My feet start moving again, but more stealthy this time, like a cat. Ever so slowly I creep around the hull. The hull itself glows with a pale light, like a fallen moon, but on the starboard side there are open cracks which glow red and orange. There are at least two candles burning and someone moving inside!

There is a big blanket hanging over the hole like a curtain, so I can't see inside. But I can guess who's in there. It's not too late to run. I look down at my feet, but they show no signs of running. They know. They carried me here on purpose. And now that I'm here, I don't know what to say or do. My mind is completely blank. But my hand bangs on the side of the ship.

"Who's there?" It's Ginger's voice, of course.

"Gilligan," I somehow manage to say.

Now there is a brief pause and then some noises: the clink of a glass, feet against sand. She is moving about, doing something, maybe adjusting her hair, and this continues for a full minute until, finally, she pulls back the blanket and stands there in the candle light.

She is wearing a filmy red teddy that barely conceals the curves beneath. It's very short and below it her legs go on forever. I've never seen this nightgown before. Behind her, hanging from a hook, is her white robe. She could have worn it, but she didn't. She stands there, quietly, waiting for me to absorb this fact. She has made herself vulnerable to see what I will do.

I step inside. Behind her, on the ground, is Mr. Howell's bear skin rug, one of the hundreds of things he carries with him everywhere, even on three hour cruises. It used to be in their hut, but I haven't seen it for months. And behind it, on an old chest, is the champagne bucket with the silver H, and a half empty bottle, and two glasses. She sees me staring at it and smiles.

"Don't worry. I'm alone tonight. In fact, I've been stood up again. And what about you, Gilligan? You look as if you've been stood up too."

She curls down on the rug and beckons me to join her. As I start to sit down she says "take off your shoes," and I do this so quickly they almost fly through the hanging blanket. All this time she keeps watching me, in the same sort of way the professor was watching me earlier today, except that she seems more uncertain. And this, too, is something I've never seen before.

"Keep me company?" she says, handing me one of the champagne glasses. As I reach for the glass I realize I haven't said anything yet, and the best I can do is to ask if this is real champagne. "I thought Mr. Howell finished his last case a month ago."

Ginger laughed. "It's Chateau Skipper - right from his still. Last night was a very good year." I try to nod in a sophisticated way, but end up choking on the torpedo juice. She lets me recover by sipping her glass slowly.

"You struck out with Maryanne tonight, didn't you. Want to talk about it?" It must have been clear from the look on my face that I did not, because Ginger just smiled. Suddenly she drained her glass and laughed out loud.

"What's so funny?" I try not to look hurt, but of course I do.

"It's not you, Gilligan. It's just - does it ever bother you how little sex actually happens on this island? I mean, come on, three women, four men, palm trees, sandy beaches, moonlight! We're all adults here. If we had any sense, we'd be going at it like jackrabbits. And yet things are just as repressed and screwed up here as they are anywhere else."

I really don't know what to say to this. We're both a little drunk and both a little nervous. Actually, she's more than a little drunk and I'm more than a little nervous. I'm so scared I can't make words come out of my mouth anymore. I just don't want to screw this up. All I can do is nod, a little too vigorously.

"And do you know why? Here's the score. Look, you like Maryanne, right? But Maryanne likes the professor. She's the sort who goes for the father figure type. But the professor, that old poofter, he likes the skipper. Remember that black eye the professor got after our New Years Eve party? I happen to know that wasn't caused by an exploding beaker."

At this point all I can do is stare.

"And the skipper, of course, spends half his time following me around, hat in hand. The old goat. And me? I would be perfectly happy with Mr. Howell. He and I are cut from the same cloth. Not that I'm in the habit of chasing married men, but what does marriage mean on a rock like this? About as much as his suitcases full of money!

"But Thurston is not interested in me or anyone else. He want's just one thing: off. He want's off this rock at any cost. And as for Mrs. Howell, she's already off. So there you have it. Seven adults and hardly enough sex to fill an afternoon."

