Adventure

written by [email protected]

 

Polynesia, 1850

I was a young sailor.  It was my first voyage and we were approaching the island of Roratonga west of Tahiti.  The captain warned us that we would not stop at this island as its natives were not friendly and its new, young chief was fierce, proud, defiant, and aggressive.  His name was Chief Tongamanoa. Then the worst possible thing happened to me.  The ship hit a coral reef and sank.  Everyone was drowned but me.  I clung to some wreckage as I drifted to the nearest land, the island of Roratonga, governed by Chief Tongamanoa Nafati.  As I staggered ashore, wet, exhausted and frightened, I was immediately seized by a group of warriors and brought to the main village.  I now stood in front of Chief Tongamanoa.  Chief Tongamanoa had earned his reputation.  He was a very handsome man.  He wore only a blue loincloth.  There was a medallion around his neck.  His head was shaved.  He had a tattoo on one upper arm.  His septum was pierced.  He had a fine chest and smooth, Polynesian belly.  His navel was small but deep and cave-like. I could see why he was the chief.  He had the finest body on the whole island.

"You dare to come to my island.  Our rules are clear.  You must die."

"Great Chief Tongamanoa," I replied.  "My captain told me of your laws.  If I engage a warrior in combat and kill him, then I go free."

"Yes," said Chief Tongamanoa.  "That is our law."

"Then," I replied with some fear, "I choose to fight you in man to man combat."

Chief Tongamanoa had to oblige and he removed his medallion. Another native threw him an obsidian-bladed knife.  I removed all my clothes except for my cotton briefs.  I was a little taller than the chief, blond, blue-eyed, tan, muscular but young and inexperienced. The rules were simple.  The knife was thrown on the sand between us.  Each of us would try to get it and kill the other. Only one could survive.  It was a fight to the death. The knife was thrown and we both dove for it.  Chief Tongamanoa got to it first and, sensing that this would be easy, lunged for my chest.  He nicked me several times and drew some blood.  Then he had to get closer to make up for the height difference.  We were so close to each other that our chests and bellies touched.  His smooth, fine, Polynesian body felt very good next to mine but I had no time to think of this now Chief Tongamanoa lifted the knife over his head and began to bring it down to stab me.  That is when I grasped his wrist and we began to struggle.  He wanted to stab me to death.  I wanted to prevent that and use the knife in his own hand to kill him. As the contest went back and forth, the villagers expressed concern.  Tongamanoa almost had me a few times. But then I began to tire him.  I managed to begin to pull his hand down and to turn it inward, toward his own, smooth, proud, brave, beautiful Polynesian belly. As the direction of the battle became clear, the villagers began to shout: 

"No. Chief Tongamanoa.  No. You must win.  You must not be killed.  Chief Tongamanoa!"  

But it was too late.  I turned his wrist toward him. The tip of the knife struck his navel.  The knife began to go in and a grimace of pain was seen on the chief's face.  I plunged the knife all the way into his warm innards.

"Uuuuggghhh.  Huuughhh." 

Chief Tongamanoa called out. Chief Tongamanoa's hands gripped the knife and he doubled over.  His face mirrored the shock and dibelief that he had been beaten.  He fell to the ground, rolled onto his back, and his hands fell away from the knife. A few trickles of blood slithered down to his loincloth. A few dribbles of blood came out of his mouth. The great chief of Roratonga, Chief Tongamanoa Nafati, was dead. The natives, although shocked and angered, had to follow their law and released me.  I never came back to this island but all my life I never faced a finer, braver, more courageous warrior. I never forgot Chief Tongamanoa.