A/N: This story has an alternate title, Breast Intentions. In fact it was known as Breast Intentions right up until the moment of publishing when I chickened out of actually calling it that on ffnet. (Chicken, breast- Lovey, I made a witty!)
It was written as a bribe to keep a certain someone from getting distracted while writing a very, very important paper for a very, very important conference. I'm pleased to say my bribe worked. Right at this moment, this certain someone is making a speech in front of an audience (with her rockstar shades on which she totally owns) and hopefully not making a fool of herself in public. Yay, Courtney! This is for you, especially the Blue-Footed Boobies which was your idea, oh and the coconuts, too!
This is a T Rated Crackfic. It contains the word 'breast' a lot, but nothing wildly inappropriate. Lulu x
Perfectly Stacked
aka Breast Intentions
It all began one night after dinner. Mary Ann and Ginger had retired to their hut while Mrs. Howell said she was going to bed early because of a headache that had been coming on ever since the Fashion Report had said that chiffon was on the way out.
Guy Talk, the Skipper called it.
"Not for your ears, Gilligan," he said, then gave a big booming laugh that Mr. Howell and the Professor seemed to understand, but just left Gilligan confused.
"But I'm a guy, Skipper. Aren't I?"
"In a manner of speaking," Mr. Howell mused.
"Certainly you're of the male persuasion," the Professor chuckled.
"That's a guy, right?" Gilligan asked, nodding along with the Professor when he did.
"All right, Gilligan, you're more than welcome to stick around," the Skipper grinned, winking at his cohorts. "But you do know what we'll be talking about, don't you?"
Gilligan hesitated, then made a wild guess. "Skateboards?"
The three other men shook their heads.
"Girls, Gilligan," the Skipper said, and winked again, this time quite lasciviously.
Gilligan felt the blood drain from his face. "Girls?" he squeaked. "Why girls?"
"Because, Gilligan, we're guys. And guys talk about girls."
Feeling like the biggest fish out of water, Gilligan stumbled to his feet so quickly that he sent his chair tipping over backwards. "Maybe I'll just go read my comic books in the hut," he said with a cheesy grin. "Yeah, maybe I'll do that. I'll just...go read my...comic books."
Gilligan left the table, the laughter of the other men following him all the way into the hut. He muttered to himself as he lit the oil lamp and picked up his stack of comic books. He shot a glare out of the window in the direction of the clearing and the table where they all sat having their 'Guy Talk'. He straightened up his blanket and climbed into the top sack, resting the pile of comic books on his stomach.
"I don't care," he sulked, pushing back his hat. "You guys can talk about girls all night if you want. I'm not interested."
Ten minutes later Gilligan was crouched on the floor under the open window, listening in wide-eyed amazement to the story the Skipper was telling. He was having a hard time hearing all of it because Mr. Howell kept laughing loudly and the Professor kept trying to tone down the level of conversation, but occasionally the warm evening breeze would bring him a whole sentence or two, making him squirm with embarrassment and crane his neck up towards the window so that he could hear more.
"I'm not kidding!" the Skipper laughed. "They really were that big! Every time she swung those things I was sure she was gonna give herself a black eye...and the girl dancing next to her a black eye, too!"
Mr, Howell roared, then muffled his laughter so that Lovey wouldn't hear.
"Skipper, may I suggest that you're exaggerating somewhat?" the Professor said. "I hardly think it's possible for a female breast to give someone a black eye!"
"Are you kidding?" the Skipper chortled. "She had those babies swinging all over the place! Why, we even had to hide under the table!"
"I still say you're exaggerating, although it certainly makes for an entertaining, if implausible story. Breasts just simply do not swing with such wild abandon!"
"I assure you, Professor, these ones did. And in two different directions at once!"
"Ah, the joys of cheap entertainment!" Mr. Howell declared, and the next thing he and the Skipper were drinking toasts to well-endowed girls who danced with their tops off.
Gilligan crawled away from the window and climbed back into his hammock, feeling slightly ashamed of himself for listening to a conversation that didn't concern him. His mother always said that was how you got yourself into trouble- listening to things that didn't concern you. But he couldn't help it. He was a guy, wasn't he?
He was also a guy who was suddenly feeling kind of strange.
Gilligan picked up his comic and began reading where he'd left off, his lips moving in time with the words. It was a pretty standard story, but he that was okay with him- he liked when his comic books were predictable.
