Shalampax Speaks

Hi, peeps. I’m still waiting for the DNA reports to see if any of the guys who submitted samples are MadMadMargo’s father. So I have no more news to report on that front yet. I know the suspense is probably eating away at you, particularly MadMadMargo, but we’ll just have to be patient.

Meanwhile, back in California, Openfly and Marie are getting along famously. They seem to have become best friends forever.

I’ve encouraged Openfly to get Marie to talk about her early days in Shalampax. I also convinced Openfly to record those conversations, with Marie’s permission, so we can have an accurate record of them.

I’ll try to find out who is responsible for maintaining the Official Shalampax Web site and get him or her to load the transcripts into archives there. However, if you’re a regular reader, you know how difficult it is to get anyone here to do anything, so I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for that to happen if I were you.

The following is the account of Marie’s early days in Shalampax that Marie gave Openfly:

“In my younger days, I had a well-deserved reputation as a party girl or, as we’re supposed to say in these politically correct times, a party woman. When I was 24, I got a gig as a maid on a yacht owned by a fabulously rich couple.

“My job was to serve their meals, make their bed and clean their rooms. In my spare time, I also screwed the husband while his wife was sunbathing on the deck. But that was pleasure, not work. The mood of the male crew on the yacht was also always cheery because of me.

“One day, we unwittingly sailed toward the island that I later named Shalampax. As we got within sight of it, the weather immediately changed from delightful to frightful. I’m convinced that there is some sort of climatic, Pacific version of the Bermuda triangle happening there, with Shalampax right at the center of it.

“Shalampax can, and frequently does, experience some of the fiercest winds on the planet. And they rarely die down for long. Yet, if you go 50 miles in any direction, you’ll often be into the most peaceful weather you’ve ever seen.

“We got caught in a storm that I’ve since learned was bad even for Shalampax. The yacht smashed to smithereens on one of the rocks near the island. I can’t be certain, but I think everyone else onboard died instantly on impact. None of their bodies was ever found.

“How I survived is a mystery that will probably never be solved. Somehow, a wave tossed me up on the Shalampax plateau.

“I was in a coma. I thought I was under for a few hours, but it must have been five days. After coming to, I kept meticulous count of the days. When I made it back to civilization I found out it was five days later than I thought it was.

“When the Shalampaxians found my comatose body, they nurtured me back to health. I don’t know what they did while I was under, but once I returned to consciousness, the guys’ idea of taking good care of me was to keep me warm—something that was never strictly necessary on that tropical island—by taking turns laying their naked bodies on top of my naked body and humping me repeatedly.

“I didn’t complain about that in the least because I’m a certified mega-nymphomaniac. Back then, they didn’t have a scientific test to verify that. They just said if you’re always intensely, uncontrollably horny then you’re a nymphomaniac.

“I have since had that diagnosis verified clinically. A few years ago, I had an fMRI scan done on my brain. The doctors found that the areas of the brain normally associated with our sex drive were lighting up like crazy. They told me it was off the charts and they’d never seen that level of activity in those areas of the brain even in young women. So, imagine what it must have been like back in my 20s.

“I hope my daughter didn’t inherit my nymphomania. I’ve loved my life, but it can be a curse at times.

“I’m getting off track. Where was I?

[At this point, Openfly interjected to remind Marie of what she was talking about.]

“Oh yeah. It took me a few weeks before I got my strength back and I could move around and study the strange people on that island. Eventually, I learned that the guys lying on me before I fully recovered was definitely done for sex—no question or regret about that—but it was also a form of protection.

“These people had no buildings back then. To prevent themselves from being blown off the island in their sleep, before turning in for the night they’d lash themselves to the palm trees with any useful flotsam and jetsam that had washed up on their shores—kelp, pieces of rope, discarded clothing or whatever. Guys mounted me to have sex with me, but they were also on top of me to make sure I wouldn’t blow away while I was still too weak to grab onto anything on my own.

“That story brings to mind something else. I’m convinced that Shalampax is a magical place. In many cases, such as with the weather, that magic is of the evil warlock kind. But in other cases it’s seems mystical and beneficent toward the Shalampaxians.

“For example, consider the palm trees on the island. By all laws of physics, there is no way they should be able to withstand the storms that pound the island. But they do. In the time I was there, I never saw one palm tree blown down.

“I saw some not-so-small ships lifted up and blown over top the island. But the palm trees stayed firmly planted to the ground.

“The geology is unnatural too. Despite the perpetually violent seas, the sides of the island’s almost perfectly oval plateau never erode. And some of the rocks that you find on the shore below the plateau at low-tide seem to be harder than diamonds.

“We often found small rocks with one side that was knife-edge sharp. That knife edge never wore down, no matter what you did with them. Once I regained my senses, I convinced some of the natives to use them to cut down half of the palm patch, line the logs up against some of the still-standing trees and, with the help of some larger rocks hauled up from the nearby seabed when it was exposed at low-tide, create a shelter.

“The shelter wasn’t big enough for the entire population, but at least people could take turns at a little comfort.

“Nobody there had ever thought of building a shelter until I suggested it. I can tell you, before the shelter was built, sex was the wildest ride you’ve ever had. The winds almost never die down there. So the entire time you’re doing it, you’re also fighting against incredible gusts.

“And, no matter how much people in other countries may or may not enjoy them, ‘blow jobs’ took on a whole new meaning there.”

Well peeps, that should whet your appetite for Marie’s tales. She had a lot more to say—and her and Openfly are continuing their conversations—but I’ll save the rest for another time. Some of our readers are even lazier than we Shalampaxians are. They don’t like reading long posts, so I’ll end it here for now. Stay tuned.