Chapter Twenty-Four Dolly
@silksiobhan: Anyone notice Dolly kept looking back at the girls? Was she dead nervous or something?
@wishiwasachair: @silksiobhan I think Or Something…
@silksiobhan: Okay @wishiwasachair I’m glad it’s not just me!!!!
I know Carys is watching, and wanting me.
When I open my legs, her mouth falls open. She remembers.
If she insists on lying to herself and being a total bitch to me in public, then I’m going to enjoy watching her squirm a little.
My curves look poured into the latex of this bodice and the men eat up every inch of me. So many men say they don’t fancy fat girls, but I see their desire, naked and raw. I may not be used to seeing men writhing around underneath me, but I recognise the hunger on their faces.
Carys wears it too.
If I were less petty, I might want her to close her trap, remember to be angry at me instead of less obviously desperate to fuck me again lest someone notice. I should care that her naked desire might be seen, but I don’t.
It’s all for me, in spite of herself. And that is doubly delicious.
When the song ends, I turn away from the men, so they get a good view of my delicious rump, and slowly bend down to pick up my silk robe from the floor. I walk away with it slung over my shoulder, rolling my hips with every step. The men are still hollering, so hopefully I’m high up the rankings.
All I can see as I walk back is Carys, awkwardly clapping while trying to gather herself.
If the cameras do spot this, it’ll be great fodder if they’re still chasing the love triangle about Patrick, given I did just pretend to rub myself off on his leg.
I wonder what will crumble that relationship first: his love for another woman, or hers?
‘Wow, dude, that was incredible!’ squeals Whit.
‘Oh my God, even I’m all hot and bothered after all that,’ laughs Bridget, fanning herself with her hand. I see Carys shoot her a confused look.
‘Hopefully the men are too,’ I tease.
I should have known not to go there because misery guts immediately kicks off again. ‘See? Just like I told you,’ growls Carys.
To their credit, the other three look a bit fed up of her shit.
I display a frankly enormous amount of restraint in not immediately pushing her into the pool.
‘It’s a game, Carys,’ I say, trying to bite back the snap I want it to come out as.
Lina takes Carys by the arm and turns her away from me. ‘Is this kicking up some feelings of abandonment for you?’
‘Or jealousy,’ mutters Whit.
‘I just—’ she splutters. ‘It’s just—’
Obviously she can’t say she thinks I’m a faker because I don’t think they care. Or the truth, which is this bitch broke my little gay heart or I am attracted to her and I hate it because it’s a constant reminder that I’m lying to myself.
‘Come on, babe, don’t be like this,’ says Bridget, taking her other arm. ‘I’ve got to go waggle my bits in front of Patrick next. You can’t get bothered with me about it, so don’t stress about her either.’
I slightly resent the use of her like I’m not there, but it feels like looking a gift horse in the mouth when Bridget’s just trying to keep the peace.
With both Lina and Bridget on her arms, Carys looks like she’s about to be escorted off the premises. ‘Fine, sorry,’ she says, not sorry at all. But she’s embarrassed, and that’s good enough for me. ‘I’m just nervous and being a dickhead.’
She said it, not me.
Bridget dons some enormous, feathered angel wings that strap on over her shoulders, helped by Lina, who then agrees to go assist Whit into her costume.
That leaves just Carys and me to cheer Bridget on from the sidelines. We’re alone, or alone as can be, and I know she’s thinking about that too, from the furtive, angry little side-glances she keeps giving me. I don’t put the robe back on, just to fuck with her.
The opening beats of ‘Maneater’ by Nelly Furtado play, and Bridget struts out, an angel in lingerie.
There’s not much left to the imagination, let’s just say that.
Bridget has the type of body that all the geezer boys on Love Island call a pocket rocket: toned, tanned and petite.
The boys fall over themselves as she does moves that I didn’t know existed.
‘I thought we were okay,’ I say, keeping my voice low, and speak without looking at her. ‘After our talk the other night.’
‘It was a temporary truce,’ she says between gritted teeth.
‘So that’s it? I help you and you get to treat me like shit?’
‘I’m not doing anything,’ she says, but I can tell she doesn’t believe it. ‘You’re the one who—’ She abruptly ends that sentence.
While everyone is distracted by Bridget’s aggressive humping, I lean over to Carys, who gasps when my mouth brushes her neck.
‘Carys,’ I whisper and she shivers in delight. Her body can’t tell lies like her mouth can. ‘Stop acting like a spoiled brat.’
I snap back to face the men, as though nothing has happened. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her reel at the sudden end to the moment.
