By Fanatic and Advocate

Important Notices:

This is a work of fiction in the genre of parody. Parody means: 1) a pair of d's; 2) a literary or musical work in which the style of an author or work is closely imitated for comic effect or in ridicule; 3) a feeble or ridiculous imitation. Personally, we're shooting for number two.

This means several things: 1) CBS can't sue us for copyright infringement as parody is clearly within the exception rule. Nah nah nah nah nah. 2) Obviously, this is a lampoon of "Survivor", the ridiculous stunt series of the summer. But, hey, it's beating 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire' in the ratings, thank the gods above! 3) Big note: We are not going to be politically correct in this series. If you like PC humor, don't read this. If you still read this and don't like it, don't write us about it. We plan on bashing stereotypes (hey, they exist for a reason, folks) and exaggerating about as many people and places as possible. It's all in the name of humor. If it ain't your cup of tea, swim on, matey, this here is our island.

Now, just because CBS can't sue us for copyright infringement, we can and will sue you. This is an original work of fiction. Fanatic and Advocate own the copyright. (See below for the complete copyright statement.) Think about our pseudonyms, folks. Fanatic - insane, crazy, obsessed; Advocate - another name for an attorney. Add to the mix the fact that Fanatic is also an attorney …and you don't want to screw with us on this issue. Enough said.

This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. There are adult themes and language, nudity, sensuality, sexuality, alternative lifestyles (including depictions of homosexuality), and the like. We believe that most parents would consider these elements to be too strong (for viewing by persons less than 18 years of age). If we were a film, we would have an "R" or an "NC-17" rating.

Episode 8: Ryan's Hope

Joan sat behind one of the crew huts desperately trying to figure out a way to electrify a boom mic. The damned castaways were so lackadaisical about the competitions. If the network wouldn't give her a cattle prod, she'd make one of her own! She figured it wouldn't kill any of them… unless it started raining. Of course, it rained nearly every day, but Joan didn't want to focus on inconvenient details.

She also couldn't figure out how Pete was going to be able to hold it, but the network had insurance for such potentially ugly little incidents. Besides, Pete was nearly dead as it was. Twenty-four days on the island had reduced the cameraman to lumps of fat and rolls of skin. He looked like a deflated Pillsbury Doughboy.

And to think she had slept with him.

Joan shivered, a chill racing down her spine. She should get extra compensation for that act of personal degradation. Little did she realize that next year she would be paying Pete to keep him from showing the videotape of their little encounter at the company Christmas party. Damn, sneaky cameraman! Joan learned from the experience, however, and did the same thing to Bender a year later.

"Joan!" one of the production crew called, rounding the corner.

"What?" she snarled, jumping as the battery pack she was hot-wiring delivered an unexpected shock.

"Uh, they're ready for the challenge. I finally found them all."

Joan's eyes narrowed. That was another problem. Her production crew was so inept; the little squirrelly castaways were able to sneak away for 'private time' almost anytime they wanted. This meant that Joe and Dawn were constantly gone - though the crew was getting better at finding them. Pete chain-smoked whenever he watched them. Stupid putz! At least he could watch through a camera lens.

Ryan and Shannon were much harder to locate. That whacko survivalist kept laying down false trails to lead Joan's crew into the quicksand. An evil chuckle escaped Joan's lips. At least she knew Shannon wasn't getting any. The whole island would know when that particular event occurred again. Greenpeace had already filed an official complaint against the network for the unexpected migration of native birds from the island. Joan knew what had spooked them.

Hopefully, this challenge would put some life back into the show. It was pretty simple, actually. All the castaways had to do was rappel down the side of the cliff on the north beach. Of course, there wasn't any ground below the cliff. The contestants would go straight into the water, and from there, swim against the current, about fifty yards through the inlet to the beachhead.

God, she loved her job.

The beauty of it all was the luxury item the winner would receive.

* * *

Marty held the hollowed-out half coconut in one hand and stared at its contents. He looked up at Joan, his vision slightly blurry due to the head wound he had received when the waves had smashed him against the rocks. If he hadn't used Arturo as a buffer, he might have been more badly injured. "What the fuck is this?"

