Mated to a Monster

by Diana Sheridan

  Two of the tribespeople with them were women, and Evan at first felt self-conscious to be naked in front of members of the opposite sex, but he soon acclimated. You’re not back home anymore he thought to himself. This led him to wonder when he might get back home. He had checked his SOS message to make sure the tide had not risen higher than he’d expected, and no other circumstance had disrupted his call for help, but the message was intact, written large on the sand. He had not heard another plane pass overhead, however.

  When Moob had frolicked in the water long enough to suit him, he signaled Evan to come ashore and head back to the village. Evan wondered what the next activity of the day would be.

  He never did find out what was next on the agenda, however. As he walked behind Moob toward the village, he took a misstep and badly twisted his ankle. Compounding the problem, as his ankle gave out under him, he fell and landed badly on his right arm. He was pretty sure his wrist was broken.

  Moob heard Evan crash into the underbrush and turned around immediately. Evan tried to telepathically tell Moob that he couldn’t walk and thought his wrist was broken too. Moob seemed to get the message. Tenderly scooping Evan up off the ground, he once again placed him over his shoulder and gently carried him back to the village.

  Evan was pretty sure the ankle was merely sprained although the wrist was broken. He broadcast to Moob a picture of a splint on his wrist and another on his ankle, and Moob seemed to get the idea. Once again letting Evan know he should stay put—as if he had any choice!—Moob trod off to the jungle and soon returned with some sticks, leaves, and grasses. Plopping down beside Evan, the caring monster soon had fashioned two simple but workable splints, one for the ankle and one for the wrist.

  Now Evan was faced with another problem: He needed to use the jungle “bathroom” but couldn’t walk. He managed to communicate his need to Moob, who once again hoisted Evan over his shoulder and carried him a short distance away to the trees, waiting while Evan took care of Nature’s call. Then Moob carried him back again.

  With his dominant hand out of commission, Evan could be of no help to Moob in gathering food, preparing it, or doing much of anything else. The sun was high in the sky, and Evan’s watch said it was nearly noon. Evan pointed to a mango, and Moob peeled and pitted it, tore it into pieces, and set it down on a mat in front of Evan. Evan ate with his left hand. Only when Moob was satisfied that Evan had eaten all he wanted did he sate his own hunger.

  For a big, lumbering beast of a creature, Moob certainly was considerate and caring! He watched over Evan with exquisite tenderness and thoughtfulness, making sure that Evan’s needs were taken care of before he attended to his own. The splint stayed on Evan’s ankle for ten days before he deemed himself ready to take it off and try hobbling around again, and even then, Moob insisted on carrying him to the shore, to the stream, to the trees where he took care of his bathroom needs, and to wherever else the two of them were headed.

  Always they were together, always they were a couple, always they were practically inseparable. With previous lovers who had essayed that much togetherness, Evan had found it both cloying and stifling, but with Moob he found it natural, warm, and satisfying. Over the ten days that Evan’s ankle was splinted, he and Moob grew closer than he had ever felt to any lover in the past. When the splint came off his ankle, of course his wrist was not yet healed, however, and that splint stayed on for another month.

  A month! A month of one-handed fishing, careful lovemaking, with Moob taking great pains not to re-injure or even cause discomfort to Evan’s ankle or wrist, hunting together for birds and small game, cooking together, weaving new bags and food mats and sleeping mats together—rather an awkward proposition for Evan with one wrist splinted. And a month of checking his SOS message to be sure it was still there, where it might attract the attention of a passing plane, though no planes had passed by since that first day.

  For the first two and a half weeks after the splint was off his ankle, Evan limped down to the shore every day to check that his message was still in place. After that, though, as he settled into his comfortable, cared-for, well-loved life with Moob, Evan found himself skipping a day of checking, then skipping two days, then three.

  Life on the island was pleasant and carefree. There seemed to be no animosity, jealousy, or altercations among the members of the tribe. As Evan became acquainted with the other tribal members besides Moob, he found them all to be friendly, accepting, and warm, if a bit curious about this fair-skinned, hairless-bodied newcomer to their island.

  As his injured ankle got progressively stronger, Evan explored the island, which proved to be larger than he had thought. Moob came with him on these adventures, and they toured the island companionably. Evan was curious as to whether they would come across another village of creatures like Moob and his fellow tribe members, but he saw no sign of any other villages or any life forms other than the animals and birds that lived in the jungle that covered most of the land mass.

