purpose, protecting my penis and burgeoning nipples from my bow string. These, I'm wearing because I want to. Black lace with a silky white triangular panel in front, pointing down between my legs. I'm not sure why I picked these out, of all the options in front of me. Maybe it was the colors, maybe it was the back, not skimpy enough to be a thong, yet much sexier than a full- bottomed panty, maybe it was just random chance. Either way, I was happy with my choice - I felt more at peace than I had done in a good while. There's a matching bra. I think I'm going to see how it feels. July, at a guess, 2012 I've got the shelter pretty much fixed up to where there's increasingly little to do each day to maintain it. I've got plenty of wood for fire, ad can now start one up within a few minutes. Every bottle I have is filled with rainwater. Between curing, and storing in the underwater galley cart, I even have a stockpile of food. Somehow, I've managed to turn a fight for life into a situation where I actually experience boredom and lethargy. Who would have thought that a fat geek who spent 12+ hours a day sitting in front of various screens would be able to be a successful survivalist? The boredom has left a lot of time for experimentation though. I was wearing bras and panties every day now - the bras especially were necessary to protect my sensitive nipples - but along with them were the dresses. Oh my god, I loved the feeling of wearing a dress! Tight around my budding chest, light and flowy around my hips and thighs, it's amazing that half the world's population go through life without ever experiencing this! I've also spent time taking shampoo, conditioner, and a brush to my wild tangle of hair. The knots were fierce and painful, but after an hour or so of working at it, I finally managed to work the majority of them out. There's not much I can do in the way of styling, but the length and newfound silkiness alone just adds to my changing appearance. I've even tried out makeup again and high heels. The heels are worthless for my purposes. Oh, I can stand in them just fine, and even take a few steps with no problems, but they're just not suitable for walking on the sand or volcanic rocks that my island is mostly made up of. Shame, really; they make my legs look amazingly sexy. The makeup though... I mean it's silly to be putting makeup on when no- one's going to see me, but somehow it makes me feel good to see my face change with a brush stroke here and a dab there. I can give myself pouty lips, dramatic eyes, I can even cover up the majority of the wear caused by the sun, salt, and sand. I don't know why it feels good to make myself pretty, but in the world I find myself, it is enough for me to know that it does. Possibly late August 2012 I don't know why I picked back up with Katie's life again, given the last time I delved into it it spiraled my depression. I think, though, that it might be that I was finally starting to find some semblance of happiness in my life. Oh sure, the day to day was monotonous and repetitive, but let's face it, who doesn't say they'd rather spend their life on a beach instead of sitting a desk? The changes in my physical appearance also combined with changes in my emotions too. Now, granted, there were times that I got weepy for no apparent reason (beyond the obvious stuck on an island thousands of miles from the nearest civilization), but in general, the shift in hormones along with a leaner, fitter body was leaving me feeling good about myself. I guess I just felt having a better grip on myself left me better prepared to deal with the tragedy that these pages led up to. I laid out in the sun, a purple and white, flowery sundress covering my torso and the tops of my thighs, a silky satin white thong pressed between my buttocks, the waves lapping at my toes as I turned the pages back. The focus of her writing had shifted back to her class work again. It seemed like she was trying to put her depression behind her, do whatever she could to get her life back on track. A couple of times she mentioned correcting her dosage - I guess maybe she'd been prescribed Prozac or something similar to help combat the depression. It seemed like that jerk Ryan was finally out of the picture. The one time I saw his name mentioned again, it was along with the phrase "fuck him, he'll never know what he missed out on.". There wasn't really any other mention of boys, or anyone else either. I was kind of surprised to never see any talk of family - when I had been at college, I thought about my family a lot, whether it had been glad of being away from them, missing them, or somewhere in between, but Katie acted like she was alone in the world. Perhaps she had been. I had put the book down at that point. There was still more to go, but it's not like I