The Fruit, Part 1 - Male Version

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Note: This is a male version of The Fruit.

Summary: After being stranded on a deserted island, a group of men discover that there is only one source of food, and it is reproduced in the strangest of ways. Inspired by “A Most Peculiar Pregnancy in Paradise” by The Lurker At The Threshold. Contains: Male: belly expansion, breast expansion, lactation, and more.

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A shipping trip had gone terribly awry, the vessel torn apart during a bad storm. Of the fifty people on board, there were only a dozen or so survivors. They had been washed up on an island they could not recall from any map. One clutched at a gash on his leg he had gotten while caught in the wreckage. Others were dizzy from taking in mouthfuls of sea water.

A group of five men went scouting for food, water, and wildlife. It was hours later, in the middle of the night, that four returned, dragging along their fifth companion, who had been bitten on the waist by a snake during their trek through the trees. Their search had turned up no signs of food or anything else. And so, the group sat on the beach in silence as their comrade’s body became cool. They knew they wouldn’t be able to go on much longer – not without a source of fresh water. They would simply have to resume their search come the morning. It wasn’t as though they had many other options.

There was some rustling coming from the bushes on the outskirts of the beach. An animal? Several men hurried forward, surrounding the mound of quivering foliage. Their ship’s captain, Charles, fearlessly dove in and grabbed hold of the creature.

It was a small body. A slim build. He jerked it out of the bushes, and the group stared down upon a boy.

He was a skinny, dirty, little thing. Charles recognized him as one of the servants from the lower deck. Surprisingly enough, he was chewing on something, its juice trickling from his mouth. And in his right hand, he was clasping what looked like a bright red ball, about the size of a cantaloupe. Why – it was some sort of fruit! It looked like a bite had been taken out of it, the insides juicy and white. The boy hurriedly brought the fruit back to his lips for another bite, but one of the men grabbed his arms behind his back, causing the boy to drop the fruit as he yelped in pain.

Charles reached down and collected the fruit from the sand. He sniffed it. It smelled sweet. It was soft in his hand, the texture of a soft tomato. And it was juicy – full with precious water. He salivated just staring at it.

One of the men cuffed the boy around the head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing with that?” Fredrick said.

“I found it sir,” the boy mumbled, his eyes watering.

Charles looked up from the fruit. “What’s your name, boy?”

“C-Connor,” the boy responded.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

Charles was surprised. With his small, skinny frame, Connor looked younger than that. “Let him go.”

The man holding Connor hesitated, then shoved him to the ground. He gave Connor a warning look, before joining Charles in walking back to the beach, where the group of men convened in a circle to discuss their findings.

“A single fruit? It’s not big enough for the eleven of us,” Fredrick grumbled.

“We’ll have to make do,” Charles responded. “Just a small piece for each of us. It should hold us over for the time being. And if there’s one of these fruits, there has to be more. We’ll resume our search in the morning.”

“What about the boy?” said another of the men.

Charles sighed. “He’s not going to be of much use to us.”

“But Captain-”

“We will resume our search in the morning,” Charles said with finality. With that, he broke off his piece of the fruit and handed the rest to Fredrick to distribute. He then walked off, pacing across the beach, then continued along the shoreline. He sucked on his portion. The juice was sweet, sweeter than the juices of any fruit he’d tasted. And the flesh was soft. It slipped smoothly down his throat, leaving a warm feeling in his stomach. If they kept the seeds and cultivated this fruit in their home country, it would be sure to make them all wealthy men. That was assuming they even made it off this damned island. Assuming they survived the next few days, and their search through the wilderness didn’t come up empty. It seemed that survival depended completely on the strange, crimson fruit.

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“Where did you find it, boy?” Charles demanded the next morning.

“O-on the beach,” Connor stammered.

“The beach?” said Charles skeptically.

“Yes. S-sitting r-right over there.” He pointed to a spot in the sand a few feet away from where he stood.

