by Julia Kent
“Darla,” Amy said real slow, my name drawn out. “Are you noticing…” She looked around and her eyes jumped from man to man. The bald dude who was my age sitting on the grass with earphones on, staring. The old gray-haired man who walked with a limp who raked his eyes over us. The twins who looked right out of the military, arms cut so well that any molecule of fat must have been beaten out with kettle bells and sandbags in a gym.
They all stared at us.
And I mean appreciatively stared at us. I know what a man’s eyes look like when he’s imagining having sex with you, and this was a tsunami of lust. I felt like RuPaul at a Liberace convention.
They loved us.
“Hey,” said one of the twins. Both had shaved heads, with those perfect ears and noses for that look. Faces chiseled from bone and muscle, both had glittering blue eyes and sweat-soaked chests. One had a towel around his neck and a chest that was so sculpted, right on down to a thick thatch of hair that led to a bulge that might as well have been a microphone he spoke our names into.
“Hey yourself,” I said back, both on edge and protective, and at the same time really, really horny.
I can admit that. You have the eyes of every man within a half-mile vicinity and all the testosterone can be like pheromones, making a woman—even an attached one—start to think about possibilities.
Blame my clit. It had a mind of its own, and now that the swelling was diminishing it was starting to think about being taken out on a nice date and treated like a lady.
“You two here together?” the other twin asked, his face inscrutable.
“Together?” I asked.
All the men around us seemed to hold their collective breath.
“He means are we a couple,” Amy whispered.
I sputtered laughing. “Oh, hell no, we ain’t a couple. I like sausage. Not fish.”
“Could you be more vulgar?” Amy hissed.
“Not vulgar,” Twin #1 said, reaching for my hand. “Direct.” His eyes swept over my hips and breasts and I swear he licked away some drool. “I like that in a person.”
“So do I,” three voices echoed, a little too eagerly. You know that scene in one of those old Monty Python movies where the knight stumbles across all the sexually deprived nuns who beg to be spanked?
I was starting to feel like the knight.
The twins were joined by a guy who looked familiar. “Unicorn?” I asked him, and he laughed.
“You remember me?” It was the dude who crashed into Amy the other day. He turned to her, face full and glowing, like she was the Madonna and he was discovering her for the first time. “I hope you’ll accept my sincere apologies again, miss,” he added as he gently took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, eyes never breaking contact with hers.
She flushed and squirmed. I was glad she had Sam back at the hotel, because his accent oozed over me and made me want to go orgasm. Like now. In public. And I actually could, here on Eden, but I still had some boundaries I wasn’t quite ready to ditch.
“Thank you,” she replied, her words breathy and hitched. A hand on my hip was so warm and pleasant, but I got confused. Which twin was that?
“You part of the BBW trans dubcon group?” Twin #1 asked me, his breath hot on my ear, the scent of expensive men’s cologne mingling with intense arousal.
“Dubstep? No, I don’t dance like that,” I said, which made him laugh.
Hard.
“The boat’s arrived!” someone shouted, and all the men except the three now touching us got up and began to walk toward a dock in the distance.
“What boat?” I asked, feeling dreamy.
“Our lovelies,” the English dude murmured to Amy. He was one of those men who looked amazing clothed, wearing a polo shirt and shorts, feet in athletic ankle socks and tennis shoes, like he was about to take in a game at the courts.
Amy and I looked at each other. “Lovelies?”
“You’re lovely, too,” Twin #2 said, his hand getting a little too grabby on my hip. I shifted back and gave him a “hell no,” look, which he seemed to misinterpret as play, reaching in to stroke my elbow.
Flattering as this was, I pulled Amy away from the unicorn guy and whispered, “Why are they all hitting on us?” But Amy wasn’t paying any mind to me; her eyes were firmly focused on the dock.
And then I understood a hell of a lot of things.
The “lovelies” coming off the boat were women of varying hair color, wearing dresses and slacks, in a range of ages from early twenties to, I guessed, early forties, but with one thing in common:
They were all built like me and Amy.