didn't have plenty of time. Katie could wait for me again. September or maybe even October 2012 It's occurred to me that I'm still in the Northern Hemisphere. The days are definitely getting shorter, which means winter is approaching. No wonder I've been out here alone for... what, 8 months now? Has it really been that long? If the plane had been on its correct flight path, with the amount of time we were in the air I'd be in the Southern Hemisphere for sure, which means the days would be getting longer as summer approached. In which case, any search for the missing plane would be thousands of miles from here. It's pretty undeniable I have breasts now. I'm no Kate Upton, but there's two good solid handfuls there. The bikini tops and bras I've been wearing all say 34B on the label, and I'm starting to spill out of them a little. It's weird, but I'm more than a little proud of them. I mean I grew them all myself, after all! I wonder how much bigger they'll get? They feel wonderful too. I must admit, I've been getting into those trashy romance novels I salvaged all those months ago, imagining myself as the heroine. My own hands massaging, squeezing, and pinching my nipples as I tore through the sex scenes were a poor substitute for some studly hero doing it for me, but it still made me gasp and moan. I suppose I've finally admitted the truth there as well. I don't picture myself with women anymore in my fantasies - now I AM the woman, the men on the book covers my partners, my lovers. I wondered what it felt like to have rough, masculine hands caressing my curves, lips and tongue running over my nipples, and a hard cock in my mouth or ass. I wanted so badly to experience it, but knew I never would. The books always made my imagination run wild, no matter how many times I read and re-read them. I could vividly picture myself playing out every scene, wearing every dress and tiny scrap of lingerie; feeling my heart break as it appeared I'd lost my man, and leap for joy when it turned out he was mine after all; kissing every stubble-scruffed mouth; running my tongue lovingly over every rock hard cock. There was nothing I could do about it though. While the hormones in the birth control pills had made some things grow, others... not so much. My penis hadn't been exactly huge to start with; now I barely even have to tuck it back in my panties. It's a little nub, not much bigger than the first knuckle of my thumb, and it definitely doesn't get hard anymore. My balls aren't even visible, they've shrunk down and been tucked back so much over the last 8 months, they've risen back into my body cavity! Except to write the word here, I didn't even think about it as a penis anymore - it's now my clitoris, or at least as close as I'll get to having one. Sadly, it doesn't give me a whole lot of gratification anymore. I can rub it with the flat of my palm or fingers, or even squeeze it between thumb and forefinger, and that can feel good, but I can't cum anymore, which has left me feeling more than a little frustrated. There is one thing I could try, I just haven't been able to pluck up the nerve to do it yet. Probably November 2012 It's been annoying me for a while that I don't actually know what day it is anymore. I'm betting it's close to Thanksgiving though, so I'm going to mention what I'm thankful for. It's funny really, I'm trapped alone on a desert island. Who in their right mind would be thankful for that? Well, maybe I'm not in my right mind, but I am thankful for one thing - getting the chance to discover myself a little at a time. Michael Cairns is a distant memory now. I have long since realized that I hated my old life - the obesity, the short jokes, the daily grind, the boring, low-paying job, and especially the loneliness. Obviously I'm still lonely, but it's easier to be lonely when you're not surrounded by millions of people in one of the largest cities in the world. I don't know exactly who I am anymore, but I do know I'm a woman. And a surprisingly slim and attractive one at that. I know I'm someone that can defeat the odds, I know I'm stronger than I ever could have thought possible, both mentally and physically, and I know that, whether I ever leave this island or not, I'm never going to give up on life. I think I know why Katie was on the plane to Australia with me. All of a sudden the entries in the journal have gotten gushy over a guy named Kevin that she had been Skyping with. A guy who lived in Melbourne, Australia. She writes about how wonderful he is to talk to, what a great listener he is. This part I'm having a hard time figuring out, but several times she says how happy she is that he likes her for "who I am, not who I used to be, or who I'm not". Again, no pictures, but she goes into great detail describing his shining blue eyes, his rugged