Charles frowned at the spot. He was highly doubtful that a lone fruit had sprouted from the sand. He returned his gaze to Connor, who was perched on the ground, his knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them. His face was pale, forehead beaded with sweat. And he was shaking. Strangely, his abdomen looked fuller than it had the day before. Somewhat rounded, like a beer belly. Charles was entirely certain that he was sick.

Charles had seen the affliction before in his travels – the swollen bellies of starved children in impoverished lands. It seemed rather early for the boy to have descended so far into illness. Maybe it was an infection, or something of the like.

Though Charles was curious, he was not especially concerned. The boy was among the least of his worries at the moment.

He turned to his men, all who stood at his flanks. Except for Tom, whose leg was swollen now. The man was perched on the beach, clutching the limb as he groaned.

“You three, go through this grove over here.” Charles nodded to a couple of his men, and signaled to an area in the wilderness that framed the beach. “You two, come with me to the west. The rest of you, walk along the shoreline. Try to figure out how big this island actually is. Maybe we’ll find some luck on the other side.”

His men agreed, hungry and dehydrated as they were.

The three groups started to head off, when they heard some grunting noises coming from the boy. Tempted as he was to ignore it, Charles walked over to Connor as he groaned and clutched at his abdomen. He was now on his back, shifting and squirming. He drew his legs up, squirming out of his slacks, then shuddered, and from his opening protruded…what appeared to be a thin vine, with a single leaf at the tip.

Charles stared in astonishment. The rest of his men gathered around, and they too looked upon Connor in varying levels of confusion and shock. His belly seemed to swell an inch more, now emitting an audible gurgling noise.

His face red, Connor grunted and strained, his legs opening wider. Finally, his cheeks opened, and a mass…crowned, pushing out of him, following the vine, to plop unceremoniously onto the sand. It was – it was a crimson fruit.

The group of men stood there in utter silence, as Connor lay there, panting and fatigued. And the boy seemed just as confused as they were.

Charles reached down and lifted the fruit. It was plump, ripe, and sleek. The vine protruded from the stem at the top of it. Charles was at a complete loss for words.

-

“He must be some sort of warlock,” said Fredrick.

“Or demon,” added Jacob.

Charles returned from rinsing the fruit with sea water. He continued to stare at it with that stunned look on his face.

“I will not eat it,” said Fredrick.

Charles lightly shook himself from his reverie. He threw a glance at Connor who was sitting on the beach, face in his hands. “We will…search the island, as planned. Fredrick, Jacob, tie him up with some vines.” He nodded to Connor.

Connor silently allowed himself to be tied to a tree, then the ten men, excluding Tom, went off on their search for food. When they regrouped on the beach, at nightfall, there were nine of them left. And they were empty-handed.

Jacob sat down on the sand. He was trembling. “Terrence collapsed, and we – goddess, we didn’t have the strength to carry him back.” He put his head in his hands and dissolved into tears.

Charles paled at the thought of Terrence lying on the beach somewhere on the other side of the island, his life draining by the moment, but what could they do? They were all hungry, and dehydrated, their own bodies withering every day that they went hungry.

Charles walked over to Tom, who he had left the fruit with. He was surprised to see that Tom had broken off a piece, and had taken to applying it to the wound on his swollen leg. Charles stared down at him in sympathy. Tom had a bad infection, and it seemed he was well on his way to his grave.

Tom looked up. He forced a smile. “I thought the moisture would help, but it actually…sooths the pain a bit.” He offered Charles what remained of the fruit.

Charles thanked him and walked back over to the other men. Some of them looked upon the fruit with expressions of uneasiness, others, disgust.

“We’re out of options,” Charles said, breaking off a chunk and offering it to Fredrick.

Fredrick hesitated, then accepted it. He hungrily stuffed it into his mouth.

Charles continued to break and distribute the fruit, until there was just one piece left.

Charles stared at the fluid trailing down his palm, his mouth feeling so very dry by then. His stomach ached for sustenance, but Charles turned and walked over to Connor. He was passed out against the tree by then, his head hanging down. Charles lifted it and pressed the piece of fruit to his parted lips.

Unconsciously, the boy tasted it. Chewed. And swallowed.

With a sigh, Charles sat down on the sand beside him.

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