The hero was battling a giant three headed alien from the planet Zeelar. The alien had called for reinforcements from home, and Zeelar was getting ready to deploy the enemy spaceships. When Gilligan turned the page there was a drawing of Zeelar, a giant solitary globe hanging in the dramatic, inky depths of the universe. But when he looked at the picture of Zeelar, he saw a breast instead.
He blinked, shook his head, looked again. Okay, he thought. It's a planet. The planet Zeelar. It just looks like a breast. Kind of round, and kind of smooth, with a...
...wait! What was he doing still thinking about breasts, anyway? Even the Skipper had stopped talking about breasts and was now talking about six inch thick steaks.
I shouldn't even know what a breast looks like, Gilligan thought. Except that in the Navy it had been impossible not to see pictures. Like the pin-ups that the other guys kept in their lockers, or the occasional magazine that had ended up under his nose until the Skipper or someone else whisked it away from him. But he'd never really seen a real one, not properly, and he couldn't imagine ones that swung around so high they could give someone a black eye.
And then he realised that he couldn't stop thinking about breasts.
It was no use. No matter how hard he concentrated, Gilligan couldn't read any more of his comic book without seeing giant breasts everywhere. In the end he threw the comic on the floor in disgust and pulled his blanket up to his chin. He was annoyed, because now he was never going to know whether the hero had defeated the enemy spaceships from the planet Breast.
When the Skipper finally came to bed, still guffawing gently at his own jokes, Gilligan pretended he was asleep.
The next morning at breakfast, while Gilligan was still yawning, the Professor began talking about a trip he was making to the other side of the island to observe a colony of birds.
"You should come with me, Gilligan," he said. "I believe you're interested in birds?"
Gilligan looked up, his interest piqued. "Yeah, I like birdwatching, it's fun."
"Well, I think you'll like this particular bird," the Professor said, genially. "It's called the Blue-Footed Booby."
Gilligan almost dropped his fork. He was now fully awake. "The what?" he asked, staring at the Professor.
"The Blue-Footed Booby," the Professor replied, pouring himself some mango juice.
"Booby is a funny name for a bird," Ginger giggled coquettishy.
The Professor turned his attentions to Ginger. "The name booby comes from the Spanish term bobo, which means 'stupid', or 'fool', or 'clown'. Because the Blue-footed Booby is rather clumsy on land."
"Maybe they should have named it the Blue-Footed Gilligan Bird instead of the Blue-Footed Booby," the Skipper laughed.
"I still think it's a funny name," Ginger smiled. "Booby."
Gilligan stared at his plateful of fruit. All of a sudden he recalled snippets of the conversation he'd overheard last night.
"I hardly think it's possible for a female breast to give someone a black eye!"
"Are you kidding? She had those babies swinging all over the place! Why, we even had to hide under the table!"
Gilligan shook his head to get rid of the images that were flashing through his mind. Not only the planet Zeelar (which even he knew was just a badly drawn picture in a comic book), but also long-ago pictures of busty ladies stuck to sailors' locker doors which came flooding into his consciousness as clearly as if he'd just seen them that morning.
"Hey! Where'd Mary Ann get to?" The Skipper's loud voice startled Gilligan out of his thoughts and he looked up, relieved to see Mary Ann bringing them the rest of their breakfast.
"Here I am," Mary Ann said cheerfully, setting a large platter down in the centre of the table. "Missed me?"
"Oh, boy!" the Skipper cried, almost salivating with delight. "Pancakes!"
"Mary Ann!" the Professor exclaimed, immediately reaching for his knife and fork. "I have to say, your pancakes today are exquisite!"
"You're not kidding," the Skipper grinned. "If there's one thing guaranteed to put a smile on my face, it's Mary Ann's pancakes!"
"So beautiful. So round and symmetrical!" the Professor proclaimed. "And not only that- so perfectly stacked!"
"Mary Ann's pancakes are always perfectly stacked," the Skipper nodded.
"Well, I for one can't wait to sink my teeth into them," the Professor grinned, holding out his plate so that Mary Ann could serve him.
"Me either!" the Skipper agreed. "I can't wait to get a nice, generous portion of Mary Ann's beautifully stacked pancakes!"
"Dee-licious!" grinned the Professor.
There was a loud clatter as Gilligan knocked his cup over. Heads whipped round to stare at him as he pushed his chair back and stumbled rather clumsily to his feet. "I don't feel too good. I think I'm gonna go back to the hut and lie down for a while."
