Random Acts of Fantasy (19 page)

Darla offered blowjobs, which we happily accepted, and back home that would have been fine, but here? This place was the Sex Hotel.

We took a break to go down to the lobby and coffee up. We were wearing what we called “practice clothes”—old concert t-shirts and jeans, clothes we could get sweaty in and move around without worrying. We looked like shit, and who wouldn’t after being stuck in a small, windowless room with three other guys and a sound tech for hours on end?

Along the way, I saw no fewer than twenty-seven naked pussies (yes, I counted) on the walls, about seven in the hallway attached to female bodies (I say “about” because one of the bodies made gender determination difficult), and the lobby was teeming with naked women.

Women only, I realized as I sucked down half a macchiato in front of the fountain, a glass penis ejaculating at regular intervals that were a marvel to behold.

I looked down at my own crotch. If only…

“You walking around with a boner nonstop, too?” Liam asked, double-fisted with a cup of coffee in each hand. He finished one and tossed it, three-point style, into a gold trash barrel. Score.

“Yep.”

“At least you have Darla to help with that.”

That made me do a double take. “You are in a buffet of pussy. I figured you’d have sampled most of the spread by now.”

“The buffet appears to be closed for me.” He frowned. “Nobody’s biting.”

“Or sucking?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s…I think a bit Sapphic around here.”

“Sapphic?”

And then I got it as I watched two women who could have been Ralph Lauren models start a deep, slow French kiss that made me hard in under a second.

“Oh, God. Please, have sex now. Please. Please let me watch,” I practically growled, blood shooting through me like cannons engaged.

Joe

You don’t see your ex-fiancee dressed as a cheerleader going down on a fake pro football player every day, now, do you?

Unless you’re me.

I’m a good, smart person. I follow all the rules (most of the time). I’m clean cut, good looking, well mannered, and highly educated. I’ve climbed the ladder to success and currently hold a much-coveted spot in a top-seven law school in the United States, and as long as I stick it out for two and a half more years and follow the Big Law path, I’ll be in the one percent for the rest of my life.

And yesterday I just watched my stalker knob gobble a guy dressed like a quarterback.

Worst of all?

It was kind of hot.

I’m not above admitting that, but this was the final straw. Day three of being on Eden and I’d had enough. Ten thousand dollars was a lot of money, and I wasn’t going to pitch a fit or be “that guy” and hold the band hostage, but as I walked down to the beach, averting my eyes from the naked kite-flying contest, I felt like throwing something. Screaming. Punching a wall.

Eden was anything but.

Starfish dotted the sand, and as I came over a grassy bank and down to the beach itself, I saw loads of brown starfishes as naked people bent over to pick the real starfishes up and fling them back into the water.

Perfect. Something completely ineffective that involved throwing shit. This I could do.

For the next hour I just threw starfish—stupid starfish that would get stranded again and again on the beach with the tides—back in the water. Natural selection made the task Sisyphean.

Much like my relationship with Darla and Trevor.

What was I doing here? Practice time had me stoked, inflamed and fueled by the knowledge that we’d perform tomorrow night, knowing this was our next step in hitting it big.

The thought of leaving here—well, until an hour ago, it made me sad.

Now I lived in anticipation—no, trepidation—of what Suzy would do next.

I needed to know why she was here. How she’d been selected to come. What purpose she served.

I needed answers.

And I needed them now.

“Excuse me?” I asked some random naked dude whose penis seemed vaguely familiar.

“Yes?” His voice had a lilt. Irish?

“If I want to learn more about the island, where do I go? Google didn’t cut it.”

He laughed, a dark sound that made my hackles go up. “Good luck, my friend.” He chucked a starfish into the waves like skipping a flat rock on a placid pond. It skipped twice, then sank.

“That tight, huh?”

“They really protect the master. As they should.”

“Who is this mysterious master?”

He shrugged. I had to stop looking at his cock. I wasn’t naturally drawn to it, but it was only day three. I wasn’t used to talking to naked strangers. Yet.

“He runs the place. Makes all the decisions. Decides who’s invited.”

“Invited to work here? I’m with a band that’s performing tomorrow night.”

“You’re with Random Acts of Crazy?” Heard a lot about you folks. Looking forward to tomorrow’s concert.”

Never one to miss a chance to be admired, I felt my spirits rise. “Thanks. You said ‘invited.’ You on a gig, too?”

He smiled wistfully. “No. Just lucky.”

My gears turned a bit. “So everyone here really has been invited. On some level.”

He nodded. “It’s all for some purpose only the master understands.” He clapped me on the shoulder, and then someone in the distance shouted his name. “Freedom, man. It’s all about freedom. Don’t overthink it. Just live it.”

And then his cock and balls bounced like a pink ball attached to a rubber-band paddle as he ran across the beach to his friend. The two embraced, then kissed.

Just live it. Suzy was invited? Was here for a reason? What did the master (and what the fuck was up with that? Master? Like I was living in some BDSM fantasy land?) have in mind when he invited her here?

I had fewer answers and more questions. Story of my life.

This would not do.

I wasn’t going to let this go.

Darla

I suppose the first clue that we were in a very different section of the island should have been the clothing.

People wore some.

It was a relief, actually, because while the resort appeared to be “clothing optional,” the operational word was
optional
. Liam had started walking around naked all the time (and hoo boy, my eyes didn’t hurt when they landed on that body), and Trevor and Joe and I had our outdoor pool time, but for the most part I stuck to my non-optional body covering, and so did Sam and Amy. If they were getting naked it was behind closed doors, and that meant they were getting naked quite a bit, because those two spent as much time as possible in their room.

It was kind of cute, and if I didn’t have labia that were doing an impressive imitation of the Goodyear blimp, I’d have been the same with Joe and Trevor.

The section of the island we strolled toward was intriguing. It was like an amusement park unfolding before us, except instead of rides and sections, we had humans as benchmarks. First, we passed by the naked croquet players. Then the paddle boats—shoes, apparently, weren’t optional, but as I watched people paddling those boats along a canal that split the island, I had to wonder about chafing. Ouch.

“I’d love to try a paddle boat,” Amy said, pointing.

“Bring some disinfectant wipes,” I muttered.

An increasing number of men began to dot the grounds, sitting on benches and chatting, playing chess in a little courtyard, or riding bikes past. Now, normally I don’t pay attention to other men (quit laughing—not much) because hello? I have Trevor and Joe, which is more than enough for me.

But these men were paying attention to us. A lot. Heads turned, eyes flashed, lips were being licked, and I started to feel like a piece of steak at a starved-dog convention.

“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…”