chin, and kissable lips. I must admit, he sounds pretty dreamy. For some reason it gives me a sense of peace. I mean, it's terrible that she never got to meet this guy face to face, and find out if he really was the one, but given the pain she had experienced in her past, it was wonderful to know that she'd found some semblance of happiness, if only for a short while before her untimely passing. Oh, there's one other thing I'm thankful for. I seriously have the most amazing boobs. I think they're finally done growing, but I can't wear any of the B cup bras anymore. One of the women these cases belonged to was a bit bigger than the others though, a 36C. I'm a little more limited in my choice now, but a least I do have a few bras and bikini tops that fit and support me. December 25th 2012 Ok, it's probably not really Christmas Day, but this morning I was finally ready to give myself a present that I've been thinking about for a while now. In one of the salvaged suitcases, I'd long ago found a rather realistic looking vibrator. I hadn't mentioned it before - I mean, why would I have? - but it has been preying on my mind for months now, ever since I really started thinking of myself as a woman. I'd never worn stockings before - they didn't exactly serve a purpose on the island beyond occasional use as a water strainer - but for this special occasion, I really wanted to go all out. After putting on my makeup, I rolled them up into a donut, as I'd seen in various porn films, and peeled them up my freshly hairless legs. The feeling, combined with the sexy lace bra and panty set I was wearing, was just incredible! I had felt shivers running all across my body as I dressed. Despite being in the depths of winter, the island never really got cold, outside of rain storms, but the stockings gave me goosebumps! I sat down on my sandy, palm frond bed, and picked up my lover. I thought of it as Kevin, named after Katie's love interest, and inspected him closely. The vibrator was deigned to look like a real penis, around 7 inches long. There was a head, and ripples to represent veins all around the outside, and it was made out of a rubbery material that was close to, but not quite the feeling of skin. The batteries had long since corroded from lack of use and the salt in the air, but I could still put Kevin to work in other ways. I drew him toward my lips, slowly, hesitantly opening my mouth to lick the tip. It didn't really taste of much, but I felt my breath catch as my tongue came in to contact, and a slight whimper escaped my lips. Growing in confidence, I began to explore more of the length with my tongue, closing my eyes to let my other senses go to work. I could feel every ridge, and the slight change in texture between head and shaft. My lips brushed against it, and I placed light kisses all along the length. Finally, I parted my lips, and felt him enter me. My breathing was ragged, I couldn't believe I was actually doing this, yet at the same time I couldn't believe I had waited this long! The silky yet ridged texture felt incredible on my tongue, lips, and cheeks. I gripped my fake lover by the base with my left hand, and began bobbing my head along his length, sucking my cheeks in and swirling my tongue around the head and shaft. I had no idea if what I was doing was correct, and would provide stimulation to a real man, but my god it felt amazingly sexy to me! I pushed him as deep as I could go, feeling the head touch the back of my throat. It made me gag a little, and I had to spit out some saliva before I could try again, but I kept at it, concentrating on building a rhythm rather than on the gag reflex. I'm not sure how long I sat there, sucking on my Kevin, but I eventually pulled him from my hungry mouth, gasping for breath, and wishing I could experience the taste of his cum coating my tongue and lips. I was ready for more, though. I needed to be satisfied too. I lay down on my back, spreading my legs wide, imagining one of my studly book cover heroes climbing between them. I pulled the string of my thong to the side, exposing my tight-but-ready anus, my new pussy. Kevin was already slicked up from my saliva that coated him. I touched him to my opening and felt a huge shiver run up and down the entire length of my spine in anticipation of losing my virginity. I began to press insistently, wishing there was the weight of a real man behind it to break down my walls of resistance. The head of the fake cock was so large, my pussy so small and tight, and I could hear myself moaning in a mix of pain and frustration as I tried to get him to enter me. I adjusted myself, spreading my cheeks with my hands to open myself up more to him. All of a sudden there was an audible pop as his head finally pushed past my sphincter. It felt like all of the blood in my body