The other castaways were rendered speechless. Gilligan never left the table in the middle of breakfast. It was one of his favourite meals of the day (along with lunch, dinner, and several in between snacks). They stared after him as he crossed the clearing, weaving slightly.
"Skipper, what do you think is wrong with him?" asked Mary Ann. She was terribly worried. "This isn't like Gilligan at all!"
"I'm okay," Gilligan's voice came drifting back to them.
"Should I save you some pancakes, Gilligan? Or should I make you some fresh ones? Yes- I'll do that, Gilligan, I'll bring you some nice, fresh pancakes. Nice, hot, fresh, melt-in-your-mouth pancakes. How would you like that?"
"Huuuuh," said Gilligan, and walked straight into the side of the hut.
Mary Ann did indeed bring Gilligan fresh, hot pancakes covered in syrup, and he was grateful that she'd brought them because by then he was starving hungry.
Mary Ann sat with him at the little wooden table while he worked his way through the stack. She asked if he might be coming down with something, and wondered whether she should go and get the Professor.
Gilligan mopped up the last of the syrup with the last of the pancakes and shook his head. "It's nothing, Mary Ann. I'm fine now. I'm sorry if I worried you. Thanks for the pancakes. The Skipper and Professor were right- your pancakes really are the br...best. They're the best!" He panicked and crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping Mary Ann hadn't heard what he'd almost said. But she just got up and took his plate away with a beaming smile, leaving him to wipe his brow and breathe a huge sigh of relief.
Gilligan busied himself with chores around the hut. When he'd done as much tidying as he possibly could, he poked his head out of the door to make sure the coast was clear. It was a beautiful day- brilliant white fluffy clouds hung in the sky and the air was warm and laced with the tang of salt.
Maybe I'll go with the Professor after all, he thought. A trip to the other side of the island will be fun.
He left the hut, whistling his little tune from Hamlet.
At least while I'm whistling this song I'm not thinking about breasts, he thought, then promptly groaned out loud, burying his face in his hands as the drawing of Zeelar and all the perky poster girls from his Navy days came flooding back into his brain.
"Go away!" he said out loud.
"Well! That's a fine thing to say to a friend," came a sultry voice from behind him.
"Oh, hi, Ginger. Sorry, I wasn't talking to you," Gilligan replied, his voice muffled behind his hands.
"But there's no-one else here," Ginger said, puzzled.
"I was talking to myself," Gilligan muttered.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Ginger asked. "People who talk to themselves are...you know." She whistled two notes.
"I'm not crazy," Gilligan said, wondering if he really was going crazy.
"If you say so," Ginger shrugged. "Anyway, Gilligan, since you're here, would you help me out for a moment?"
Gilligan removed his hands from his face and glanced sideways. "Help you with what?" he ventured.
"It would help if you actually looked at me, Gilligan," Ginger said, a little impatiently.
With a sigh, Gilligan turned around completely so that he was facing Ginger head on. It took a second for his mind to work out what he was seeing, and then his eyes flew open.
Ginger was holding two large coconuts in each hand, hefting and bouncing them at chest level.
All sorts of alarm bells began ringing in Gilligan's head, along with the sounds of a cuckoo clock and a train whistle. He gulped and swallowed hard. He pulled his collar away from his neck and felt his jaw dropping open.
"I want to make some cookies and I need lots of coconut, but I can't decide which of these is bigger," Ginger was saying. "What do you think, Gilligan?"
Gilligan watched transfixed as Ginger rolled and jiggled each of the coconuts in turn.
"They're both big," he said, a little hoarsely.
"Oh, Gilligan! That's no answer! Look at them and pick the one you think is bigger!"
"That one," said Gilligan, pointing.
"No," said Ginger. "I think that's the smaller one."
"That one, then." He pointed at the other coconut, feeling a tiny trickle of sweat run down behind his right ear.
"Oh, Gilligan. You're not very good at judging my coconuts, are you?" Ginger sighed.
"No," Gilligan agreed, shaking his head. "I'm terrible at judging your coconuts, Ginger."
Ginger pouted for a moment, then brightened. "I know! Why don't you hold them for yourself? Roll them around in your hands and get a good feel for their weight. Then you can..."
But Gilligan was already gone, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in his wake.
Ginger looked down at her coconuts. A pretty frown marred her otherwise flawless brow. "Well," she mused aloud to nobody in particular, "personally, I think the left one is bigger."
