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 onLove Islandcall 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 doinganything,’ 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 aWedded Blissbudget 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 autotunedyeahssound 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 hasincrediblelesbian 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 justso 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.
