Island Curves (A BBW Romance) Read online

  Island Curves

  A BBW Romance

  By Virginia Wade

  Copyright 2012, 2013 Virginia Wade

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published by I Love Stacy

  Smashwords Edition

  This is a revised and updated republication of the work originally titled Cream For Me by Virginia Wade.

  http://virginia-wade-erotica.com

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  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  When I filled out the application to be a contestant on the reality game show, Contest Island, I never thought I would actually be chosen to participate. I wasn’t athletic or super model gorgeous, having had a baby three years ago; I still had yet to lose the entire forty pounds I had gained. Blonde, green-eyed, and buxom, I doubted I would even last long in the hostile, bare bones conditions we would be forced to endure. The three million dollar prize money, which was to be split between the two remaining contestants, wasn’t an achievable goal either; I was just hoping for the generous Per Diem of three thousand dollars a week. If I could last two weeks, I would be able to pay down my debts. That was all I wanted.

  I kissed my daughter, Scarlett, goodbye early in the morning, leaving her with my parents, who I was living with at the moment. My ex-husband, John, had disappeared with a new girlfriend, whoever she was, hiding from me because he was behind on the child support payments, as usual. This was a matter for the courts to untangle, and I wasn’t going to hold my breath waiting for him to provide the funds for his daughter’s welfare. Marrying him had been my first real mistake. Having the baby, although I loved her dearly, had been the second.

  “Oh, gosh,” gushed an anxious looking brunette next to me in the airport terminal. “This is so exciting. I’ve been trying to get on this show for three years.”

  I nodded. “It’s something all right.” I’d applied on a whim, never expecting to be chosen, and, after a series of interviews and auditions, here I was.

  “I’m Susan, by the way.” She held out her hand.

  “Marissa.”

  “I’m so ready for this. I’ve been cross training and lifting weights and stuff. I just got out of a fitness boot camp. I’m in the best shape of my life.” She looked sheepish. “Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that.”

  I shrugged. “Your secret’s safe with me.” I’d done absolutely nothing to prepare for the show other than spending a day at the spa getting waxed, plucked, and manicured.

  We were waiting to board a small Cessna Grand Caravan. The terminal in Nadi was empty at this time of the day, most of the flights having arrived earlier. I’d never been to Fiji before, or anywhere else outside the United States for that matter. A childhood trip to Florida had been the closest to paradise I had come, and it had been wonderful.

  I’d been grouped with eight other contestants, waiting anxiously for our connecting flight. A representative from the television show had separated us from the other passengers, so as not to draw attention to the fact that we were part of the tenth season of the wildly popular reality franchise. I signed a binding contract that stated I wasn’t allowed to discuss where this season was located and any outcome of the contest, or risk forfeiting the lucrative Per Diem. They were understandably paranoid about leaks, and I wasn’t able to tell my parents where I was. If there was a family emergency, I might not find out about it until after the taping ended, which worried me. Scarlett was a rambunctious three-year-old, and she would be a challenge for my parents.

  Susan was the oldest of the women, the others appearing to be in their early twenties, and predictably gorgeous. The men were a mix of ages, with a silver fox, who everyone seemed to revere already, holding court with a small group of men.

  A black lady, with hair braided in tiny, neat rows, came over and sat with us. “I’m Loren.”

  “Marissa.”

  “Susan.”

  “God. This is killing me. When’s it gonna start?” she asked.

  We had been cooling our heels for over an hour. A representative for the show standing nearby overheard the question. She had a phone to her ear. “We’re waiting on one person. He just landed.”

  The first group of contestants had already arrived and been taken to the small outer island.

  “What’s the rush?” I asked. “Enjoy the air-conditioning while it lasts.” I was not an outdoor kind of girl, and I feared the castaway environment we would soon find ourselves in.

  “Maybe we should make an alliance right now,” said Susan. “We might as well start playin’ the game. Looks like the guys are already strategizing.”

  Loren nodded. “Good idea.”

  I glanced at my teammates. “I don’t know how much of an asset I’m gonna be, guys. I’m not exactly G.I. Jane.”

  Susan eyed me. “It takes more than physical strength to win. Showing up with somebody watchin’ your back is an advantage.”

  I whispered, “I’m fine with that.”

  “I’m in,” murmured Loren. “Those guys look awfully tight already.” They had been huddled together, whispering fiercely.

  “Oh, I bet they have the whole thing worked out,” I said. There was a movement out of the corner of my eye, and a man appeared, rolling his suitcase behind him. He was tall, solidly built, and far too handsome, with light brown hair, a strong jaw line, and muscles bulging from his arms and thighs.

  “Ooohh, hello. Look at that,” murmured Loren, appreciation shining in her dark eyes.

  I giggled, and he glanced my way, making eye contact. A silky shot of awareness raced through me, the delicious sensations causing my tummy to flip over and tingle. I hadn’t been expecting that reaction, and I glanced away quickly, slightly worried and confused. The new comer high-fived the men, and they embraced Mr. Muscle, including him in their secretive conversation.