Gilligan ran a short distance at top speed and then stopped by a large tree. He stood with his back against the trunk, panting heavily. They were just a couple of coconuts, he told himself. That's all they were. Just a couple of coconuts.
Big, round, jiggly, bouncy coconuts...
After a while, Gilligan heard a rhythmic crackling of twigs coming nearer and nearer. Someone was approaching. He straightened up quickly, pulled down his shirt and fixed his hat, hoping against hope that it wasn't Ginger and her big, bouncing coconuts coming after him.
To his relief it was the Professor. He was carrying a duffel bag of supplies over his shoulder and a pair of field glasses around his neck.
"There you are, Gilligan!" he said with a friendly smile. "I just saw Ginger back there. She said you took off as though you were being chased! Are you all right?"
Gilligan took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm fine, Professor. Really."
The Professor chuckled. "I must say, I was very impressed with the size of her coconuts."
Gilligan gave a small, strangled squeak.
The Professor appeared to drift off for a few seconds, then smiled and shook his head fondly. "Well, Gilligan. Seeing as you're here, are you ready to come to the other side of the island and look at some Blue-Footed Boobies with me? I believe there are more boobies around at this time of year than at any other. Imagine it, Gilligan! Boobies everywhere!"
Gilligan felt his head start to spin again.
That was the problem. He couldn't stop imagining boobies everywhere.
"Big boobies, small boobies, boobies on the land, boobies in the sky and boobies in the sea. Everywhere you look, more and more boobies!"
Gilligan pushed himself away from the tree and staggered off into the jungle, ignoring the Professor's voice which came trailing after him.
"Gilligan! Gilligan, are you sure you're all right?"
Gilligan wasn't even sure if the Professor had said that last bit about boobies or whether he had just imagined it along with everything else. All he knew was that he had to get away from all this talk of boobies.
"Mary Ann," he murmured to himself as he stumbled along the jungle path. "I'll be okay with Mary Ann. She's sweet, and kind, and wonderful, and safe. I must find Mary Ann."
Gilligan finally located Mary Ann in the vegetable garden.
Having grown up on a farm, Mary Ann had a natural affinity with the soil. Unlike some of the other castaways who grumbled about gardening being boring and giving them bad backs, Mary Ann was at home among the crops. She enjoyed the whole process of planting, watering, tending and eventually harvesting. Gardening relaxed her, made her feel one with the Earth. Not only that, it gave her an enormous sense of satisfaction to watch her friends enjoying the meals she prepared using vegetables she'd cultivated herself.
Today Mary Ann was dressed in jeans and a little red vest top, with comfortable pumps on her feet and a light blue scarf on her head. She was on her haunches pulling up weeds from between two rows of wild cabbage. Her back was towards Gilligan and he took a moment just to appreciate her as he approached. He admired the way she worked so hard when others would have given up complaining of boredom or the heat. He was grateful to Mary Ann just for being on the island with them, because without her, he was sure the rest of them would have died of starvation within the first four months. But most of all he admired her because he liked her, and not just because she was a girl. In fact, sometimes he forgot that Mary Ann was a girl, because to him she was more than that. She was Mary Ann.
"Hi, Mary Ann!" he said brightly, picking his way carefully across the garden so that he didn't damage anything.
Mary Ann turned and gave him a huge smile that warmed his heart. "Hi, Gilligan!"
Gilligan loved that Mary Ann never said anything like what are you doing here? Or groaned whenever he showed up. She always seemed happy to see him, and that was another thing he liked about her. She accepted him, faults and all. Even if he did drop the laundry on the ground or break a plate now and then. Or even lots of times.
"What'cha doing?" he asked, stepping over a clump of beetroot.
"Weeding," Mary Ann said, pulling a face.
"Can I help?" He arrived beside her and hunkered down, peering at the cabbages that were growing in a perfectly neat row before them.
"Sure," she replied. "Just make sure you don't pull up any of those big green things."
He looked at her for a moment, then decided she was teasing him. "Haha," he said. "I know those are cabbages."
"No, those are artichokes. Those are cabbages." Then she laughed. "I'm teasing you again, Gilligan. Those are cabbages."
Gilligan didn't mind being teased by Mary Ann- in fact he kind of liked it. It made him feel fuzzy and warm inside, because she always smiled when she did it so that he knew she wasn't being unkind. Not that Mary Ann was ever unkind.
He knelt down next to Mary Ann and set to work pulling up weeds.
