Visiting Nick's Island.

My best friend's teenage daughter wanted to go on a boat ride. Things didn't go as planned.

Based on a post by Alaskan Devil. Listen to the Podcast at My First Time.

One of my favorite old-time TV shows is Gilligan's Island. Every Saturday morning, I sit back in my Lay-Z-Boy recliner, sip on my Bailey's and coffee, and watch the Bouncing Beauties Sitcom Power Hour on my favorite YouTube channel, Classic Television Titties. The channel is dedicated to classic TV shows with hot babes in skimpy outfits, including two of the best-looking broads on the small screen, Mary-Ann and Ginger.

Now for those of you that are too young to know about classic TV, Gilligan's Island is about a group of idiots that get marooned on a deserted Island. There's Gilligan, a mentally challenged man-boy obviously on the spectrum. The Skipper, a grotesquely obese abuser with a stupid hat. The Professor, an asexual nerdy science type. Mr. Howell, a rich capitalist, presumably from Florida, and his annoying wife Mrs. Howell (man, can I relate to annoying wives).

Lastly, there's Ginger and Mary-Ann. Ginger is a tall sexy redhead actress with gravity defying dairy pillows, and Mary-Ann is a short brunette girl-next-door type with two perky polo pumpkins who enjoys making cream pies and baring her midriff.

There isn't a man alive who's seen the show and not bludgeoned the beefsteak to one or both of these bodacious babes. I've definitely spilled more seed thinking about Mary-Ann because she always seemed like the biggest whore on the island, but I've pounded the pink pony to Ginger a handful of times as well. Hell, I've even made the bald man puke to Mrs. Howell once or twice, although I won't say I'm proud of it.

One of my favorite pastimes is daydreaming about what it would be like to be stranded on an island with one or two horny single women with nothing to do other than drink from their coconuts and teach them how to ride the bamboo golf cart.

It turns out that dreams sometimes come true.

It all started last June. My best friend from high school, Tony, who lives in South Carolina, came to visit for a week. He was accompanied by his wife, Penny and their nineteen-year-old daughter, Lorna.

Penny and Tony are a bit more traditional than my wife, Margaret, and I. Hell, I think they even go to church twice a week. Tony got married pretty young and you could say his wife rules the roost. While I maintained my dignity and my luscious full head of hair, Tony sacrificed his manhood and lost most of his hair, probably because of Penny's constant nagging and surly disposition.

Penny's fashion style is designed around destroying boners. I'm surprised that Tony was able to keep his pocket mongoose hard for long enough to deposit his seed in his wife's icy cooter cave, but I'm not one to pry into a friend's personal business.

While Penny is no fan of my keen wit and often turns her nose up when I make a funny, at least Tony somehow maintained his sense of humor. I guess laughter is better than divorce when you have a kid.

Unfortunately, their daughter Lorna took after her mother. With a perpetual scowl on her chubby face and baggy clothes, Lorna looks like she's considering a career in virginity.

When they arrived at the house, we sat around the living room catching up and watched the Miami Dolphins play the Dallas Cowboys. At one point, the camera panned to one of the Dallas cheerleaders, her pom poms shaking so hard it looked like they were about to spill out all over the Astro-turf.

"Holy hell, Tony," I said, "Will you look at those Julius Squeezers! Now there's a tight end I'd like to blitz!"

My wife punched me in the shoulder. Tony laughed but Penny looked disgusted. Lorna lifted her head out of her phone for a split-second with a stupid look on her face like she was trying to make sense out of a Kanye West tweet.

When Tony and his family visit, I take them out fishing in my boat. Tony and Penny enjoy fishing for some reason. Fishing for me is all about drinking beer and checking out bikini-clad bombshells hanging out in the marina, where I'm a bit of a legend for my charm and good looks. Most men in their 40s are well past their prime but it's obvious to all the lonely housewives that I'm just getting started.

Our fishing trip was planned for Saturday morning. When I got home from work on Friday, everyone was out of the house, so I took advantage of the quiet to participate in a game of tug-of-war with cyclops.