Joan smiled, resembling a psychotic June Cleaver. What was in the coconut would have been used for the challenge … before she had decided to make it a bit more interesting. What were the writers thinking? A card game as a challenge? God, that was almost as boring as an Al Gore campaign speech. Almost. Fortunately, she had saved the episode with her quick thinking. "Your reward."

"My reward?" he repeated, spitting out another mouthful of seawater. "I get bashed against the side of a cliff, then nearly drown, and all I get is a fucking deck of playing cards?!"

"It's entertainment."

"I'll show you entertainment, you scrawny-assed bitch!" Marty began advancing on the host.

"Hola, chico!" Arturo called out as he pulled himself up onto the beach. "Come help your little mattress!"

Marty wheeled around, very aware that this was being videotaped for broadcast. If he let that comment go unchallenged, he would never be able to bend over to pick up a nail at a construction site again. "You are not my mattress!"

"Well, it did not seem that way while we were out on the ocean of love, eh, big boy? You were pressed tight against my back …"

"A little help over here!" Marva cried, dragging Dawn onto the sand. Dawn's arm was bent at an unnatural angle and her neck was wrapped with seaweed. Marva looked like an oil-slicked seal. At the last minute, Joan had ordered the dumping of a barrel of oil into the beach inlet. It had made their pathetic rescue attempts all the more dramatic. Joan had seriously considered setting fire to it, but was worried the smoke might obscure filming.

Screw you, Regis! Without Kathie Lee you're nothing but a monochromatic windbag! Joan couldn't wait to see the numbers for this episode.

Next to wash ashore was Joe. He looked like a sword-fisherman who had been skewered by his prey. Spitting out a clam - he didn't even want to think about how it got into his mouth in the first place- he rubbed his face carefully, lest any sea urchins were still attached.

"Joe!" Dawn moaned, bringing him back to the present.

He raced over to his … significant other? Nah, they were just sleeping together. Right? Nothing too significant, right? Though she was really pretty and sweet, and he loved being with her. And his kid would love her.

His kid.

Jesus! What if Dawn was pregnant?? They had tried using a sea sponge as a contraceptive device, but it seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. "Are you okay?" Don't be pregnant, please, don't be pregnant.

Marva rolled her eyes. Men! "Yeah, she's fine, Joe. Everyone's arm is supposed to bend backwards at the elbow."

Relieved that Marva didn't confirm a pregnancy, Joe now blanched at the sight of Dawn's arm. That couldn't be good. "You'll be just fine," he lied. My God, they might have to amputate! He faked a smile.

Next out of the water was Ryan, carrying Shannon over her shoulder. Shannon was spewing most of the ocean down Ryan's back. Ryan kept lightly smacking Shannon's butt as they made their way over to the rest of the castaways.

"Ryan?" Shannon choked out. Receiving an affirmative grunt, Shannon continued, "If you're trying to clear my lungs, you really don't need to hit my ass."

"Oh." The survivalist opted for just resting one of her hands there instead. Even better.

"See you all at the tribal council tonight!" Joan chirped. She bent over Dawn to see if it was worth flying in a doctor for the minor injury.

"Stay away from her, you bitch!" Joe growled, pushing the host back. Seeing the host's indecision about helping Dawn enraged the good-natured bartender. Maybe he was in love. He had previously thought the manicurist from Queens had ripped his heart out and eaten it while they were married. Nice to know it's still in there. "We aren't sticking around for some stupid tribal council. Dawn and I are getting out of here! This little hellhole isn't worth it. No matter how much we might win. Now, order us a helicopter." Joan kept a false smile plastered on her face throughout Joe's tirade. "Oh, and we will be suing your ass, too. I'm a bartender. I know every God damned lawyer in Hackensack!"

Now, that was a real threat. Joan's eyes narrowed. She'd have to make sure they edited out that little comment. She didn't want anyone to get any ideas.

Turning to the camera, she said, "The tribe has spoken. And survival of the fittest continues." Damn! She had planned something a little special for tonight's tribal council. Next time.