"So where have you been all morning, Gilligan?" she asked. "You haven't been in the hut all this time, have you?"
"Mostly," he shrugged. "But I had chores to do anyway."
"I went down to the lagoon for a swim," Mary Ann went on, deftly pulling up weeds at a rate of five weeds to his two. "It was such a beautiful morning. You could have come with me!"
"Now I wish I had!" Gilligan agreed. "Did you have fun?"
"I sure did," Mary Ann smiled. "I think I'm getting to be quite a strong swimmer now, Gilligan. Would you believe I managed three whole laps doing the breaststroke? I've been practising my breaststroke every day, I think it's my favourite way of swimming, seeing as I don't like to get my head wet. It really tones up the arms, too, the breaststroke. What do you think, Gilligan? You're a good swimmer. Gilligan?"
Mary Ann looked over to find Gilligan staring blankly at the row of cabbages, a few pathetic weeds hanging limply from his fingers. "Gilligan, are you all right?"
"Huh?" Gilligan's head snapped round quickly.
"I was talking to you, Gilligan! About the breaststroke!"
"Breast..." Gilligan muttered.
"The breaststroke! Gilligan, I don't think you are all right. I think we should go see the Professor!"
"No," said Gilligan, quickly. "I don't need to see the Professor. There's nothing wrong with me."
"But you went into a trance, Gilligan. A complete trance. Right when I was talking to you. About the breaststroke. I was asking you what you thought of the breaststroke!"
Gilligan could no longer keep the pictures out of his mind. On top of images of giant breast-shaped planets and huge jiggling coconuts and topless, busty poster girls, he now had an image of Mary Ann doing the breaststroke up and down the lagoon, up and down the lagoon, tirelessly strengthening her arm muscles and who knew what else.
Dismayed at the thought that he wasn't even safe with Mary Ann, Gilligan dropped his handful of weeds and tried to get to his feet but the sudden vertical movement gave him a whirling head rush. He staggered sideways, almost certain that he was going to fall headlong into a row of beautifully cultivated tomatoes.
And then Mary Ann was there, reaching for him, her eyes full of worry and concern.
Instead of falling into the vegetable garden, Gilligan found himself falling towards Mary Ann. The only problem was, he had already put his hands out to break his fall.
His hands landed squarely on her breasts.
Both hands.
Both breasts.
Squarely.
Mary Ann staggered backwards, almost falling into the vegetables and taking Gilligan with her. Somehow they managed to stay upright, locked in an impromptu quick step as they tried to avoid tripping over each other's feet and damaging the neat rows of crops they were dancing between. And all the while Gilligan's hands remained firmly and squarely on Mary Ann's breasts, because if either of them let go of the other, then both of them would fall.
At long last they were able to regain their balance, with only a couple of squashed cabbages to show that they had just averted a near calamity. They stood close together, breathing heavily, not quite daring to move just in case they started the whole thing off again. Mary Ann was certain that next time they would not be quite so lucky, and she didn't want to find out what it was like to land on a row of artichokes with Gilligan's weight on top of her.
And speaking of Gilligan. There was the small matter of his hands, and where they still were.
"Um, Gilligan," she said, softly.
"Huh?" Gilligan replied, a little shakily.
"Your hands."
"My hands?"
"Your hands, Gilligan. They're..."
Gilligan looked down almost dazedly. He wasn't even sure where he was anymore. It took a while for his brain to process what he was seeing.
Why, it looked like someone had their hands on Mary Ann's...
...on Mary Ann's...
...breasts.
"Gilligan," Mary Ann said again.
Finally Gilligan realised what was happening. Those weren't someone else's hands. They were his hands.
My hands are on Mary Ann's breasts, he thought, vaguely. What are they doing there? And why can't I take them off?
Mary Ann lifted her hands to his. "Not that I'm offended," she whispered.
Gilligan blinked. What did she just say? Had he heard right?
"I mean, if anyone was going to..." Mary Ann was blushing furiously now, her fingertips trailing lightly over his knuckles, "...I would much rather it be you."
Gilligan couldn't believe his ears. He was beginning to feel faint again already. Was Mary Ann saying she liked having his hands on her breasts? That if anyone was going to touch them she wanted it to be him? It was too much for him to take in.
"Is this all some weird dream I'm having?" he said at last, his voice sounding smaller and squeakier than he'd ever heard it.
"No," Mary Ann smiled, gazing at him through smoky eyes. "It's real, Gilligan. It's very real."
