(Don't tell me you never thought about this)
"What's a girl to do?" sighed Pepper as she sat on the beach in her sarong, wiggling her painted toes in the sand and idly watching the dolphins frolicking in the blue Pacific. She looked down at her swelling breasts with their puffy nipples, her flat stomach, her smooth thighs: such a shame that such a body should go untouched. Oh, to have those nipples sucked, that stomach pressed against a man, those thighs wrapped around some masculine waist!
"I haven't had sex in a couple of years, now because there are no real men on the Island."
Which was true. The Professor was a man, no doubt about that. What was more, he was strong, clean, and reasonably good-looking, but he was always preoccupied with his silly experiments. Mulligan and the Skipper were men, too, but-- well, they weren't exactly interested in girls. True, Mr. Powell was game, and if Pepper were to be perfectly honest, she would confess to giving him the occasional hand job -- at five hundred dollars a pop, to be sure. Mr. Powell was always hinting that he wanted more -- lip service, say, or the horizontal mambo, and that he would pay quite a bit more for these services. But Mr.. Powell was married, and frankly kind of. . .icky.
So what was the alternative?
After pondering her lot, Pepper began to look at Betty Ann and to think, well, maybe. Betty Ann was kind of cute, with her big brown eyes and her little upturned nose, her chubby cheeks, thin l Perky little tits, too, and nicely rounded thighs. Of course, Betty Ann didn't shave her pussy like an actress or a model would. Pepper herself waxed daily, first of all because she didn't want a big bush showing under her elegant clothes, and because a shaggy snizz tended to collect odors, but also because she loved the smooth, silky feel of her bald mound against her fingertips, because bare skin was so much more sensitive, and because her pussy looked so pink and girlish bald. Pepper had seen Betty Ann working away with her little scissors, trimming the stiff black hairs as short as she could, and the result was a kind of sleek black coat, like seal fur, not unpleasant at all. Besides, Betty Ann washed her pussy daily in the lagoon, using a bar of lavender soap stolen from Mrs. Powell, so, even if it wasn't quite as sexy as Peppers own cleft, it was far from repulsive.
While Pepper herself really preferred men, she did enjoy the taste of a little pink oyster, especially one as young and fresh as Betty Ann's must be in its slick black collar. It would be fun to hear the girl panting, and later uttering wordless little cries, to see her face flush, to smell the female aroma and feel her hips buck, now wouldn't it? Eventually to watch the little mouth open and close like that of a hungry baby. And of course with that particular variety of pleasure, one never had to worry about a bun in the oven.
But how to get Betty Ann to agree? Surely girls in Kansas weren't used to tickling each other's clits like women in, say, Los Angeles or New York. And if Betty Ann reacted badly to Pepper's advances, well, she would lose her only girlfriend on the island. As the Wicked Witch said in that wonderful old Hollywood classic, "These things must be done delicately."
So Pepper sat and pondered, and as she pondered, who should come along and plop herself on the sand but Betty Ann, who lay on her stomach, cradled her chin in her hands, and sighed.
"What's the matter?" asked Pepper.
"It's Mulligan."
"Mulligan?"
"He doesn't even know I'm alive. I bat my eyes like this," complained the girl, batting her dark eyelashes "Nothing. I lay a hand on his arm," she continued, resting her little hand on Pepper's arm, "Nothing. "I even unbutton a little," she said, rolling over on one hip and suiting her action to her words, opening a checked shirt to reveal most of a round, white breast. Nothing. "Oh, Giner, I just don't understand."
But Pepper had lost patience. "Betty Ann, you silly goose. Don't you see? Mulligan's not interested in girls."
"Not interested in girls?"
"Mulligan and the skipper fuck each other silly every night in their hut."
Betty Ann's face showed her confusion. "You mean. . .in the bottom?"
"Of course I mean in the bottom! You don't think Mulligan has a pussy, do you? And where do you suppose all the coconut oil has been going?"
But Pepper realized she had gone too far; calling a spade a spade, she had shocked the girl, who shrugged off Pepper's hand and seemed to close in on herself like one of the giant scallops in the lagoon. What was it with girls and words, wondered Pepper. A girl will do almost anything for her boyfriend, as long as she doesn't have to describe it out loud. I ought to know, she reflected. I was a girl too. Pepper decided to backtrack.
"Oh, poor Betty Ann," cooed the redhead, stroking the girl's dark hair, "how could anyone not be attracted to you?"
Pepper moved her manicured hands to Betty Ann's shoulders and began to rub them, the way the dressers did in the Hollywood green rooms before a shoot. How she missed those green rooms, with the long tables and the mirrors surrounded by light bulbs, the dishes of cut-up fruit, seamstresses with mouths full of pins taking up her hem just one more inch while a hairdresser snipped away a wayward tress and a makeup girl went over her face with soft brushes! And then, at the premieres, bottles of champagne!
But she was allowing herself to get distracted. Here she was, reminiscing about her Betty Anneer when her task was to get Betty Anne out of those little cutoffs!
Lo and behold, the massage was working! Betty Ann's brow smoothed, her lips softened, her shoulders dropped and her fists opened even as her eyes closed.
"You're the prettiest woman on the island." continued the actress. Not quite true, Pepper thought, she herself was, then she remembered a Roman saying from a gladiator movie she had once appeared in: the gods laugh at the lies of lovers.
"And you're kind, and cheerful and funny, too." All that was true, at least.
"In fact," she went on, "you are probably the nicest person I've ever known." There it was at last, the little smile on Betty Ann's lips, the pardon for Pepper's using the word "pussy" and for mentioning the nightly sodomy that went on in Mulligan's hut. But she couldn't move in yet, couldn't close the sale. She had to set the scene first.
"And you know," continued the movie star, "we have had some good times on the island. Remember the time that silly Japanese sailor arrived in his one-man submarine and thought the war was still going on?"
\Betty Ann laughed, then added a memory of her own. "Or the time Mulligan told us about his Cinderella dream, where Mrs. Powell was Cinderella, and Mr. Powell was the Prince? And Mulligan was the clumsy fairy who kept messing everything up?" Pepper caught her breath when Betty Ann said "fairy." Not that subject again, she thought. Fortunately, Betty Ann didn't even recognize her own double entendre.
"Remember the time. . ." both women began together then stopped. "You go first," urged Pepper. "No you," deferred Betty Ann