Strange Tides

By Clea Kinderton

Five straight men stranded on a remote island find themselves succumbing to powerful gay urges.

A pleasure cruise turns into a surreal erotic adventure when five straight men find themselves stranded on a remote Pacific island.

Thousands of miles from home — and the nearest woman’s caress — the five friends struggle to come to terms with their frustrated urges. A strange object discovered below the waves at the edge of the island serves as a catalyst for their repressed gay desires and a fateful decision is reached.

What follows is a game of cat and mouse as Stacy, a sensitive writer tormented by disturbing fantasies, finds himself pursued by his lusty former friends and haunted by an overwhelming urge to surrender…

25,000 word novella (approx 75+ pages)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Lamp Press
• Release date: Nov 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519922908

Clea Kinderton

I've always had a wild imagination. I love fat fantasy novels, B movies, comic books, and scifi. But I also love romance and sex and you'll find plenty of both along with heaps of humor, mystery, and suspense jampacked into some of the hottest, hardest, kinkiest stories you may ever read. Strap yourself in, it's going to be a wild ride. I'm always interested in hearing what you have to say and welcome suggestions. You can contact me at [e-mail] and follow me on Ello: ello.co/cleakinderton

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

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Fuck, I miss women, said Buck, flinging another log on the fire.

We all do, said Henry. I wish you’d shut up about it.

It was getting late, and the sun was low on the horizon, a ball of almost pinkish light resting in a bed of clouds the color of fresh watermelon. Stacy tried to remember how many days they’d been on the island now. Ninety-one, if memory served him correctly.

I can’t stop thinking about them, you know? Buck continued, ignoring Henry’s request. He sat back down in the sand and crossed his legs. I mean, at first all I thought about was food, but now that we got that sorted out, all I can think about is pussy. I dream about it constantly. Pussy pussy pussy.

I dream about a time when you stop talking about it, said Lawrence. The big black man chucked a stone in the fire, creating a flare of sparks and ash. He was leaning on one elbow, his long dark torso stretched out, the remains of his old t-shirt tied around his head like a bandana.

Remember that girl at the beach in Brighton? said Buck.

You’re going to have to be a lot more specific than that, said Amir, snorting. Amir somehow managed to look perfectly groomed even after three months on a desert island. Being the Oxford-educated heir of a multimillion dollar textile dynasty probably had something to do with that. Keeping up appearances was as important to Amir as having sex with women seemed to be to Buck. But being a millionaire hadn’t helped him get off the island. And it was his fault they were stuck here now. Not directly, of course — it wasn’t his fault that they’d been blown off course and dashed against the rocks by a typhoon — but the trip had been his idea. Stacy wondered how long the rescue party had searched for them before they’d given up. They should have been able to see wreckage from a plane, but it was like Amir’s custom Sunreef yacht had been swallowed whole by the ocean. The fact that they’d made it to the island at all — tied to a rubber dingy that had itself been swept away by the gale the following day — was a miracle. It didn’t seem possible that in this day and age anyone could get stranded on an island, even a remote island in the Pacific a thousand miles from anywhere. In the three months they’d been there, they’d only seen about a half dozen boats, and they’d all been miles out to sea. Wherever they were, it was off the beaten path.

You know who I mean, said Buck, nodding and grinning. That one in the flesh-tone bikini. We all took a second look, because we thought she was naked.

Oh yeah, I remember her, said Lawrence, laughing. The brunette?

Yeah! said Buck, delighted to find someone willing to indulge him. What I wouldn’t give to get my dick between those beautiful tits of hers. I can’t stop thinking about it.

You want us to start a circle jerk or something? said Amir, mocking him.

Everyone laughed except Buck. Buck kicked sand in Amir’s direction but the Indian heir deftly dodged the worst of it. He inspected his shirt, shaking out the rest.

I just need to get laid, he said. I’m so backed up my blue balls have blue balls.

I really don’t want to talk about the color of your balls, Buck, said Henry.

Henry was a research scientist from Florida, probably one of the most important marine geologists in the world, and a friend of Amir’s. In spite of his profession, he came across as a surly offshoreman. People were often taken aback when the scruffy, ruggedly handsome man in jeans and a natty old sweater started talking about plate tectonics and ocean bed core samples. Unlike many of his colleagues, Henry preferred to work in the field under an open sky, performing calculations in his head from the back of a boat. It hadn’t been hard for Amir to convince his friend to take a pleasure cruise around the world in his forty foot yacht — there was no place he’d rather be — but he didn’t like being stranded, especially on land, and being trapped on an island with Buck was wearing on him.

What else are we going to talk about? said Buck. We’ve run out of things to talk about. If you want to talk about something else, go ahead. I’m just trying to pass the time.

Henry stared at him, his face expressionless, and then got to his feet.

I’m going to take a piss, he said. You can talk about whatever the fuck you want.

Buck followed Henry with his eyes as he disappeared among the trees, a look of mingled irritation and chastisement on his face. Henry’s abrupt departure had spoiled his mood. He was sitting with his arms clamped around his knees and a sullen expression on his face. His broad, muscular shoulders, dirty, ragged clothes, and bristly blond beard made him look a bit like a Viking. Buck and Henry didn’t get along very well, primarily because they were worlds apart temperamentally. Henry was dour and critical and driven by an almost infernal pursuit of knowledge; Buck by comparison was a lighthearted, easygoing gregarious slacker who hadn’t opened a book since he’d dropped out of high school. Buck wasn’t stupid, but, by comparison, and in Henry’s eyes, he was a child. Buck was a jack-of-all-trades when it came to water activities. Surfer, fisherman, scuba diver — if it involved being on or under the water Buck had probably done it. And he had an almost uncanny knack for acquiring new skills. When he decided to do something, he did it well, and, as far as others could tell, effortlessly. He made his money from advertisements on the how-to and documentary videos he uploaded to YouTube, endorsements from fishing and boating companies, and by conducting adventure cruises for pasty, timid rich people looking for a little excitement. Stacy had met Buck on one of these cruises years ago. Stacy had been conducting research for a novel and the two had struck up a conversation and been friends ever since.

Same old Henry, said Lawrence, shaking his head with pity. If any dude needs to get laid, it’s that guy.

His wife must be going crazy, said Buck sympathetically. He seemed almost incapable of holding a grudge.

They’re separated, said Amir.

Really? It was news to Buck. I guess that explains why he never talks about her. Kate, right?

Yeah. She caught him cheating on her, said Lawrence, grimacing ruefully.

I’m not surprised, said Buck.

Lawrence shrugged. Henry’s complicated. Ain’t that simple.

Lawrence had met Henry at Florida State University where he’d enrolled on a water polo scholarship. Lawrence had gone on to play in the 2012 Olympics; the US had had a dismal showing, but it hadn’t prevented Lawrence from being drafted for Florida’s new pro league. Water polo had been gaining momentum and respectability as a sport since the 2008 Olympics had put it on everyone’s radar. It might never reach the heights of baseball or football, but investors seemed convinced that they could at least carve out a slice of the advertising pie big enough to make a profit. Before he’d met Lawrence, Stacy hadn’t even realized that water polo was a sport that people could play professionally.

Lawrence, by pure coincidence, had met Amir at a sporting event in Australia. Amir was one of those investors who’d seen potential