Island Curves (A BBW Romance)

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.

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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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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 senses 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.

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.