  “All right, listen up, people,” announced the game show representative. “We’re ready to board now. Follow me, please.”

  As we left the airport, the humidity was considerable, dampening my skin on contact. My long, blonde hair wasn’t prone to frizziness, but the moisture would be a test for the thick strands. We climbed the stairs of the plane and sat together, chatting and laughing, while the men continued to huddle, whispering and conspiring to dominate. I wasn’t going to waste my energy on such frivolous pursuits. I wanted to make friends and enjoy my time in paradise, whether I succeeded or not.

  Upon landing, we were met by a series of ATV’s, which we climbed into and headed for the shore. My new friends, Loren and Susan were with me; our luggage was in a truck that followed. We bounced over the tropical terrain, ferns, mangroves, and bamboo whizzing by in a blur of bright green. The scenery was absolutely gorgeous, and my sense
s were on overload, not being able to comprehend the lush beauty my eyes were seeing. Within minutes, we were on a white sand beach, with a boat waiting in the distance. Several dinghies had been dragged onshore, their native operators waiting to ferry us to the boat.

  “Let the adventure begin!” Susan beamed with happiness, her face already tanned from the convenience of a sunbed.

  As I climbed in, I found myself with Mr. Muscle and several of the men, along with Susan. Loren was in another boat. Introductions began immediately.

  “I’m Roger,” said the older man.

  “Chuck.”

  “David,” said Mr. Muscle.

  “Marissa.”

  He stared at me, and again my tummy began to tingle, which was strange. His tanned features morphed into a pleasing grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

  One of the younger women, Ashley, gushed, “Omigod! I can’t wait! It’s finally starting.” She chattered on inanely about nothing in particular, the men listening attentively, including David.

  Ugh, men. They always go for the bimbos.

  On the boat, the game began in earnest. We were introduced to several producers and given instructions as to which items we were allowed to bring from our luggage. Several changes of clothing, medications, and prescription eyewear were allowed, but no hairbrushes, toothbrushes or makeup. We were about to be separated and sent back to the island aboard several native catamarans equipped with camera operators. My private life would soon be over, and nearly every move I made would be documented.

  The show’s hostess, Charlene Laird, famous for her Olympic gold medals and television endorsements, including nine seasons of Contest Island, would be waiting for us on shore.

  “Now listen up, people,” said the lady producer, dressed in a pair of white slacks and a brown blouse. “This is it. You’ve been waiting for this moment, some of you, for years. Make the best of it. If you have a medical emergency, please notify one of the camera people. Don’t let scrapes and bites fester. Besides the rats and spiders, watch out for the Bolo snake, even though it’s fairly docile. You probably won’t even see it. Don’t drink un-boiled water, and I don’t recommend sleeping on the sand. Get your shelter together as fast as possible.” She squinted into the sun. “It’s a couple of hours till sunset. Good luck, everyone, and let’s make this the best season ever of Contest Island. Now grab your stuff, and get in a boat.”

  The faces around me were filled with excitement, and, once the cameras turned on, the expressions were even more animated and theatrical, which I wondered at. Several of the girls flirted with the cameramen and stripped down to their bikinis, having worn swimwear under their clothing in anticipation of this event. I had on lacy panties and a matching bra, which I was certainly not going to flash for the TV cameras. My bathing suit was in my duffle bag, along with several sets of clothing and not much else. We were about to be shipwrecked and miserable, surviving in the great outdoors, although the climate was temperate and the sky was clear of clouds. We were in the tropics, and rain would happen often, and, with this in mind, I had packed an ultra light, waterproof rain jacket.

  As we paddled nearer to shore in the rustic looking boat, I had a moment of panic. What the hell was I doing here with these overeager, hard-bodied, fame whores?

  I’ve just made a huge mistake.

  Chapter Two

  We lined up on the beach, cameras rolling, the lights blinding, and our congenial host standing before us, hands on hips, and with a huge smile, revealing impossibly white teeth. Her make-up person had just touched her up, and she took a long swig of water from a crystal clear bottle.

  “Well, don’t y’all look pretty?”

  I stood near Susan, who stared at Ms. Laird, starstruck. “She’s way better looking in person. She’s so thin.”

  “You’ll never smell as good as you do now,” quipped our hostess.

  Someone approached with a handheld computer, and they took a look at it together. A crewmember hovered, his camera held on his shoulder. Several more were mounted on tripods, with operators behind each, wearing baseball caps and bandanas around their necks to protect them from the searing, late afternoon sun.

  An assistant held up a clapperboard. “Let’s see if we can get this in one take.” The smirk on his face indicated that he thought otherwise.

  “Here we go,” said Charlene. “Your adventure’s about to begin.”