* * *

The camp was subdued that night. They were now down to the final five contestants, since Joe and Dawn had volunteered to be the next two voted off. Shannon was amazed to still be on the island. Well, not all that amazed. The eleven who had been voted off, or disqualified, had been pretty pathetic. Except for the noble Joe, leaving with his girl. If she were into men, which she wasn't, she would find that hugely attractive. She wondered if Ryan would do that for her.

I bet she would for Tiffany. Shannon tried to imagine what tragedy would have to befall Tiffany for Ryan to leave. An emergency sharpening probably wasn't enough of a reason, but, God forbid, her tip should get broken, or the handle nicked.

Was it really wrong to pray for the safety of a knife?

Ryan and Shannon were snuggling in one of the swaying hammocks. Arturo was moisturizing. Marva was leaning against a tree and humming her son's favorite lullaby. And Marty sat by the fire, shuffling cards.

"I'm bored," Marty announced.

Arturo immediately perked up. "Oooh! Let's play a game!"

"Not celebrity charades again," Marva groaned. "You always do Diana Ross."

An indignant look crossed the hairdresser's features. "But of course. She is DIANA! She is SUPREME!" He swished his hips and struck a pose.

"You are so queer," Marty said needlessly. He looked at the three beautiful women with whom he shared the island. Arturo was certainly no competition. He had the perfect game. "No, let's play a man's game: Poker."

"We don't have money," Shannon murmured from her spot in the hammock.

"We don't need money, girlie. We have everything we need to bet with." He pinched at the collar of his Hawaiian shirt. "Our clothes."

Suddenly, Ryan perked up. "Strip poker?"


"Great! Let's play!" Ryan jumped out of the hammock so quickly that it spun around and dumped Shannon on the sand. "Oops, sorry, baby," she apologized, giving the writer a hand up. Ryan reached around and helped Shannon wipe the sand off her butt, getting momentarily distracted.

"I don't know," Marva hesitated. She was a Baptist, a wife, and mother of two. Hmpf. Marva scowled. Those two little monsters were the reason she now had sagging breasts. Screw it. She would play. "Oh, what the heck, I'm in," Marva drawled.

Arturo bounded over to where Marty was sitting, settling himself beside the burly construction worker. "I am a lousy card player, but a great sport!"

Ryan marveled at Marty's genius. She should have thought of this earlier. What better way to conduct a strip search without a person knowing it? Marty was from Seattle … home of Microsoft … he was probably web enabled. Marva was from Stone Mountain, home of the great confederate monument … she probably harbored dreams of revolution. And Arturo was from San Francisco … home of all counterculture and all freaks generally … And, well, hell, she just wanted to see Shannon's breasts. They were so pert and firm and succulent and …

She should have done this a long time ago! Of course, it would be a shame to have to kill everyone else who saw Shannon naked. As a child, her report card always said 'does not play well with others.'

They sat in a circle, and Marty dealt out the first hand. "Five card stud, nothing wild."

"Ooo, stud," Arturo trilled, "I like this game!"

Marty pointed to a space between Marva and Ryan. "You. Sit. There."

"No need to be mean." Marva gave Arturo a reassuring smile. "You stay there, Arturo."

"Fine, fine, fine," Marty grumbled.

The first hand went pretty quickly as the players sized each other up. In more ways than one. Marva lost, and everyone waited expectantly for her article of clothing. She smirked and put in one of her sandals.

Play progressed rapidly. Within a few hands, the already scantily dressed castaways, were less dressed. Except for Ryan. She hadn't lost a hand.

Arturo was down to his swim trunks, having divested himself of his earring, bandana, T-shirt and shoes. Marty was doing pretty well, having only lost his socks. He was eagerly studying Marva's breasts, which had been bare for a few minutes. Nice. But saggy. And he was comparing them to Shannon's, which had just been exposed as the blonde tossed her bikini top into the pile. Now, there's a nice set of melons. He wondered whether Ryan would kill him if he reached over and checked their ripeness.

A quick glance at the survivalist confirmed that she would, probably before his hand even reached its destination.

Ryan was drooling. She kept imagining where her lips could be. Where they were meant to be. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Shannon's breasts were glowing with the admiration they were receiving. Her nipples were taut, practically begging for Ryan to give them some attention. The kind of attention only Ryan could give them. Well, that wasn't really true. A lot of people had given them attention in the past. But she was willing to reserve them for Ryan in the immediate future.