"Then I need to sit down," he said, feeling sure now that he was about to fall.
"Gilligan? Are you...?"
And then he fell. Face first into Mary Ann's breasts.
When Gilligan came round, the Professor was kneeling over him in the middle of the vegetable garden with the Skipper hovering anxiously behind him.
"Is my little buddy going to be okay?" the big man asked, his face a picture of worry.
"I think so," said the Professor, smiling at Gilligan as he awoke. "But let's ask him, shall we?"
"Wha...what happened?" Gilligan said, groggily.
"You fainted, Gilligan! Don't you remember?" came Mary Ann's frightened voice from somewhere behind him.
He craned his neck backwards and peered at her upside down. "Oh, yeah," he said. "I fainted. How about that?"
"We just need to find out why you fainted," the Professor smiled.
Gilligan looked at the Professor curiously. "I thought you were going to the other side of the island?"
"I was," the Professor replied. "But after seeing you behaving so strangely today, I decided not to. And it's a good thing I stayed, now that this has happened." He brought his makeshift stethoscope up to Gilligan's chest. "Heart rate sounds normal."
"I feel fine now," Gilligan said, picking up his hat, which had fallen off when he fainted.
"You've been saying that all morning, when clearly you aren't fine, Gilligan. Fainting happens when there's an insufficient supply of oxygen to the brain. This can be caused by a sudden bout of intense stress, fear, pain or anything that slows the heart rate and lowers the blood pressure." The Professor removed the stethoscope's earpieces and put his hands on his thighs, looking straight at Gilligan. "Has anything been worrying you lately, Gilligan? Something you aren't telling us?"
Gilligan twisted his hat in his fingers. "No," he said, shaking his head. "What would I be worried about?"
"Is it anything I've said or done, Gilligan?" the Skipper said, anxiously. "I know I get sore at you sometimes, little buddy, but..."
"No, Skipper, it's not you. Really."
"It could of course be something a lot simpler, like dehydration," the Professor went on.
"Dehydration?" the Skipper said. "Gilligan eats and drinks more than the rest of us put together!"
"Gilligan also has a higher metabolism than the rest of us put together."
"That's true," the Skipper admitted.
The Professor put one hand on Gilligan's shoulder. "You should increase your fluid intake for the next few days, Gilligan. See if that helps."
"Increase my...?"
"Drink more. Water, fruit juice, it doesn't matter. Just keep your body hydrated. That means don't let it dry out. Meanwhile, I'll monitor your heart rate and blood pressure every morning and evening. Just to keep abreast of the situation."
Gilligan felt the ground slip from underneath him. "Just to what?" he squeaked.
"To keep abreast of the situation," the Professor repeated. His hand tightened on Gilligan's shoulder. "Gilligan? Gilligan! Talk to me! You're not going to faint again, are you?"
Gilligan shook his head. "No, I'm not. Just don't mention..."
Mary Ann suddenly went into a loud coughing fit which startled all of them, not least the Professor who leapt to his feet with his stethoscope already uncoiled. Gilligan was thankful for the distraction, taking the opportunity to crawl out from under everyone's legs until he was clear of the confusion.
He got to his feet, slowly this time. He unfolded his hat and placed it on his head, patting it into place. He watched the Professor fuss over Mary Ann, his eyes riveted to the end of the stethoscope as the Professor placed it gently over Mary Ann's left breast. The same breast that he himself had had his hand on, not half an hour ago.
He sighed softly as he recalled how her breasts had felt- soft and warm and really kind of nice, with little pointy bits that had pushed gently into the center of each palm.
There's just no getting away from it, he thought. The entire world is full of them. Breasts. Boobies. Coconuts. Pancakes. Big ones. Small ones. Ones that can swing in two different directions at once and give a man a black eye.
The entire world was full of breasts, and the sooner he got used to it, the better.
Mary Ann came to the hut later that afternoon, when Gilligan was there on his own.
"I didn't really have a coughing fit," she said, shyly, watching him shuffle his pile of comic books.
"I know," he grinned. "You thought I was about to tell the Professor what had happened. You know, when I put my hands on your...hmm-hmms."
"You didn't just put your hands on my 'hmm-hmms', Gilligan," Mary Ann said, trying not to laugh out loud. "Although you probably don't remember much of what happened right before you hit the ground!"
"It was an accident," Gilligan said, "All of it. But it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been thinking about them all day."