“You ever see so many men gather and drool around a group of women like that?” I asked.
“Only at a strip club,” she replied.
That cut through the moment. “You’ve been to a strip club?”
Her lips curved up. “You don’t know everything about me.”
Leaving that little mystery aside, I watched about twenty men rush the dock, each pairing off fast with a woman, little bands of singles forming in dyads and triads around a tiki hut that looked like one of the island’s ubiquitous bars.
“They like…”
“Curvy girls,” I finished.
“Curvy...What is this place?” Amy asked, looking around in marvel.
“Heaven,” I said, laughing. “I think it’s heaven.”
“Heaven with some women who look like something out of an Aerosmith song," Amy murmured. Before I could ask her what she meant by that, Lucius Malfoy’s evil female spawn appeared.
“Moo!”
“You little bitchface,” Amy snapped, not even bothering to turn around.
“I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Suzy said, coming around to face Amy. “I’m Suzy, Joe’s fiancee. And you are...irrelevant.”
“Why are you here?” Blood turned cold inside me and I could feel my fists itching for a fight. In school I’d shied away from the cat fighters, but I’d been in my share of hair-yankers, and right now, I’d be happy to give Ms. Brazilian Blowout’s scalp a nice reorganization.
“I’m here because Joe invited me,” Suzy said to no one, watching the boat with a look of distaste, as if she’d just crushed a baby seal with her stiletto and gotten blood spatter on her new Vera Wang gown.
“Joe didn’t invite you,” Amy and I said in unison.
“How do you know?”
“That’s so sixth grade,” I said, laughing. “I know because I know Joe.”
“The invitation said that I was here to help Joe Ross.”
I’d taken a deep breath to continue talking, but it stuck in my throat.
“Are you getting paid?” Amy asked.
Suzy tipped her head and evaluated Amy like she was sizing up an opponent. “No.”
“But you got one of those linen invitations?” Amy continued, like a lawyer in cross-examination.
“Yes.”
“How long are you here?” Amy asked.
“Five days total.”
“And you give out blowjobs to random strangers on the grass because…?” I asked.
After taking two slow steps toward me, she reached for a lock of my hair and I willed myself not to pull back. Her breath smelled like coffee and pain.
“Because I do whatever I want, Darla Josephine Jennings. What I want, when I want, and where I want.”
“You don’t get to do who you want, you bunny boiler,” I said.
“Bunny? She’s wearing a bunny costume now?” Trevor asked, appearing suddenly, huffing as he stopped and caught his breath.
Suzy snapped, “You people are so bourgeois.”
“I’m not French,” I retorted.
Suzy snorted. “Oh, Joe. Seriously? Joe picked this?” She moved her hands like she was doing a grotesquely large version of a woman’s hourglass figure and puffed up her face.
“The fat shaming doesn’t work here, you little twit,” Trevor said, brow strong and jaw clenched. “It�
�s sad at best and pathetic at worst. No, actually, it’s both.”
That made me stand up straighter, and I swear Amy looked at Trevor like she was seeing him for the first time.
“Trevor Connor’s a chubby chaser. Who knew?” Suzy spat out.
Time just stopped.
You know, if you held my fingers to a flame I couldn’t tell you a single second of memory from what I did next, but all I know is it involved a fistful of what turned out to be a really well-done weave in Suzy’s hair, and my ass on her head, grinding it into the thick grass as I shouted, “Moooo fucking who?” and twerking her from up top, until Trevor pulled me off.
“Why is that offensive?” he whispered in my ear. “It’s only debasing if you let her make you think it is. What I love about your body doesn’t fit into words like that shit coming out of her mouth.” He had my elbows hooked into his and I struggled to get in there and grab more of her. Too bad there wasn’t much—she was a taut, skinny little thing with no meat on bones made by Satan.
“Oh my God, you stupid fucking cow, that weave cost me $600!” Suzy screamed, patting her head like it was on fire.
