Mike was on the raft paddling to one of his favorite spots. He heard a funny buzzing sound. He scanned the sky and saw it, a plane. Joyously, he started waving wildly, shouting even though there was no chance they could hear him. The plane continued towards their island.
Inside the cockpit, the co-pilot was scanning the island not looking for anything in particular. This island wasn’t even on their charts, the chart only showed a reef. He saw the orange spot first, a color not usual in nature. “Hey Jock. Get closer. I think there is something in that lagoon.”
The pilot banked and dropped down. As they flew closer they could both see it was a raft with a man waving wildly. The pilots looked at each other. They didn’t see a yacht or a boat that the raft could have come from. They followed the coast for a bit and saw the outline of the plane just under the surface of the lagoon. The tail section had slid off leaving front and wings just under the water at low tide.
“Didn’t a plane go down a few months ago?”
“Yeah. Turn around.”
The pilot banked, dropped a little lower and headed back retarding the throttle to just above stall.
Mike fell back into his raft as the plane went by. Had they missed him? No, it couldn’t be. So close… He started to cry. Then he heard the buzz again getting closer. This time as the plane went by the pilot waggling his wings, the universal sign that he had been seen. Mike’s emotions soared even as Mike heard the throttles opened for climb and the plane zoomed off into the tropical air.
“That’s got to be the plane that went down,” the co-pilot said. “I’ve got the GPS for the island and for him,” he said, jotting down the exact coordinates.
“Should we call ahead?”
“They wouldn’t believe us anyways. Let’s get going.” The pilot added more power for speed and headed off on course. “I wonder if he’s the only survivor.”
“We’ll know soon enough.”
Mike paddled back to the camp. He screamed as he ran up the beach. The girls came running. A plane, a plane was all they could get from Mike. Finally he was able to tell them a coherent story. 'Would they be rescued?' was all they could talk of.
Two hours later, a French naval plane took off and headed for a set of coordinates. The crew wondered if this was a wild goose chase. They saw the island on radar first, right where it should be if it was the reef on the chart. But they could see from the return it was larger than that.
Mike and the girls heard the deeper rumble-buzz of the four engine plane. They ran out onto the beach. As it drew near they all waved frantically.
“On the beach, there.”
“I see them.” He went over just a few hundred feet high.
“Four people, three women I would say.” They’ll need a coaster to get close. That reef looks dangerous “They looked healthy.” The pilot nodded, healthly indeed for a bunch of naked savages. They continued around the island but saw nothing else. As they came back around the four people were still on the beach. The pilot waggled his wings and turned towards home. “Call it in…” The French Navy coaster put to sea an hour later. They would reach the island the next day.
The four souls watched the plane disappear. “They’re leaving,” Emma said.
“They saw us. They’ll have to send a boat. Probably tomorrow,” Mike said. “I bet it’s too far for a helicopter.”
“Tomorrow. We’ll be rescued tomorrow,” Darcie said.
The girls broke into chants of, “We’re rescued!”
Mike was looking at the girls with swelling bellies. He’d have some explaining to do. He considered if he should go running off into the jungle. Obviously the cops weren’t going to be happy.
That night they sat around a roaring fire, why save wood, and talked. Jenna brought out their clothes that she had saved. It wasn’t much, panties and bras and Dockers and a shirt for Mike.
The next day they finished off the food they had collected. There was no point in saving or even gathering more. They all watched the sea. Emma spotted it first; a dot on the sea. As it grew larger, they went down to the beach. Their mood was surprisingly subdued. Maybe they didn't really believe they would be rescued. Maybe they weren't sure they wanted to be rescued.
The boat pulled in close to the reef. They unloaded a motorized raft which trolled along the reef until they found the passage that Mike had used so much for fishing. The rubber motorized boat screamed across the lagoon barely touching the water. The French seaman jumped out as the girls ran down. They made a scraggly looking sight, having had no combs, no razors, and no mirrors for months. Mike looked back at the camp before he walked down the beach to the raft. He was losing paradise.
The French lieutenant in charge of the boat wasn’t pleased when he realized he had three pregnant teens and one man. Had he irons on his ship, he would have clapped Mike in them. Instead, he had the ship's medic examine them all. The medic pronounced them healthy, at least until he could get a doctor who spoke English to look at them, and he confirmed the girls were all pregnant. As he didn’t speak English and the passengers didn’t speak French, conversation was limited. He did supply the girls extra shirts and pants to wear.
After the girls were taken below, Mike stayed topside as the French cutter cruised down the reef. The Captain had one of the crew who spoke some English ask where the plane went down. Mike did his best to show them where. The cruiser anchored and dispatched the rubber boat this time with divers. He watched wondering what they were looking for. He found out when they returned with two thick plastic bags.
As the divers brought the bags aboard Mike heard one say, “Ils ont seulmente quelques os.” That made sense. The fish and crabs would quickly have turned the pilots into meals and left nothing behind except the os. At least the pilots would be returned to their families.
