Page 61 of Taking the Heat

Most of the Westerners perked up, nodding in recognition. Everyone else simply looked confused.

‘The original game is child’s play: two teams try to defend their base, while seeking to steal a flag from the opposing side’s base. But this is Erotic Island, and nothing is every that simple. These will represent your flags.’ Miles lifted two velvet bags, and rattled them. Heavy metal clunking emanated from within. ‘Ladies versus gents, ten keys in each bag. Defend your base, keep your bag and receive a key at the conclusion of the game.’

That didn’t seem too tricky. I’d played the game as a kid, although we’d called it 40/40, and defending was relatively easy. I bet if we simply looked after our base, and didn’t expend too much energy in going after theirs, we’d do fine.

‘But don’t think it’s not worth capturing the other team’s bag—if you do and make it back to your base, you’ll each be rewarded with an instant cash prize of fifty thousand dollars.’

Now Miles had my attention. The twenty grand had whetted my appetite—another fifty would mean a deposit on a house.

‘You’ll each wear a tag on your back—if your tag is captured, you’ll have to return to your base before continuing with the game. Touch restrictions will be lifted for this reason, but only for the duration of the game.’

Miles squinted and rubbed his obviously sore head. ‘Alright, contestants. There are buggies waiting to take you to the game site, deep in the jungle at the centre of the island—right after you all step into the makeup tents.’

Dante called out. ‘Hey,faccia di culo!Not all of us need lipstick and powder like a woman.’

‘Oh, my Italian stallion, you misunderstand.’ Miles narrowed his eyes wickedly. ‘In order to give you the best camouflage possible, you’re about to be body painted. This game will be played sans clothes.’

***

The ten of us ladies dashed through the slippery sand to our tent, where makeup artists waited, brandishing nipple covers and tiny G-strings.

‘Sweet titty fuck,’ swore Clara. ‘Tell me the boys are wearing something similar or I will stage a fucking coup.’

‘Same outfit, just no nipple covers,’ said a makeup lady. ‘Righto, girls—strip.’

With all of us standing in almost nothing, the artists went to work, swirling brushes in a kaleidoscope of colours over our skin.

‘‘Ello? I would like to propose that we strategize, no?’ Pauline was all business even as the round globes of her backside were covered in globs of black and tan.

Mila sneered, while a hairdresser combed her tresses into the tight braid we’d all soon be sporting. ‘I do not care what you propose, Frenchie, as long as you don’t think for one second that I will be running with no bra on. I do not want to end up like my Aunt Ana, nipples around my knees.’

‘Can I please get something to eat?’ I whispered at a passing runner. The poor little guy nodded, trying desperately to avoid ogling my jiggling breasts. I’d expected to have breakfast in bed with Chris, not don war paint and head into battle, and I was feeling a little dizzy. I hadn’t eaten in more than a day.Or was it two?

Hunger giving me clarity, I raised my voice over the argument beginning to brew between the ladies. ‘Okay, I’ve got a suggestion. Listen up …’

I outlined my plan, a simple strategy to leave three women guarding the bag, two around the base perimeter and five more heading for the boys’ base. Everyone gave me their rapt attention and I felt like a powerful warmonger—if generals had ever had anyone in the war room ask them to, ‘… lean forward and spread your legs so I can paint between your cheeks, please.’

Once we were clear on the plan, conversation was halted by the large fans brought in to dry the body paint. The women around me looked strong and terrifying; Clara was coated in a green leafy pattern, Jen’s dark skin shone against the realistic woody grain paint and Meghan was transformed into a black shadow, her luminous eyes peering out from a midnight camouflage.

Every girl was given a pair of sturdy black boots, Lara Croft style, and we bent to lace them up tight.

‘Do you want to see in a mirror?’ asked my artist.

Absently, I nodded, more interested in where that damn runner was with my food. When a mirror was handed to me, I gasped, unable to comprehend the reflection peering back at me.

I was coloured in tiger stripes, dark grey and burnt orange lying side by side on my naked skin. Touching my face, I marvelled at how the makeup lady had outlined my eyes in coal, making the grey-blue colour pop. Despite the fact that my breasts swung free and nude, save for the sticky nipple cover, and my butt was out for the world to see, I looked fierce; an unbeatable tigress out for blood.

‘Wow …’ I grinned at her. ‘Thank you so much!’

A manager ran in. ‘Come on, ladies! We have to go, now!’

‘But, my brekky …?’ My soft words were carried away by a chorus of whoops and yells from the rest of the girls. Forcing strength into my shaky legs, I trailed after them to the waiting buggies by the bungalow.

We piled in and bumped off through the dense foliage, tracking away from the familiar beachside. The jungle swallowed us whole, like a greedy anaconda, the trees closing over our heads as we delved deeper.

After a few minutes, the chatty and giggly girls fell silent as we were engulfed by the trees. Ten minutes later we arrived at our base, a clearing in the jungle, where our key bag lay on a raised platform.

Camera crews roamed around, some manning handheld gear, others operating cameras on giant booms high in the tree line. One guy was even fiddling with the controls of a drone, the little craft hovering a few feet off the ground, sending images back to his consol.

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