"Ryan," Marty repeated, punching her lightly on the arm.

"C'mon." Ryan grasped Shannon's hand and began dragging her down the beach. This was simply too much! How much could one woman be expected to endure? It had taken every last ounce of Ryan's will power not to jump across the table and take Shannon right there, in the middle of that damn poker game. But she was still going to gouge out every single ogling eyeball that had gotten a good look at the luscious writer's boobs.

Well, maybe she'd leave the women, Marva and Arturo, one eye. Shannon was a babe. It was understandable that they would look.

"Ryan... Should... Shouldn't I put my top on?" Shannon tried not to stumble as the taller woman increased her pace.

"NO!" Ryan barked. "Do you want me to have to cut it off your body?"

Pale brows drew together. Was that a trick question? "Umm… No?"

"Good." Shannon wasn't moving fast enough, so Ryan scooped the smaller woman into her arms and began jogging. Shannon would need all her energy later. Oh, yes. She would have Shannon this night. And more importantly, Shannon would have her. That fact was as inevitable as the swell of the tide. Or as Tiffany rendering Marty a soprano. It would happen.

Shannon sighed and gazed fondly at Ryan. This was just like the romantic ending to 'An Officer and a Gentlemen'! Only without that beady-eyed Richard Gere. And frumpy Debra Winger. And that hideous, overplayed, croaking duet. Shannon scowled. Damn! Now that she thought about it, the movie really sucked!

"How far are we going?" Shannon asked impatiently. She wanted Ryan NOW! Who knew that exhibitionism was such a turn on? Okay, she did, and so did the patrons of that 'Dykes on Bikes' leather bar just outside of Denver. Damn Jose Cuervo! But Ryan didn't need to know everything about her, did she?

Shannon let out a shaky breath. Ryan's stare during the poker game had got her so hot and bothered that she had to forcibly stop herself from leaping over the table in the middle of the game! It was embarrassing. But Shannon was past caring. She shifted in Ryan's arms, thrusting her starlit breasts in the survivalist's face.

Ryan stopped so quickly that sand flew in all directions. "This is far enough," she moaned, already devouring what Shannon had so eagerly offered. Without detaching her mouth from its prize, Ryan laid Shannon on the beach.

At the feeling of the cool, damp sand against her naked back, Shannon's eyes - that had been screwed tightly shut in ecstasy - flew open. Damn, how could she have forgotten about the sand? "Ryan… Mmm… Let's go someplace... ooooh, yeah, harder is good..." Shannon's words were whisked away by the sensuous feeling of soft lips against her impossibly hot skin. Please bite down! Yes!

"You smell so good," Ryan moaned, her lips lingering at Shannon's neck. Suddenly, Ryan pulled back and stared at Shannon with fiery eyes, gone pale in the moonlight.

Shannon gasped. Ryan looked like a goddess. An UNBEARABLY HORNY goddess to whom the young writer was prepared to pay homage until she passed out. Or until her sand wedgy became intolerable. Whichever happened first.

"I know I should be more romantic," Ryan continued, bringing her hands up to Shannon's cheeks (the ones near the writer's teeth), "and you deserve that. You really do, Shannon." Ryan took a deep breath. "But does it have to be right now?!" she blurted out desperately. It had taken hours to make Shannon's comb and to think of that snappy fish message. She couldn't wait that long tonight!

Was Ryan crazy? Scratch that. "Romance later, hot monkey sex now!"

"Thank you, God!" Ryan moaned, attacking Shannon's chest with renewed vigor.

Shannon threaded her fingers tightly into Ryan's thick hair… Hair. That damned Tiffany! She felt a surge of irrational jealousy. How could she, a flesh and blood woman, compete against six inches of 'precision-honed perfection?' God, this was maddening! She sighed wistfully… she couldn't compete. She could only hope that Ryan's heart was big enough for both of them.