And then, while Mary Ann stood there wide-eyed with amazement, Gilligan told her the whole story. How the guys had laughed at him, how he overheard their Guy Talk (he didn't tell her that he'd sat under the window purposely listening) and how everything after that had made him think of breasts, whether he wanted to or not. From the pictures in his comic books to the way they'd talked about their pancakes at breakfast.
"Is that why you left the table?" Mary Ann tried not to laugh because his face was so serious.
"Uh-huh," he nodded. "And I was starving, too! And then the Professor was talking about boobies, and there was Ginger with her coconuts..."
"Wait. Ginger with her coconuts? When was this?"
"Later on, when I came out of the hut. She had coconuts in each hand and asked me which one was bigger." Gilligan made hefting motions with his hands at chest level.
Mary Ann's eyes widened even further.
"And then I came looking for you, see, because I didn't want to think about it anymore, and I knew I'd be safe with you."
"Oh, Gilligan!" Mary Ann could no longer contain her amusement, stifling her giggles with both hands. "And look what happened. You ended up having the worst time of all!"
Gilligan smiled too, feeling the heat creep up his neck until his earlobes felt like they were on fire. "It wasn't all bad," he admitted.
Mary Ann stopped laughing and met his gaze, surprised by his admission and also by the fact that she didn't even need to ask him what he meant. "I'm glad you think so," she said bashfully.
"Anyway," he continued hurriedly, "After a whole day of trying not to think of them, I finally realised that they're everywhere, there's no getting away from them, and I'm just gonna have to get used to it!"
"Gilligan!" Mary Ann cried. "I can't believe what I'm hearing!"
"Well, I'm a guy, ain't I?" he said, pulling back his shoulders and puffing out his meagre chest.
"Yes, but you're a nice guy!" she giggled. "Despite what happened this afternoon!"
"It was an accident!" he protested.
Mary Ann smiled coyly and cast a glance at his pile of comics. "Come on, Gilligan. Show me this evil picture that made you think of hmm-hmms."
Gilligan picked up the comic book he'd been reading the night before. He felt vaguely silly. "Promise you won't laugh?" he said as he flipped through the pages.
"I can't promise," she admitted, already feeling the urge to giggle. "After all, it's a comic book."
"You probably won't even think it looks like what I thought it looked like," he said, finding the relevant page and handing it over.
Mary Ann took one look at the picture of the planet Zeelar in space and clamped her hand over her mouth. She nodded vigorously. "It does!" she giggled. "It really does!"
"It's not just me?" Gilligan said, feeling a huge wave of relief wash over him. So he wasn't going crazy after all! Somebody really had drawn the planet Zeelar to look like a breast!
"It's not just you." Mary Ann handed him the comic book and shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe someone would draw that in a comic book! What is the world coming to?"
Gilligan peered at the drawing again, frowning as he examined it closely. "Well, it's not really meant to be what we think it looks like. It's a planet, see, that round bit is actually the base where all the enemy spaceships are kept, and that's a radio beacon. I guess they just didn't realise what it would look like when it was finished." He looked up suddenly. "Hey! I'm not thinking of it as a breast anymore! Maybe I got cured when I fainted!"
"Maybe all you needed was a rush of blood to the head," Mary Ann laughed. "What about Blue-Footed Boobies? What do they make you think of?"
"Birds who fall down a lot!" he cried, happily.
"And what about Ginger's coconuts?"
"Just a big, bouncy, jiggly pair of coconuts," he grinned, then twisted deftly to one side as she tried to punch his arm.
"And what about my pancakes?" Mary Ann ducked in front of him, preventing him from escaping through the doorway.
"The most delicious things in the world," he said, sidestepping another attempt to tickle his ribs.
Mary Ann finally caught him after backing him skilfully into the corner of the hut without him even knowing she was doing it. She twined her arms around his torso, ignoring his protests. She could see the laughter bubbling behind his eyes. At times like this, she knew it would be easy to let go of all her inhibitions and fall in love with him, and then wondered if that hadn't already happened.
"Is that all?" she teased, making sure he could feel the gentle pressure of both breasts against his chest. "Just delicious?"
"Beautiful, round and symmetrical." Gilligan felt bold enough to let his gaze wander down slowly, from her shining brown eyes to her cute smiling lips to the parts of her that were pressed up against him. "And always perfectly stacked."
"And don't you ever forget it, Gilligan," she laughed. "Don't you ever forget it."
End