Mike didn’t bother to mention Roxanne. She had a beautiful place all her own looking out over a tropical paradise. What better place to rest.
Food was especially popular since it was something other than fish and coconuts. “I don’t want to ever see another coconut,” Darcie proclaimed.
“Or fish!” Emma said as she chomped into some fried chicken. The crew laughed as the girls gnawed the chicken bones clean.
They were met at the dock by the French Magistrate, a Monsieur LeGrande. He was not happy with Mike and his face conveyed his displeasure quite distinctly to Mike. Mike was beginning to think he should have stayed behind. On the third day they were taken in front of the Magistrate. “At first, I intended to have you locked up for life,” he said to Mike.
The girls all cried out, “No!”
M. LeGrande raised his hand. “But, the island turns out to not be under French control. In fact, no one appears to claim it, so your crimes cannot be punished by me. I have no jurisdiction, nor, does it seem, anyone else.”
Jenna smiled, “Good!”
He looked like he was sucking a lemon, “As for you girls. We have contacted your government. It appears your parents left you quite well off. They both had large insurance policies and your father had stock in his company. After he went missing, they sold the company publicly for a large sum. You girls are rich. I can send you back to the United States.”
“What about Mike?” Darcie asked.
“I suspect that would create some trouble…”
“I don’t want to go without Mike. He’s the father of our children. He’s my husband,” Emma said.
“Husband?” M. LeGrande asked, the surprise showing on his face.
“We considered that we were married once we realized we might never be rescued,” Mike said.
“Well, you can’t marry three anyway,” M. LeGrande said, clearly flustered by this bizarre hearing.
“How about Brunei?” Mike asked.
“Brunei?” M. LeGrande asked. Mike might as well have asked about Oz.
“It’s Muslim. The Sharia allows multiple marriages. What’s the age of consent?” Mike asked.
M. LeGrande motioned to his assistant who was checking the computer then buried his face in his hands. The girls and Mike distinctly heard mumbling issuing from behind those hands.
“Thirteen,” the clerk at the computer said.
“I’m thirteen,” Emma said.
“Fourteen,” Darcie echoed.
“Sixteen,” Jenna said.
M. LeGrande raised his head. “Mesdemoiselles, are you sure you want to do this?” M. LeGrande asked.
They all nodded forcefully.
M. LeGrande said something in French, then in English, “On your heads be it. You can be on the next plane to Brunei. Here are your passports. They were sent over from the consulate once we told them we had found you alive.”
“Thank you, Monsieur LeGrande,” Jenna said, “On behalf of all of us.”
“Off you go. I wash my hands. Ces Américains!”
The official in Brunei was a bit taken aback with Mike’s request. Only when Mike had explained the rather bizarre circumstances and showed him three pregnant girls who needed to be ‘cured’ of their indiscretion was the man convinced. He drew up the three marriage licenses. Then he escorted them down the hall where Mike was married to Jenna, with Emma and Darcie as attendants. Then he was married to Darcie. Last he was married to Emma. The official put his stamp on all three certificates.
Mike had some money wired from the states and a replacement Visa card sent. He checked them into a nice hotel, a suite with two rooms. Then he called a prestigious law firm back home. He wanted to know could he return with his harem. After all, he was legally married but you never know about the law which can be an incredible ass.
The firm came back with a qualified yes. The bigamy laws were based on the act of marriage, not the state of being married. State marriage laws were a contract and that contract explicitly prohibited a second marriage until divorce. Since all three marriages were legal, and took place in a venue which explicitly permitted plural marriage, there was no reasonable chance of charges. The IRS even allowed in their regulations for multiple dependent wives if the original marriages were legal.
The age question was also settled law. When the girl was married then age of consent became moot. Marriage automatically voided the age of consent issue.
But, the firm continued, reasonable didn’t mean some dick-head prosecutor couldn’t try and make their life miserable, and there are a lot of dick-head prosecutors who would love the publicity of trying a child molesting bigamist. The judge would have to toss the case most likely before it ever came to trial. But a prosecutor, going well beyond his authority as they often did in cases having anything to so with sex and publicity, could make their lives miserable. Just ask the families in Texas who had their children stolen. The lawyers recommended lying low; don't draw attention to themselves. Don’t rub people faces in being different. Don't go on Jerry Springer.
Mike took his harem to San Francisco, because it is a beautiful city and because alternative lifestyles there made his tribe seem tame by comparison. He had the money which was in trust, sent to the girls. That money invested, plus his investments and he picked up his old job freelancing gave him a good livelihood for supporting three wives and at least three kids. They purchased an old Victorian that had plenty of rooms.
The second thing Mike did was get the girls a doctor’s appointment. The doctor examined all three and pronounced them healthy and normal. She did mention that with Emma being so young there was a slightly increased chance of complications, but it was only statistical. She seemed fine.