As if reading her thoughts, Ryan paused, then began kissing her way up Shannon's throat. "You look so fabulous with short hair. Nothing makes me feel the way you do. I want you every second of the day. If I couldn't have you right now, I think I'd die," she whispered hotly, dragging the tip of her tongue around Shannon's ear.

Shannon swooned. Jesus, Ryan was really getting good at this! She'd have this relationship stuff licked in no time. But first she had more important things to lick. No, Shannon told herself. They were always being interrupted, and she couldn't risk another day passing without Ryan finding peace of mind. The darker woman was clearly beside herself, and that was something Shannon wanted to fix. Oh, baby, she wanted to! She needed to do this. If she didn't, she wasn't sure how many of the castaways would still be alive to take the next challenge.

"OFF!" Shannon suddenly shouted, pushing Ryan away. "Every stitch of clothing. I want you completely naked and under me!"

Ryan nodded frantically. She didn't have to be asked, well, told, twice. Scrambling off Shannon, she stripped down to her birthday suit in a matter of seconds.

Unable to resist getting a closer look at Ryan standing nude in the moonlight, Shannon jumped to her feet as Ryan's tank top hit the beach. "God, you are so unbelievably gorgeous, Ryan," Shannon hummed appreciatively, as she circled the naked woman, dragging her nails lightly across sensitive skin. As much as Shannon wanted to blaze forward, a big part of herself was begging her to slow down, to savor the moment.

Ryan moaned, then shivered under the light touch. Was Shannon going to tease her? Nononononononono. She said hot monkey sex now! Not teasing! Doubts assailed Ryan's mind. Maybe Shannon really was a spy meant to slowly drive her insane by making her fall in love with her and then denying sexual completion? Oh, God! When did the feds become geniuses?! Their plan was totally working!

Shannon reached around Ryan from behind and wrapped her in a warm hug, a throaty groan escaping at the feeling of her nipples pressed against Ryan's beautiful back. Shannon leaned closer and placed a gentle kiss between Ryan's shoulder blades, tasting her salty skin. Sweeping aside the taller woman's hair and standing on tiptoe, Shannon whispered against Ryan's nape hairs, "Don't worry, sexy. I'm not even thinking of teasing you."

OH MY GOD! There really was an implant! And Shannon was using it to read her mind!

"What's wrong?" the shorter woman asked worriedly, unconsciously tightening her hold on Ryan as she sensed the survivalist's obvious anxiety.

Ryan went rigid and held her breath. Closing her eyes she tried desperately NOT to think of the exact location of her hidden community (56.6 miles west of Louisville on Highway 60, and 6.4 miles south of county road 61, turn right at the dead dog) -- nor the location of the money buried in Mason jars in her backyard (beneath the birdbath) -- nor her top secret, super-classified computer access information (logon: conspiracy, password: trustnoone). NOOOOO!!!! She had thought it all!! The implant must have artificial intelligence capabilities!

"Ryan? Did I do something you didn't like? Or..."

Ryan whirled around in Shannon's arms, grasping the surprised woman by the waist. "How did you know I didn't want to be teased?" she asked warily. Pink Elephants. Pink elephants. Pink elephants.

Shannon burst out laughing. "You mean besides the fact that you're the poster child for..."

"Sexual frustration!" Ryan interrupted with a growl. Of course! Shannon didn't need to read her mind at all. She had read her tightly-wound, quivering body, that fairly begged for attention. Attention from a certain luscious, young writer, who was to die for.

"So, everything is okay?"

In answer, Ryan swooped down and passionately kissed Shannon, swallowing the smaller woman's whimpers as their tongues fought for space in each other's mouths.

Shannon's arousal flared again, and after several intense moments, she tore her lips from Ryan's. "On the ground. Now!"

Ryan immediately dropped to the beach, taking Shannon down with her, spreading her legs to accommodate the shorter woman's body nestled tightly atop hers. Ryan reached into Shannon's shorts and groaned at the feeling of slick, bare skin. "No undies?" Ryan murmured around sweet, deep kisses, vaguely disappointed. Those high-cut, black, silk panties Shannon had worn last time were so hot! Ryan's mouth began to water, just remembering the cool, delicate fabric under her fingertips.