had suddenly rushed to my head, and I gasped as it felt like every hair stood on end for just a second. I gradually regained control of my breathing and muscle control, before ever so slowly beginning to slide my lover in and out of my passage, pushing deeper with each thrust, causing moans and gasps to involuntarily escape my cute, lipstick- covered mouth. The feeling was indescribable! I mean I literally have nothing to compare it to, just that I had never felt such an exquisite combination of pain and sheer pleasure. As I pushed my Kevin ever deeper inside me with my right hand, my left was roaming my body, caressing my skin, rubbing my clit, and for the most part pinching and playing with my hard, erect nipples. I know I was making noises, but I don't think there were any words - my brain was working on a completely different level, focused only on the intense feelings washing over my whole body. I was thrusting Kevin inside me with wild abandon. The pain had melted entirely away, replaced only with a level of sexual pleasure I had never hoped to feel before. I could feel an intense pressure building somewhere around my stomach until all of a sudden it crashed over me, like the waves out in the Pacific. I could hear myself moaning as every nerve-ending suddenly felt like it was on fire, my entire body tingling with an orgasmic pleasure like no other I'd ever felt, the waves continuing to pour over my entire body for several minutes. A dribble of cum even escaped my tiny clitty for the first time in many months, slicking my panties against my smooth skin I lay there, panting, sweating, and lightly squeezing my left breast as the intense feelings finally began to subside. With a shudder and a slight moan, I pulled Kevin out of my pussy, leaving a kind of empty feeling behind, something that I think had always been there and I'd just never noticed. I'm going to have to make sure I give Kevin a good scrubbing. I have a feeling he's going to be seeing a lot of action in the coming days, weeks, and months. Best Christmas ever! Late January, I expect, 2013 Oh my god, it's a good thing the sun has been bleaching my hair blonde for the past almost year, because it's a really appropriate color for me. I cannot believe it has taken me this long to figure out, when it's not like I've had a huge amount else to occupy my thoughts. It's finally hit me - the reason I identify so much with Katie, the girl from my journal. All the clues were there, I've just been putting two and two together to make five for so long. You know what they say about assumptions. I mean, it was all there: the sudden loss of popularity, the lack of family, Ryan sticking with her but never noticing her, the depression and the cutting as things spiraled out of her control, the determination to make life work, the drugs she'd been taking, not Prozac at all, and finally Kevin liking her for who she was and not who she used to be or who she wasn't. The Big freaking Decision. Katie was just like me, or fairer to say I was just like her, as she had taken the steps first. Oh Katie, now I wish more than ever that I could talk to you, understand better what you were going through! I had transitioned to womanhood all alone - there was no-one here to judge me but myself - but you did it so publicly. Your friends and family must have abandoned you when you came out, all except for Ryan. He supported your decision, but could never love you the way you wanted him to - he saw you as both male and female at the same time and must have had trouble reconciling the two. Then eventually along came Kevin. Blue-eyed Aussie Kevin, who didn't care that you'd been born male, only that you were now a pretty girl who he wanted to get to know better. The tears have been streaming down my face all day, it's all I can do to keep them from getting on the page and ruining what I've been writing. I'm so sorry you didn't get to experience true happiness, Katie. Maybe it should have been you on this island instead of me, and perhaps one day you'd finally be able to meet your Kevin in person. February 2013 I THINK I SEE A PLANE! February 2013 I did! I'm going to be rescued! My emotions are all over the place right now - I'm excited, obviously, but scared too. I'm going to be going back to the world a completely different person to the one who left it a year ago. I don't know how long I'm going to have to wait, so I guess I'll write down what happened. It all started this morning while I was fishing. I'd been hearing a weird buzzing sound for several minutes, and started looking around for the source, when I finally saw a glint in the sky. It took me a moment to realize what it was, but as soon as the word "plane" hit my brain, I was sprinting up the beach, dropping my bow in the sand so it wouldn't slow me down. Back at the