“What’s going on?” The twins walked past, arms looped in one very happy-looking Latina woman with long, rich onyx hair and an ass that went on and on, currently being loved up my two strong palms. Except something was different about that woman...
“She’s fat shaming us,” Amy called back, pointing to Suzy, who held one side of her scalp and screamed something at me. I couldn’t understand it because 1) I don’t speak Bitchface and 2) I don’t speak Bitchface.
“The fuck is this?” Joe’s voice came from behind us, and Bitchface jumped up and ran to him, clinging like some virginal heroine on a historical romance book cover, hand on his chest and cheek pressed to his shoulder.
“Rrrrrr!” I growled. Yes, I actually growled, like I was about to shift into a tiger, and I don’t mean in a good way, like in Mama’s shifter romances. Trevor was stronger than I realized, pulling hard on my arms.
“Stop, Darla. She’s not worth it. She’s never been worth it.”
Joe shoved her off him like she was a leech he had discovered, his hands brushing against where they’d had skin contact over and over, all OCD-like. He shivered, then looked at me, eyes filled with alarm.
“What did she do to you?” he asked. “Did she hurt you?”
“Yes!” Suzy whined, pointing to the handful of hair I still clenched. “Look at what—”
“Not YOU!” he thundered. “What did you do to my girlfriend, you crazy, abusive, intrusive…?” He ran out of words.
“I am fine,” I announced, letting my shoulders go slack so Trevor would let me go. I threw the mat of hair on the ground and straightened my clothes. “She attacked me.”
“That’s not quite what happened,” Trevor said softly.
“She verbally attacked me.” Now the twins and their new chick were creating a little crowd at the scene. Good. Let people gawk. My hormones were shooting sky high in my body, adrenaline like fucking Old Faithful after a tectonic plate shift, and I felt like chanting “JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!”
“You grabbed my hair in your fist, threw me to the ground by the head, and shouted, ‘You moo at me and I will make you fuck my boyfriend’s ex-fiancee,’ which made no sense. I am Joe’s only fiance.”
“I meant Mavis,” I said, with far too much calm.
Trevor rolled his eyes.
“Who is Mavis?” she screeched at Joe. “You were engaged to someone else?”
“Mavis is a chicken,” Trevor explained, reddening.
“You people are crazy!” she huffed. “And fat!” she spat at me.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Twin #1 said sadly.
Suzy flinched, and any other woman would have cowered or at least had the decency to realize she was in the wrong. But not the cray cray.
Chapter Ten
Trevor
Day four: showtime. Darla had spent the entire previous night fuming about “Cray Cray Suzy Badweave Bitchface” (Darla’s term, not mine) and trying to find inventive ways to get me to look at her pussy and confirm that I could do it without screaming.
You look at your woman’s vagina and find a blowfish and you tell me you wouldn’t shriek like a little girl.
Now that we avoided pools and gave her body a day and a half off, everything seemed primed and ready. Men were all over her. Everywhere we went she turned heads, which was how it should be, right? Sam had seen Amy off, her stay shorter than the rest of ours, and I felt for him. Really. Being here in Sex Central was tough without your woman.
Liam had finally struck it big with a little enclave on the other side of the island filled with women who were here…for rock-star fantasies.
“You wouldn’t fucking believe it, guys,” he’d said, coming back with a torn shirt and one hell of a grin. “They’re all very excited about the concert.”
Darla had peered at him with a look I don’t even want to try to name. “They’re all coming to the concert because they have sex fantasies about rock stars?”
“YES!”
A long sigh had come out of her, and then: “Can’t blame them. The reality is so much better than the fantasy.”
“Too bad we can’t rename ourselves Random Acts of Fantasy,” I’d said.
And now here we were, ready to live out our own little rock-and-roll dream. The stage was being set up, and we were expected for dinner tonight at some formal restaurant at the resort. The Grand Ballroom. So far, we’d stuck to the smaller venues that served pub food—good pub food—or the chocolate and lobster buffets all over the place. But tonight it was fancy, and Darla was excited.