"Mmm.... that reminds me," Shannon whispered softly, nipping at Ryan's lower lip. "I have something for you." The writer reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of black silk cloth. "This is... well, um..." Shannon suddenly felt like an idiot. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Of course, she had been drinking some concoction that Joe and Marty claimed to have 'specially aged' for several days.

"Your panties?" Ryan reverently took the silky fabric from Shannon's fingers. "Thanks, sweetheart." She sniffed and swallowed hard. "A girl can never have too much underwear," Ryan repeated a bit quizzically, recalling that truism as her dearly departed mother's last words to her. Well, that and 'it's only fun until somebody loses an eye.' God, I miss you, Mom!

"Silly." Shannon slapped Ryan's arm, then bent down and gently kissed where she had just hit. "They're um... not to wear. It's a polishing cloth for..." Shannon blinked. Was she really going to do this? Then she gazed down into Ryan's soulful, affectionate, STILL incredibly horny eyes. Yes. She would take the first step towards peace. "It's for Tiffany. See?"

Shannon held the material up in the moonlight. It had been cut into a neat square, and the letter 'T' had been lovingly stitched in the corner, using strands of long blonde hair as thread. Shannon's eyes narrowed as she considered just how much extra 'thread' the castaways now had. No. I'm going to make nice to the 'other woman' for Ryan's sake. Besides, I have to admit that I like the short hair. And the fact that there are absolutely no mirrors on the island, and that it will take years and years to grow back, has nothing to do with it!

Ryan gasped. Shannon was reaching out to Tiffany! Even after what she had done. The survivalist gulped back tears. Only someone who really cared about her would be capable of such a profound, heartfelt gesture. Did Shannon love her the way she loved the writer? She could only hope. "Thank you," Ryan finally said. She could hardly wait to show Tiffany. She had told the magnificent blade that there was nothing to be jealous about!

Shannon grinned broadly, tossing the cloth onto the pile of Ryan's crumpled clothing. "You - are - very - " Shannon punctuated each word with a tender kiss on the lips, "welcome, Ryan." Then she began kissing her way down Ryan's neck and chest.


"Hmm?" Shannon muttered, as she wrapped her lips around the very tip of a taut nipple. The blonde let out a contented purr as she began to suckle in earnest, her own center pulsing in time with the movements of her mouth.

Ryan writhed beneath Shannon, nearly dislodging her. "Mmm... Damn!" The brunette cried hoarsely, as Shannon began a gentle tugging motion with her lips. "But... but Shannon?"

"What is it, sweetheart?" Couldn't Ryan see she was workin' here?

"I've got sand... EVERYWHERE!" came the frustrated reply, even as Ryan's hands moved to Shannon's hips. Grinding their bodies together, Ryan moaned at the flawless contact.

"Oh God." Shannon's head dropped forward, and her nostrils flared. How could she be expected to maintain a conversation when Ryan did stuff like that? It was impossible! Then she remembered what the taller woman had said. "Sorry." She smiled apologetically. "But it's my turn on top!" Shannon slid her hand between their bodies and began softly stroking Ryan's inner thighs, allowing her fingertips to graze Ryan's flooded center.

Ryan gasped. Okay, maybe she could live with the sand for now.

The younger woman moaned against Ryan's breast, surprised she hadn't come from listening to the fabulous sounds that Ryan was making. They were driving her wild! "Oh, baby, you are soaked."

The prophetic words were still hanging in the air when a huge, unexpected wave crashed down onto the women's intertwined bodies, drenching them with salty sea water and depositing a hefty amount of seaweed, leaves, and other ocean muck right on top of them.

"Ack! Gross!"

Ryan spit out a mouthful of seawater. Well, at least that washed the sand out of my ass, she thought wryly, pulling a large palm frond from her face. The taller woman reached up and knocked away a small, flapping fish, that had managed to tangle itself in what was left of Shannon's hair, and a pile of seaweed.

Shannon stood up and began picking the huge clumps of limp vegetation from her body. Those fuckers who made from 'From Here to Eternity' never showed anything like this happening! I miss my boring, queen- sized bed!