Then she asked to see Mike alone. “I have a problem,” she told Mike. “By law I have to report suspected instances of child molestation.”
Mike smiled and picked up his briefcase. He pulled out copies of the three wedding certificates and put them on the desk.
The Doctor looked at them, could see the names of the girls and Mike’s name but the rest was in Indonesian. “What are these?” she asked.
“Our marriage certificates. I’m married to all three,” he said.
The doctor shook her head. “Oh, I thought they were your daughters because of the names being the same.”
Mike blushed, “Oh God, no. I mean, it’s strange enough being married to all three. Daughters? No!”
The Doctor looked at the certificates. “Where?”
“Brunei. It’s Muslim and follows Muslim law, the Sharia. That allows up to four wives but three are plenty for me,” Mike said.
The Doctor smiled. “Good luck having three babies at once.”
“I’m going to hire a nanny to help. No way do I want to try to handle that many babies all at once,” he said.
Six months later Mike was in the nursery with three new mothers and three squalling babies. Jenna, Darcie, and Emma were all bouncing their babies trying to get them to quit crying. Mike did his best to stay out of the way. Jenna called out, “Birgitte.”
A girl not much older than Jenna walked over. Jenna handed her baby to the blonde girl. “Would you please see if you can make Michael quit crying?” The girl took the baby and in accented English said, “Of course, Jenna.” She began cooing to little Michael who smiled and goo-goo'ed for the girl.
Mike had hired Birgitte through an au-pair agency. He realized hiring a nanny who might be ten years older than his wives would set up a power struggle almost certainly. Birgitte was a year older than Jenna but not enough to make her think she should be running things. And coming from Sweden, she didn’t think their family warranted censure.
Jenna collapsed into a rocker. Emma and Darcie had managed to get their charges to quit crying by putting a breast into each mouth. Mike liked watching the girls feeding the babies. It was a wonderfully intimate moment that he got to share.
Jenna looked over at Mike. “Poor Mike,” she said. “He has three wives and hasn’t been laid in months.” Darcie and Emma laughed while Birgitte looked confused. “Look at him, his eyes are white with the back up,” to more laughter.
“Quit it,” Mike said. “You are embarrassing Birgitte. I know you don’t care if you embarrass me.”
Jenna asked, “Birgitte?”
“No, I am not embarrassed. But what does this mean, not getting laid?” Birgitte asked.
Jenna leaned over and whispered in her ear. Now Birgitte did blush. Jenna laughed.
“Poor Mike,” Birgitte said causing all three wives to laugh.
Jenna shared a look with Darcie who nodded. “Birgitte, would you like to take care of him? All three of us can recommend him… And you don’t have to end up like us. The doctor said we can start our wifely duties in another week or so depending on how we heal.”
Birgitte looked at Mike. She thought he was handsome, and he did treat her very well. And if he had three women who all think he is wonderful, maybe she should give him a try. She looked at the three young mothers. “If it would be all right…”
They all smiled at the girl. “Of course. We are used to sharing and not being jealous. Jealousy comes from feelings of inferiority. It is always fear that a man might find a better woman that makes a woman jealous. We know that Mike is going to take care of us, just like he did on the island.”
Mike smiled and nodded. “Always,” he said to his wives.
Jenna said, “Birgitte, would you take him off to bed and see if you can take care of his problem?”
Birgitte blushed but started towards Mike.
Darcie whistled which caused Birgitte to pause. "Wait a moment," Darcie said. Jenna and Emma looked at Darcie wondering why she was stopping it. "I was just thinking. On the island when we all shared we were never wearing anything. But Birgitte is."
Emma looked at the Swedish girl. "You know, if she's going to share our husband, I think Darcie is right."
Jenna shrugged, "Birgitte, take it off."
"You are serious," Birgitte said blushing.
"Ladies," Jenna said. They all stood and dropped their dresses on the floor. None of them liked to wear underwear anymore having learned to like the freedom they had on the island. They had lost most of their tans but they still showed the primitive vitality they developed on the island. Jenna looked at Birgitte, "Well?"
Nudity simply isn't as big a deal in Europe. Birgitte's modesty was mostly caused by what she had heard about the Americans. She laughed. "Well then." She threw off her shirt and shorts and kicked off her sandals. "This is acceptable?"
This time it was Emma who whistled but it was in appreciation.
"Husband, do you accept our gift?" Jenna asked Mike.
Mike looked at the lovely young woman, looking a little surprised perhaps, and maybe a bit eager as well. He stood and led her from the nursery. As he went out the door he looked back to the smiling faces of his wives, glad that they had never learned jealousy. And Birgitte was a good looking blonde. Mike realized looking at the lovely women in his life, paradise isn’t an island. Paradise is a place you create.
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The next story is The Piano Lessons
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Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2008, 2010, 2011