I concentrate on cheering on Bridget as she sits on Jackson’s face.
‘Fucking hell,’ laughs Whit as she and Lina return.
The music ends, and Bridget slides off Jackson to a round of applause from us all.
Lina performs to ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears in a Wedded Bliss budget version of the iconic nude diamanté bodysuit, and mostly writhes around on the floor.
Her final move is a handstand. Slowly, her feet fall to either side of Zack’s shoulders so that her ass is in his face, and twerks mid-air. It’s strangely captivating.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do that before,’ whispers Bridget as though she hadn’t just executed a gravity-defying performance of her own.
‘I think I should start doing Pilates,’ murmurs Whit.
‘Oh well,’ Lina laughs as the music ends and she runs right into Bridget’s arms. ‘I gave it a go!’
Suddenly autotuned yeahs sound all around us signalling that it’s Whit’s turn to dance, apparently to ‘Pony’ by Ginuwine.
We all go nuts as Whit walks out dressed in a firefighter’s orange hat, low slung trousers hanging on by braces, and all-over kind of sporty white underwear.
Look, for a straight woman, she has incredible lesbian energy. The gay corners of social media are never going to recover from this moment, not least because of the hose, which she wields between her legs like the world’s largest strap.
‘It’s getting hot in here!’ she yells, trying to hold the laugh out of her voice mostly unsuccessfully. The hose turns on, and Whit sprays a light mist all over the men, gyrating to the music the whole time.
It might be the best thing I’ve ever seen.
The men go feral. Warren laps the spray out of the air, Patrick whoops, Malachi looks like he’s about to fuck Whit right then and there.
She is just so good, the perfect intersection of horny and silly and hot – like all good sex is.
After, Whit struts back to us with the biggest grin on her face as everyone screams and applauds. ‘That was a bit good, wasn’t it?’
I pull her into a hug. ‘The absolute best!’
‘I almost want to borrow this…’ says Bridget, admiring her hose.
‘You’re up,’ Whit says to Carys. ‘Good luck.’
Carys runs her tongue over her cherry-red bottom lip. ‘Yeah. Guess I am,’ she says, flicking her long cinnamon hair over one shoulder.
She drops her robe at my feet. She is wearing the tiniest dress known to man with thigh-high patent leather boots.
Fuck me.
She struts out to the boys as the music begins. I don’t immediately recognise the song, but the lines about having to taste her when you kiss someone else ring in my heart like an alarm.
The men are stunned that cute Carys can look like this, all wide-eyed, mouths hanging open. Patrick looks like all his birthday wishes came true.
The skirt of her little Oktoberfest-type dress poofs out so we can all see the bright white knickers she wears underneath. The back is laced up in a bodice, and I can’t help but think about loosening those ties, slipping my hand up that tiny skirt. Insisting she keep the boots on.
When she steps one foot up on the back of the bench next to Patrick and leans forward to kiss him, I almost die.
I worry I look too clearly into this, but luckily, the other women can’t look away either as Carys circles her bum in Patrick’s crotch. He’s the only one she touches.
I feel winded when the song ends and she walks over to us dusting her hands. Jesus, I can’t believe that all it took was a dirty little dress to undo me.
‘She was pretty good, wasn’t she?’ Bridget’s eyes bore into me.
‘Yeah. She was,’ I say, and I can’t help but notice the linger in her look. I worry that she has noticed the weird energy between us has a distinctly sexual tone. ‘I’m going to talk to her. Try and smooth this fight out.’
Bridget pats me on the shoulder, and her wings flutter with the movement. ‘I think that’s a good idea, babes.’
Production rush in to remove our heart monitor bands, and inform us that we’ll find out who won in the morning – probably an attempt to get us drunk, cocky and fighting over who was best for the drama.
The Nguyens announce we’re having a party to celebrate our love or whatever. This will be the perfect opportunity for Carys and me to slip away to talk.
I bide my time as drinks are wheeled out, and someone sets up a kind of DJ booth. No one changes out of their outfits, so we look like we’re having a themed sexy party.
Zack appears with a tray filled to the edges with shot glasses. ‘Let’s get this party started!’
It’s quickly loud and raucous, and after everyone has accepted one round of shots, the cameras focus on individual couples dancing together.
I find Carys with Patrick, still blushing so furiously that I’m worried about his health.
I take her by the elbow gently. ‘Can you help me in the bathroom with something?’ That’s the only place I can be certain we’ve got total privacy.
For a moment I think she’s going to reject me. ‘Fine,’ she says wearily.