Ryan smiled, her sexual appetite only increasing as she watched Shannon pick a dangling piece of seaweed from her pink, erect nipple. There was no stopping Ryan's libido now. Nothing, not even that cruel, prankster bitch, Mother Nature, could dampen the flame Shannon had lit.

Ryan's smile shifted into a leer. Her writer looked like a topless, X-rated version of the 'Creature From the Black Lagoon'. Damn, she's beautiful! "C'mon. Let's get cleaned up." Ryan stood and nuzzled Shannon's throat. "Phfptt!" She spat away a large, black, water bug.

"Ryan, we can't go back to the showers at camp and have sex right there in front of everyone!" A pause. "Can we?"

A dark eyebrow arched. Shannon was turning out to be delightfully naughty! "We have an entire ocean right here." Ryan gave Shannon a 'come hither' smile and began backing into the lightly churning surf.

Shannon growled. She'd always wanted to do it in the ocean.

Without getting arrested.

But at least she had gotten to take off her beeper in the jug. The one damn time Rita couldn't find her.

When the older woman held out her hand invitingly, Shannon quickly stripped off her sodden shorts and followed Ryan into deeper waters. A few feet from her survivalist, Shannon froze, her gaze shifting to the water. "Ryan, don't the sharks come out to feed at night?"

"Whatever." Ryan surged forward, pulling Shannon into a breathless, soul-searing kiss.

The possibility of being eaten flew right out of Shannon's mind. Well, by anything other than Ryan, that is. Shannon wrapped her legs around Ryan's waist and determinedly snaked her hand between their bodies once again.

Ryan let out a languid moan as the blonde's gentle touch turned into a purposeful stroking. The taller woman's belly clenched tightly, her breath coming in short pants, her attention riveted on the throbbing between her legs and the tender lips dancing across her skin.

"That's it, sexy," Shannon cooed softly into Ryan's ear. "Feel how much I want you, how badly I've wanted to do this for you."

Ryan groaned, her toes digging into the sandy ocean floor, and her desire increasing with every beat of her pounding heart. "Oh, God," she whispered harshly. "That's so..." She forgot what she was going to say when her hips jerked forward, taking in the length of Shannon's fingers.

"I love touching you like this, Ryan," Shannon mumbled, her eyes drawn to Ryan's soft lips. The motion of her fingers never wavered as she maintained the steady rhythm dictated by Ryan's hips. Leaning closer, Shannon tilted her head, and Ryan ducked down for a kiss. But the blonde pulled back, repeating the action several times until Ryan remained still, allowing the writer to lean in and sensuously trace Ryan's full lower lip with the tip of her tongue, before pulling the lip into her mouth and sucking gently.

Ryan's thighs quivered as Shannon released the taller woman's lip and moved to the hollow of her throat, licking softly and dragging her free hand down Ryan's back to her buttocks.

Closing her eyes tightly, Ryan threw her head back and hissed as though she'd been burned.

"Yes," Shannon urged, feeling Ryan begin to pulse around her fingers, her own arousal mounting. One more deep thrust of sure fingers and Ryan let loose a thunderous roar that tore through Shannon, sweeping the younger woman away, right along with her lover.

Ryan's arms tightened convulsively around Shannon, as she buried her face in soft, pale hair, her body trembling with aftershocks.

Shannon let out an enormous breath and unlocked her legs from around Ryan's waist, sinking deeper into the water, which now seemed cool against her overheated skin. Smiling, Shannon looked up into suddenly sheepish, blue eyes and wriggled her pale brows.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I might not be able to fish here for a few days," Ryan muttered as her face colored. She was sure she'd scared away every bit of aquatic life for miles.

Shannon burst out laughing. If she was Queen of the Jungle, then her beautiful lover was most definitely King of the Sea.

<fade out>

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Though this series is inspired by certain actual incidents, it is a work of fiction and references to real people and organizations are included only to lend a sense of authenticity. All of the characters, whether central or peripheral, are wholly the product of the authors' imagination, as are their actions, motivations, thoughts and conversations, and neither the characters nor the situations which were invented for them are intended to depict real people or real events. In particular, the depictions of CBS and the Survivor television series are not meant to portray the corporation, or any individual on that show, but are only used to lend a sense of authenticity to this work of fiction.