So was I. Hadn’t worn a tux since my junior year of college, and hadn’t gone to a dance in…no idea when. This would be a little bit like prom night, minus the virginity.
Of the girl.
What did Darla look like for her prom? She must have been luminous, real and casual and fun. Or did she even go? Plenty of chicks in high school boycotted the dance, headed out for alterna-prom, though most of them were losers who couldn’t get a date, or the rare one who couldn’t afford it.
Ouch.
I could be a douche sometimes. Nothing like Joe, but still.
“We fixed that monitor,” Joe explained as the sound tech fiddled with knobs on the display.
“Fuck of a lot of good that’ll do us downstairs.”
“I meant the one on stage, asshole.”
“Oh.” Joe had gotten weird since we came here, morose and silent, especially after the shower sex. Couldn’t figure him out. He got everything he wanted—Penn, Darla, us (whatever that meant), and now this huge show, and yet…
“Suzy really getting to you this much?” I asked.
“What?” He made a derisive sound. “No! No.”
“Then what crawled up your ass and started ice climbing?” The look he gave me wasn’t your standard, patented Joe Expression, one of the seventeen looks he gave in precise, emotionally calculated ways.
It was, dare I say, genuine.
“What’s up?” I lowered my voice and pulled him aside. He plunked down on the little lounge couch while Liam and Sam walked in and out, moving equipment to have it delivered to the stage area.
“It’s…all of it.” When I’d asked him what was up I hadn’t expected an authentic answer. My skin prickled. Now I had to actually listen.
And guys are as good at listening as women are at getting a prostate exam.
“What do you think of Darla?” he asked me. It felt like a bucket of ice water against my chest.
“What do you mean?” I answered, carefully measuring my tone.
“We’ve been with her for seven months now,” he said slowly, gazing up at me with a look I couldn’t read.
“Yes.”
A long puff of air from him and a bunch of words rushed out, crammed together like one long line of sound. “Itoldherilovedherandshemadefunofmeandsaidshehatedmeandsexisbe
tterwithyou.”
“Whoa, dude. Slow down. What?”
“You heard me.”
“I heard ‘love’ and ‘hate’ and ‘Your dick is bigger than mine and you are a better lover.’” I thought the joke would lighten the mood, but then he ruined it by agreeing with me.
“Pretty much.” Damn.
“You told her you love her? Really?” I blinked hard. Didn’t know what else to do. Joe had beaten me to it and Darla had said what?
“Yes.” We were down to one-word answers. Not good.
“And she…”
“Blew me off.”
Whoa.
“Hold on. When? When did you say it?” Love? Joe said the L word? Joe?
“As we were boarding the plane.”
“Right before your tie-dye lesson?” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out. Hey, when a guy beats you to it on multiple levels…
“No. After we showed our boarding passes and she freaked out before we entered the plane.”
“And she…?”
“Said nothing. Just got on the plane.”
“Joe. Come on. She was having a total panic attack. You saw her. We didn’t know she’d never flown before. You can’t take anything she said at face value. It’s like holding a guy to what he says when he’s coming.”
Joe just nodded and frowned. “True.”
Silence blanketed us.
“Love?” I finally said. “You feel it?”
He shrugged. “If that’s not what this is, then I’m really confused.”
“Me too,” I said, sighing.
“You feel it, too?”
My turn to shrug. “I feel…something. Don’t know what to call it, but I guess love is the closest word I can think of. And she really said all that?”
“Said she hated me and you were better in bed.”
“She said that after you said ‘I love you’?”
Joe frowned and thought for a minute. “No. Before.”
“That’s not quite as bad, but...” I covered my abs with both arms as if he’d punched me. “That’s a gut check.”
“Yep. The hating…that I can chalk up to nerves. And I know the idea that you’re a better lover is a joke.”
“Fuck off.”
He chuckled without actual laughter. “But she just ignored what I said. So…”