  When six weeks had passed since the accident, Evan judged that the wrist ought to have healed sufficiently for the splint to come off. Removing it was awkward, since he had to work left-handed. Moob watched the process with great interest, concern showing clearly in his eyes. When at last the splint was off, Evan carefully bent his wrist. It seemed to be fully healed, although at first he couldn’t bend it all the way. That flexibility soon came back, however, and Evan was much relieved. Moob, who had been carefully observing Evan’s actions, looked delighted when Evan was finally able to bend his wrist as well as ever.

  One day, a series of whimpering cries caught Evan’s attention. They weren’t coming from Moob. Moob was right next to Evan, cooking a freshly caught fish. Looking around, Evan saw a pregnant female lying on the ground on her back, surrounded by most of the members of the tribe. Evan broadcast puzzlement to Moob, who responded with a mental picture of a newborn baby emerging from the tribeswoman, attended by her fellow tribe members. Abandoning the fish he’d been cooking, Moob walked over to where this event was taking place, beckoning Evan to come with him. Evan hesitated, but Moob beckoned him again and, somewhat reticently, Evan joined him.

  One member of the tribe crouched between the legs of the female in labor. Evan recognized that this was the female’s mate. Several tribe members rubbed the female’s arms, rubbed her forehead with wet leaves, and pressed down on her swollen belly. All the creatures gathered around her grunted encouragingly as she strove to give birth to the newest member of the tribe.

  At last the baby emerged, and the woman’s mate lifted the baby up, examined it, and then severed the umbilical cord with his teeth. All the assembled tribe members slapped their thighs in congratulatory applause, and then one by one they took turns licking the female’s cheeks and nose. She smiled and weakly sat up, reaching for her newborn. Her mate handed the infant over, and the female cradled it in her arms.

  The group began to disperse, and Moob and Evan returned to the area outside their hut. Yes, Evan was beginning to think of it as “their” hut by now, rather than just Moob’s hut. Moob resumed cooking the fish, and Evan, who had been weaving new eating mats before the distraction, returned to his labors.

  When the fish had finished cooking and had been eaten, Moob suggested a nap in his usual manner. He sent Evan a mental picture of the two of them stretched out on the sleeping mat, cuddled up together, and Evan nodded assent.

  But as they lay together in the dark hut, Moob’s arm as usual draped across Evan’s body, holding him close, Evan was unable to sleep. His mind raced through the events of the last couple of months, stopped to consider how different life here was from life back home, and dwelled on Moob, his caring, loving, accepting new mate. He pictured a rescue ship coming to pluck him off the island. Would Moob be willing to go with him? Would he even understand that he was leaving his fellow tribesmen and his village, possibly forever? How would he be accepted by the people back home? Evan cringed at the thought.

  As Evan’s
body reacted to the disturbing picture, Moob came awake, hugged him tight, and then sat up. Evan sprang to his feet. Sending Moob the message that he would be back, he raced out the door of the hut, through the jungle, and down to the ocean. When he had gotten to the beach, he began wildly kicking at the rocks and shells that formed his SOS message. He scattered the message’s components in all directions, till his call for rescue was totally obliterated.

  In an ironic twist of fate, as he surveyed the beach to be sure his SOS was gone, he heard the droning sound of an approaching plane. Quickly he raced back into the cover of the trees before there was any chance of the pilot or any passengers seeing him. He no longer wanted to be plucked off the island.

  Continuing to run, he made his way through the jungle till he had reached the clearing in which the village was located. Moob was waiting outside their hut, an anxious look on his face, which relaxed when he saw Evan racing toward him.

  Throwing his arms around the surprised Moob, Evan hugged him fiercely, and Moob returned the gesture. Then, knowing Moob couldn’t understand the words but hoping he could at least understand the thought behind them, Evan called out exultantly, “I’m home!”

  THE END

  About the Author

  Diana Sheridan edited gay male sexzines for the better part of two decades under the nom de plume of “Dan Maxwell.” Though “Diana Sheridan” isn’t her true name either, it does reflect her true gender. In her own name, she has had numerous books published both in print and as e-books, is an accomplished editor of both books and magazines, and is comfortable switching gears to go from serious nonfiction to erotica in her work. Diana lives with her Significant Other, who is fully aware of and supportive of the many facets of her career.

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