The air was so warm and humid that, for a moment as she awoke, Karen Solomon truly thought a heavy, soaking-wet blanket lay across her. She tried to shift under it, but the sensation didn't change. Her skin was slick with sweat, and her hair a tangled rat's nest.
Suddenly she snapped awake and remembered where she was. She sprawled on her belly, on the mossy floor of Agnes's shelter. She raised her head, looked around, and her situation came roaring back to her.
I'm alone.
I'm naked.
I'm lost.
I've been--
The memory of days on the ship, alone and helplessly masturbating, returned. She recalled Agnes's ministrations as well, filling her with a rush of shame and humiliation greater than she'd ever experienced. She'd let another woman go down on her, a woman she didn't even know. Without even realizing it she began to sob, the big wracking kind that shuddered through her whole body. She'd never been so scared in all her life. Not only had she been kidnapped and stripped nude, she'd been raped--no, she'd raped herself. They'd made her horny, irresistibly so, and then done nothing about it. The only relief had come from herself. And Agnes.
She crawled backward out of the shelter, shamefully aware that her bare ass emerged first, raised high in the air like some female animal presenting itself. She quickly stood and covered herself, looking around for the nun. "Agnes?" she said, her voice ragged. There was no answer.
The immediate area was a paradise, at least visually. The trees, vines and other greenery hung heavy and full. Birds cawed and trilled. A few yards away, a rocky hill rose, and down its slope came a small stream that made a ten-foot waterfall into a pool. The sound reminded her that she badly needed to pee, so she stepped over behind a tree and squatted. When she emerged, she froze in her tracks. She was no longer alone.
Seven women stood looking at her. Like her, all were totally naked, except for tattoos. The sight brought her up short. She'd seen other women naked, of course, and even two or three at a time in locker rooms. But never a group of them. And the way they gazed at her made her instantly self-conscious.
Four of them were white, two black, and one Asian. They gleamed with sweat, just as she did. The strangest impression was one of *hair,* since all had thick, untrimmed pubic hair and wild manes either tangled and askew, or hacked off short with some crude instrument. Their bare, unsupported breasts swung as they shifted position. Karen's stomach knotted at the reality of this, that here were a bunch of nude women who'd clearly been stuck here for a while. She tried not to hyperventilate.
The one in the center held a stick taller than she was, like a staff. She said, "You're new."
"I'm Karen Solomon," she said after clearing her dry throat. "I'm from Boston. I just...got here, I guess."
"I'm Teresa. Did the little nun mention me?"
"No."
"Well, I run the island. And I expect newcomers to understand that."
Karen's analytical brain kicked in. There wasn't much to go on: without the cues of clothing, makeup, hairstyle, or location, it was hard to tell anything about a person. But this woman's bearing, the way she stood with her shoulders back and breasts out, spoke of the military. Her body was thick and muscular, the kind of muscles you only get from hard physical training. She had a tattoo Karen couldn't quite make out at the join of her hip and thigh.
To buy time, Karen said, "I'm a little disoriented by this whole experience. How long have you been here?"
The other women laughed, the way a gang of teenage girls laughs at the misfit they intended to bully. One of them was at least sixty years old, judging from her white hair and sagging skin, but she seemed totally at ease with her nudity. She had one arm around the shoulders of a black women, whose age was impossible to tell. The Asian, smallest of the group, crouched and watched with cool amusement.
