The only survivors of the airplane crash were five men and one woman.
They made it ashore to a small deserted uncharted tropical island. They found breadfruit, coconuts, bananas, a freshwater lagoon with
fish. There was bamboo, palm fronds and vines. The six set about to make a life for themselves. They built huts, wove mats, ate well, and formed a working compact amongst each other.
After several months of wonderful cooperation, one evening after dinner, the subject got around to sex. Nobody was getting any, and everybody missed it. The woman said she was used to getting all the sex she wanted, and she wanted plenty of it back home. She liked all of the men, and didn't want to play favorites, but
she refused to be the Island Prostitute.
She suggested that each man in turn "marry her" for a week at a time. She would only have sex with her "husband of the week." The men discussed it, and decided that would be a workable arrangement.
The arrangement succeeded far beyond their wildest dreams. Over the five years the men rotated, there were virtually no problems of any sort. They rebuilt their huts into quiet plush island lodges. They built wooden fish traps. They found fruits and
small animals to supplement their diet. Life was good. Even their sex lives were satisfactory, the men would admit. They didn't get enough over all, but during THEIR week, it was spectacular.
The woman was insatiable. She was an inventive lover who would do almost anything sexual. The woman thought this was a most wonderful arrangement.
Finally, all the sex she could ever want, without being stuck with one boring man! But then, tragedy befell the small outpost. The woman fell ill, and she
died.
The first week was sad.
The second week was bad.
The third week was awful.
The fourth week was impossible.
The fifth week was unbearable.
The sixth week, the men decided they finally had to bury her.