Ginger pours herself another glass and waits for me to say something. Anything. I open my mouth but at first nothing comes out. She looks at me, tenderly, and in that moment I leap into those eyes of hers. My body stays frozen. But I fall into her eyes. I swim in those eyes, I tumble and spin in those eyes. My mouth hangs open. Only a kind of croaking noise comes out.

Ginger leans over and kisses me. Not a peck, but a real, deep, kiss. Then she looks at me again, this time with no uncertainty. "Oh, Gilligan. I might have known Maryanne would screw this up. Never send a girl to do a woman's work. Are you sure you want to do this?"

This time I am determined to speak. "I've never been surer of anything in my life." And I say it so sincerely, and with such a serious expression on my face, that she laughs again. And this time I laugh with her.

She puts her glass back on the chest, carefully pulls my glass out of my fingers and sets it next to her own. The she lies down on the rug and looks up at me, smiling.

My hat sails into the corner. I pull my red shirt up over my chest without ever taking my eyes off her. Then I struggle out of my pants, and she helps me a little. I stroke her endless legs like I was petting a cat and she closes her eyes and lifts up her throat for me to kiss. I kiss her throat and then work my way down into her breasts, trying not to move too fast. She has her hands on my back, moving in circles, pulling me closer. And now she laughs again and rolls me over. This laughter of hers is the most wonderful thing of all. She is having fun! Sex is not a ritual or a funeral or another one of my clumsy disasters. It's fun! She really likes this! She really likes me! Now I am rubbing against her and pulling her down and licking her like a puppy. My hands are gliding across her skin like a dolphin. Slowly, she begins to chew my ear.

Now she is whispering with a throaty kind of purr in her voice. "Where is that rubber you had this morning?" I kiss her and she climbs off me. As I reach over to pull the rubber out of my pants pocket, she stands up and slowly raises the teddy over her head. I am completely enchanted.

I try to put the rubber on myself, but she helps me and is much better at it than I. She is laughing again, and stroking me, and dangling her breast in my face like a bunch of grapes for me to suck.

She settles right on top of me and covers my mouth with her own. I am surprised by how heavy she is. In my hammock at night I had always imagined her light as lace, a piece of fabric cut from a movie screen. And she was always on the deck of my pirate ship, looking up at me softly. But now I am the one on the deck and her weight rises and falls against me and we are both sweating and panting.

Her hands are moving fast, cupping my bottom, reaching around for my little buddy. I am too amazed to help or fight or even move. She is doing all the work. When our tongues begin playing together she giggles, a sound that was always in the distance until tonight. And then her tongue is in my ear, flitting around like a little bird. We are both naked. I am on a desert island making love to a movie star.

"Gilligan," she whispers, "come now. Come inside me!"

"Call me Willy," I say. "My name is Willy."

"Really?" Her eyes open as if seeing me for the first time.

"OK, then. Willy." She laughs. "Don't keep me waiting, Willy."

And then I come and come and come. I am so happy there are tears in my eyes. I fall back onto the rug, drenched in sweat, and just lay there staring up the way I did when we were shipwrecked. She rolls off me and gives me a hug and a little kiss. She has never looked at me with such tenderness before. She holds me in her eyes as if I was her own child.

"You should go now, Willy." She uses my name with a smile and I look back at her with pleading eyes. I don't want to go. I want to do it again. And again and again. Then I want to feel her falling asleep in my arms. Then I want to watch over her while she sleeps. As for me, I don't think I'll ever sleep again.

But she is firm and reaches for my pants. I realize then that I have only scratched her surface. She opened me to my core, but I touched little more than her skin. For her, this was just a swim in the lagoon. Beyond that lagoon is an ocean whose depth I can scarce imagine.

"You never forget your first time," she says when I am dressed. "And you can never go back. Everything will be different now. Don't tell the others. This will be our little secret. Willy."

I hug her and she gives me one last kiss. Then I pass through the curtain and find myself standing on the shore under a brilliant full moon.

Part 9...