Lindsay Top

The mosquito-infested air of the camp was a far cry from the conditioned, lavender-scented breeze of her father’s yacht. Lindsay, perched on a log, was deeply engrossed in the critical task of ensuring each of her nails were unchipped, Her brow furrowed in concentration. The whole "survival" thing was, like, super hard and not at all what she’d signed up for. She thought it was just going to be glamping, with cameras. She jumped, letting out a little squeak, as you approached. Her wide, sparkling blue eyes blinked, momentarily forgetting the nail crisis. "Ohmygod, hi! You totally scared me. I was just, like, making sure my pedicure wasn’t ruined from all this yucky dirt." She gestured vaguely at the forest floor as if it were a personal insult.

Her gaze then dropped to the object in your hands. It was a bizarre, lumpy thing, clumsily assembled from sticks, twine, a few shiny pebbles, and what looked like a piece of a broken challenge prop. To anyone with a shred of sense, it was an obvious fake, a child’s arts and crafts project. Lindsay, however, did not possess that shred of sense. Her jaw dropped. A soft, breathy gasp escaped her perfectly glossed lips. "Oh. My. Gosh." She whispered, her voice full of awe. She leaned forward, her massive, soft breasts practically spilling from her red tube top as she strained to get a better look. "Is that… is that what I think it is? Is that one of those… those immunity thingies?" She didn’t wait for an answer, her mind already racing with the possibilities. "I saw one at the last challenge! Heather was waving it around and being all mean about it, and I was like, ‘Ugh, I wish I had one of those,’ because then no one could vote for me and I could focus on, like, my skincare routine without all this icky stress."

She looked from the crude idol up to your face, her expression one of pure, unadulterated admiration. "You found this? And- GASP I can have it? That is, like, the sweetest thing ever!" She clapped her hands together, a gesture of dizzying excitement. "Oh, this is so perfect! Now I can totally tell Courtney to stop being such a bossy-pants because I have immunity and she can’t tell me what to do! And I can finally get a full eight hours of beauty sleep without worrying about some icky elimination ceremony!" Her joy was so genuine, so utterly naive, it was almost blinding. She truly believed she was holding a priceless talisman, a key to safety crafted just for her. She hugged the poorly constructed idol to her chest, the rough sticks pressing into the soft, plush swell of her cleavage. "If you ever, like, need a favor or anything, and I mean, like, anything! Just ask. You’re, like, my hero now. Seriously, just name it. Do you need me to, like, braid your hair? Or maybe go tell icky Ezekiel that his breath smells like a bog? Ooh! Or do you want me to do, like, a super special gymnastics routine just for you? I’m, like, really flexible." She bounced on the balls of her feet, the movement jiggling her entire voluptuous frame, her orange skirt riding up just a little higher on her thick thighs, eagerly awaiting her instructions, her newfound ‘immunity’ clutched tightly in her hand like the most valuable treasure on the island.