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“So what should I bring?”
He glances down at my flip flops. “Those won’t do. Wear your running shoes, or those water shoes I found your dildo in.”
“It’s a vibrator, not a dildo. A dildo doesn’t vibrate.”
“Don’t think you bought the waterproof version, Gingersnap.”
“I thought it was Gilligan.”
He waves me away and starts walking off into the jungle. I quickly shove my tennis shoes on, still soggy from having worn them the night of the wreck, and run after him. Squish, squish, squish.
With Tai leading the way, the jungle isn’t so bad. If there are any spiderwebs in the way, he deals with the brunt of them, and he deals with them a lot. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch or complain. The only thing that’s separating him from Michael Douglas in Romancing the Stone is a machete.
I’m sure Lacey and Richard would have a field day in this jungle, with all the different ferns, and trees with hanging vines and twisting bark, a million shades and shapes of green leaves. But for me, it’s all just one hot, sticky blur of vegetation. You can barely see the sky in places.
“How do we know how to get back?” I ask him, staring at his back, the way his shirt is sticking to his skin, the sweat at the nape of his neck.
“I have a compass, I’ll get us back,” he tells me without turning around. “How are you holding up back there?”
“I’m fine. Just hot. Sweaty. Tired. Have a crazy amount of chub rub happening.”
He stops in his tracks and I collide right into him.
“I’m sorry, what?” he asks, turning around. “Chub rub? Is that some wankfest innuendo?”
I laugh. “No, it’s when your thighs touch and it’s sweaty and well…friction happens. In other words, I shouldn’t have worn shorts.” I point at my legs.
“But then I wouldn’t be able to ogle you,” he says, totally deadpan, and turns around and starts walking again.
“Yeah right,” I mutter. “Where’s the ogling?”
He doesn’t say anything to that.
We keep walking.
And walking.
It’s not all horrible, there are a ton of colorful birds singing pretty little songs.
Pretty soon I’m humming a song of my own.
“Please stop that,” Tai says, still marching forward.
I hum it louder.
It’s the theme song to Gilligan’s Island.
“Can’t,” I tell him. “It’s stuck in my head.”
“Well, can you keep it in your head?”
Then he stops suddenly and shushes me.
“Don’t shush me,” I cry out.
“Listen,” he whispers harshly.
So I stop humming and listen.
I think I hear the sound of running water.
We both look at each other with wide, hopeful eyes.
Tai even manages a quick smile.
“Come on,” he says, leading the way, heading a little more to the left, and following the sound.
It’s not long until we come across the source.
It’s not just a stream, but a large pool of water, complete with a low waterfall on one end, and a stream running off on the other.
“Oh my god!” I gasp, wanting to cry tears of joy.
It’s beautiful, like something out of a movie. Cue the uplifting music.
The water is a deep blue-green and fairly clear where the sun splices through the open canopy above and lights up the depths. The rocks are slick and black, volcanic, and flowers and ferns grow along the sides of the pool, framing it like a picture. The smell is earthy and green and wet and wonderful.
Tai doesn’t even hesitate. He drops his backpack to the ground and immediately starts to tear off his clothes until he’s completely naked.
I mean all of it, off.
I don’t even have time to react, my eyes glued to his gorgeous round ass, a couple of shades lighter than the rest of his bronzed brown body. It bounces firmly as he runs right into the pool, disappearing into the water.
He dives under, and then pops his head up, shaking his hair from side to side. He’s smiling so wide, it pulls something out from under me, like I’m suddenly unstable, unprepared. For what, I don’t know, but it has something to do with him.
“What are you waiting for?” he yells at me, treading water in the middle of the pool. “Get in here!”
“How do I know what’s in the water?”
“I’ll protect you,” he says with a wicked grin, which tells me he will do no such thing. “Come on. You shy?”
“You know I’m not,” I tell him. “I just don’t want my feet nibbled by mysterious water things.”
“Mysterious water things, huh? Didn’t you want to be a marine biologist?”
“That’s the ocean! Marine!”
I sigh and start undoing my shorts, taking off my tank top. I’m wearing a bikini top and blue underwear that does nothing to cover my generous ass, nor my boobs. This isn’t the time to be insecure though. When I was younger I used to let body images dictate the activities I did. Nowadays, I don’t let that stop me, even though I haven’t been to the gym in weeks.