  In the end, it took five takes before the director was satisfied with the footage of the newest cast members of Contest Island. Our congenial hostess gave us a simple looking map to our campsite, and we grabbed our things and headed out in a large group of eighteen players. We would be competing together in challenges every day, and the bottom two contestants in each match would be up for Panel, which would see one of the two voted out. The object of the game was to make it to the final three with the hope of sharing the three million dollar prize with one other contestant and being named the Ultimate Champions.

  As we traipsed through the vegetation, I spoke with Susan and Loren almost exclusively, while a camera operator followed, recording every word. When agreeing to do the show, I knew my life would be an open book for however long I managed to stay in the game. I didn’t mind being shadowed by a bulky looking recording device, knowing that I was an attractive woman, albeit slightly overweight and top heavy. The younger, sexier girls would undoubtedly receive the most airtime. I hoped to fly under the radar as much as possible and survive for two weeks. That was all I needed to pay the bills.

  Mr. Muscle was in conversation with several other equally buff looking men, having made a tight alliance among the athletes. The game entailed a combination of sports and brain challenges, consisting of questions, puzzles, mazes, and a plethora of other contests. Our first competition was tomorrow with an evening Panel and the first contestant voted out.

  As we neared our camp, a dozen people took off running to be the first on site. I loitered with Loren, who did not seem as enthusiastic about a thick forest of palm trees and a patch of sand. The azure ocean stretched out before us with its white powder beach and Godly perfection that was paradise. It took my breath away, and I felt a moment of gratitude that I was actually here.

  “Good God, look at ‘em.” Loren shook her head.

  The contestants were huddled together, talking at once, trying to figure out who would be our leader, which I thought was ridiculous since none of us knew each other. Mr. Muscle was in the thick of things, clearly wanting to be the chosen one.

  “We need to build the shelter off the ground,” he said.

  Another contestant said, “I have the map to the water source. Who’s coming with me?”

  “I will,” said a short blonde.

  I found myself with Loren and Susan gathering firewood and wandering through the jungle, after having changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. We spent the rest of the afternoon helping assemble the shelter, which basically consisted of small tree trunks tied together with rope that had been provided by the show. We had flint and steel to make the fire and a machete along with a metal cooking pot and a small tarp.

  At one point, I came up behind a group of men talking, their camera operators hovering nearby, recording the conversation. Mr. Muscle, David, was saying, “We’re six guys strong, and I don’t see why we can’t make it to the end. Some of these girls shouldn’t even be here, to tell you the truth. I say we vote ‘em out at the first opportunity. Let’s make this a man’s game, like it should be.”

  “Uh, I hate to burst your bubble, David, but Susan, Veronica, and Beth aren’t gonna be pushovers. Those women are ready for the challenge—”

  “Aw, bullshit. That chick, what’s her name? Marissa? She won’t last three days. From the looks of it, she’s never set foot in a gym.” This statement was met with laughter and agreement. “Like I said, we gotta vote out the weak. Should be easy pickin’s. High-five me, dudes. We own it.”

  Disgusted, I retreated before I was seen, my camera guy fo
llowing me. “Arrogant dickweeds,” I muttered to myself. “Ugh.” I returned to the camp, the shelter having been erected in record time, as the sun began to dip behind the horizon. “The guys are having a pow-wow over there.”

  “Yeah, we saw them walk off together,” said Chelsea, who was brown-haired and big boned. “I figured they’d form an alliance.”

  “David seems to think they should vote out the weak. My name popped up in the conversation.” I sat on a rock near the fire, which blazed, having been recently lit. “They think we’re easy pickings. They want to vote us out at the first opportunity.” This announcement was met with stone-faced stares.

  “Fuck that,” muttered Loren. “I ain’t goin’ down without a fight.”

  Emma, the smallest of all of us, said, “They might have the brawn, but it takes more than that to win the game. We’ll kill them in the social aspect.”

  Veronica got to her feet. “Come on, Ash. Let’s look for some mangos and eavesdrop a little.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Damn,” muttered Susan. “I didn’t want it to be a boy versus girl thing. Why can’t we compete equally and let the best win? I hate to divide everything based on gender. That David’s an asshole.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  That night, I slept between Susan and Chelsea, on the hard, round trunks of baby trees, which was like a form of medieval torture. I wore my waterproof jacket and socks, with shorts and a t-shirt, and, after a horrendously uncomfortable sleep, I woke to find a series of mosquito bites on my arms and legs. Everyone complained bitterly about the bug bites and aches and pains that accompanied sleeping on hard wood.

  In the jungle, I changed into my one-piece bathing suit. I’d brought a bikini, but I was far too shy to wear it yet. A crewmember loitered in the trees. “Are they gonna show me naked on primetime?” The camera operators weren’t allowed to talk to us, but I wouldn’t let that stop me from chatting with them. “When I use the bathroom, will you be filming that too?” I couldn’t wait to get in the ocean and wash off. I felt filthy after spending the entire day and night outside in the elements. I needed to brush my teeth, and my tummy rumbled with hunger.