cave, I grabbed my compact mirror from the bag of makeup, scribbled that quick note in the journal for some reason, and tore back outside. I did what I could to point the mirror towards where I still saw the glint in the sky, flashing dot-dot-dot, dash-dash-dash, dot- dot-dot, over and over again. SOS, in morse code, thankful that I remembered that from some previous lifetime ago. My stomach was in knots, I squeezed my knees together to try to reduce the nervous feeling of needing to pee, and still I kept flashing my signal. And then the glint got bigger - it was coming my way! It was several agonizing minutes before I could really see it, but there it was - some kind of sea plane by the look of the underside. As it circled my island, I ran to my SOS rocks, mostly still in place, waving to the plane. I wanted to shout, but it had been so long since I'd even spoken, my voice wouldn't come out at all! The plane circled me twice. I saw it dip its wings - they'd spotted me! - but then it flew off back in the direction it came from. I hoped it was because they couldn't land for some reason, and not because they were leaving me here. I ran back to my cave for hopefully the last time, packing up all of my belongings, salvaged so long ago, into the suitcases. I took off my bikini, putting on lacy white bra and panties instead, checking that there were no stray body hairs anywhere, before putting on my prettiest dress - a bright yellow, floaty sundress with white lace around the bust and hem, that just looked so cute and sexy against my deep tanned skin. I don't know why I felt the need to make a good impression, I was a castaway for Pete's sake, but for some reason I needed the first human eyes to see me in a year to approve of the way I looked. I added a light covering of makeup to my look, before carrying everything out to the beach, adding my bow to the pile. It had been such a big part of my life for the last year, it seemed wrong to leave it behind. I sat down in the sand, and began the long, arduous task of brushing out my now mid-back length bleach-blonde hair, as I waited for my rescuers. There were some difficult tangles, and I paused every now and then in frustration at them to write more down in this journal. I can see the sun is on it's way down. I hope they will be here soon. Finally I see it! There's a large boat not far away, heading toward me. There's another glint in the water too. I guess we'll see what that is if it gets closer. February 26th 2013 I still haven't decided if it's a coincidence that my rescue happened a year to the day after the crash. Whatever it is, it's still so hard to believe I'm lying on an actual bed. Granted it's one in the medical bay of the ocean research vessel that picked me up, but it's still so amazingly soft compared to my sand and palm fronds. The ship's doctor is going to give me some medicine to help me sleep away much of the journey home, but I asked him to hold off so I could at least write the final details of my rescue down. I didn't want to forget. The glint in the water turned out to be a small motor boat. I watched in excitement and trepidation as it quickly closed the gap between the ship and where I sat on my island, until finally it drew up as close as it could, a few feet away from where the waves lapped the shore. There were two men in the boat - one stayed at the wheel, keeping it in place, while the other jumped out into the surf. I stood as he waded his way toward me. I could see he was wearing neatly pressed khakis, along with a white shirt that was open to the waist. Underneath, he had on a white wife beater, through which I could very clearly see his defined pectorals. As he approached me, the first thing I noticed about his face was his beautiful, brilliant white smile, surrounded by a sexy, scruffy, stubbly beard. His eyes were the bright blue of the ocean, and seemed to sparkle as he reached out his hand to shake mine. He. Was. GORGEOUS! My romance book cover hero come to life in front of me. "How do you do, Miss? My name's Val Zubovsky," he said, in an Americanized Russian accent, "can I help you get off this island?" The whole time I'd been sitting and waiting, I'd been trying to get my voice working again. The best I could force out was a kind of breathy whisper, which, to my ears at least, made me sound sexy and feminine whether I was intending to or not. Still I don't know what made me say it. Maybe it was the hormones coursing through my body. Maybe it was the first human contact in a year. Maybe it was just being overcome by the attraction to the fine specimen holding my hand. Either way, I said it, and I suppose I'll have to live with the consequences, whatever they may be. "I'm Katie. Katie Cairns. Survivor of Flight 816 to Melbourne. And you can help me get off anytime." - The End -