My jerkin' Jurgens was in the upstairs bathroom. When I went to retrieve it, I noticed a phone sitting by the commode. Unsure whether it was Margaret's or one of the guests, I picked it up, surprised that it was already on and unlocked.

I figured the quickest way to find out who it belonged to was to open the photos. Much to my surprise, the pictures were all of Lorna. There was an album entitled, "Florida trip," so I opened it.

The photos were taken from my upstairs guest bedroom. The first few were of Lorna dressed in a tight-fitting tank top and black lacy panties. The photos were shocking but not because they were particularly racy. I was shocked because my best friend's frumpy teenage daughter actually looked sexy.

Lorna's face was definitely hinting of chubby, but in a teenage baby fat kind of way. She was average height but curvy, with thick thighs and a plump ass that spilled out of her underwear. Lorna's big brown eyes, long ash-blonde hair, and full lips were standard fare for a teenager. Most surprising was her ridiculously massive milk melons that seemed to defy the physical limitations of a cotton tank top.

Fuck me in the ass, I thought to myself. If only I could see Lorna's shirt potatoes after they're peeled!

A few swipes later, my dreams came true. In the photo, Lorna has her top lifted above the biggest pair of pontoons I've ever laid eyes on. I'm not even sure there is an official bra size for blouse balloons of such magnitude. I began to wonder whether NASA had categorized the gravitational pull of Lorna's twin mammary moons.

No wonder she wears baggy clothes!

The more photos I scrolled through, the better they got. Apparently, Lorna was exploring her naughty side because there were photos of her totally nude and even spreading her pussy, which was plump and meaty like the rest of her body. She wasn't overweight, She just had a classic Dutch 'big boned' body. Adding the more recent infusion of massive female hormones, and you get a young buxom wonderland that can entertain a man's interest better the best amusement park can delight a crumb-cruncher.

Then I saw a thumbnail for a video.

It started with her talking to the camera as though it were an audience.

"I have to be quiet because I'm on vacation with my family and they're in another room."

Lorna then proceeds to get totally naked, spread her legs, and fuck herself with a massive dildo while pinching her nipples and playing with her milk mountains. Watching a giant penis-shaped hunk of silicone slide in and out of Lorna's tiny teenage honey bucket made my jackhammer hard enough to pulverize concrete.

After whipping it out, I sat on the toilet and practiced the five-finger shuffle while watching Lorna's entire video. It became obvious to me that she had some kind of video channel where she performed for monetary donations. She even mentioned some of the online audience members by name.

The crescendo of the video showed Lorna on all fours, her chesticles hanging down almost to the bed, swaying with every thrust of her hips as she fucked a dildo with a suction cup that was attached to the headboard.

I came so hard, I thought my splooge was going to reach terminal velocity and escape Earth's gravitational pecker pull.

Just as my banana batter began running down the shower curtain, there was a knock at the door.

Fuck me in the ass!

It seemed as though someone else was at home, and I had a pretty good idea who it was.

I answered the knock with, "Who is it?" while stuffing my trim tickler back into my pants and clumsily trying to wipe my man smoothie off the shower curtain.

"It's Lorna. I think I left my phone in there."

I couldn't be sure if Lorna had heard me playing the video. It wasn't loud but Florida homes aren't known for their high-quality construction standards and the walls were thinner than Kiera Knightly in a corset.

"Oh yeah, I see it. Hold on a sec while I finish freshening up."

Upon exiting the bathroom, Lorna was waiting in the hallway. Handing her the phone, I couldn't help but try to make out the slightest hint of her mommy melons poking and pressing against her oversized sweatshirt.

Alas, my effort was to no avail. Lorna took her phone and scampered off to her bedroom, presumably to play a one-string melody on her gash guitar for her adoring fans.

Being honest, and I always am, the thought of chubby little Lorna tickling her taco in my guest bedroom made me hornier than a lonel...