"That girl is going places...not college, but places."
That had been one of Bridgette's grandfather's favorite sayings, the gender changing as needed. It meant that someone was on an upward trajectory but not very intelligent. Alternatively, it could be used for someone who was on a downward trajectory as well. Bridgette found herself recalling that maxim all the time these days, and it always made her smile. Her grandfather, an old hippie who couldn't talk about the sixties because he couldn't remember them, was a kind and caring man whose dedication to his principles continued to inspire her even five years after his death. Every summer, she would spend a week with him and Grandma at their cabin in Idaho, where they settled in the seventies. At one time, their property was a commune where three dozen dropouts lived in perfect harmony with nature. Over the years, all of them drifted away except for Grandma and Grandpa. The cabin was surrounded by forests and foothills and her grandfather would take her on meandering hikes through the wilderness, showing her all of the neat things nature had to offer. It was partly from him that she got her love of animals and the environment.
The earth is our home, he was fond of saying, we have to keep it clean.
Bridgette had been thinking of him a lot lately. When he was alive, he was a positive force in her life; she could always go to him with her problems, and he would never fail to impart some nugget of wisdom on her that would make everything right again, like magic.
And God knows she could use some magic right about now.
Last month, Bridgette and her boyfriend, Geoff - who she had met on the reality show Total Drama Island - finally broke up after six months of stagnation. Their relationship was going nowhere and both of them knew it. He had his projects - like co-hosting a hidden camera prank show called Roast Session - and she had hers: Too many to name. They barely had any time together and the romance they had kindled snuffed out before it had a chance to blossom. They were too busy, too preoccupied, for love and when they tried, they just didn't click the way they used to.
Such is life. People change and drift apart. It wasn't her fault, it wasn't his, it was just a thing that happened. They parted as friends and still kept in touch, texting at least once or twice a day. She wished him well and hoped he found someone he could connect with, just as he hoped she could find someone.
One day.
Her problem was that after breaking it off with Geoff, she realized something about herself.
She was lonely.
Not just in a romantic sense, but also...you know...just lonely. All of her old friends from before Total Drama Island were too busy working on their careers and families to hang out, and when she did get to see them, there was a certain tension in the air. They treated her differently now. They weren't as open or goofy or fun. None of them had ever said so, or even made any allusions, but she thought it was because she was "famous" now. The people in her life looked at her as some kind of star, and whatever perfect chemistry they had had before was gone, the dynamic changed. Sometimes she read online threads about Total Drama, and a lot of people thought she was fake. They said things like "her phony humble facade" and implied that she - and all the other contestants - were professional actors.
A part of her could understand that. After three years in Hollywood, she knew first hand that it was the fakest place on earth. The people were all plastic and things like values and your word mean nothing; everyone's a snake and they'll plunge a knife into your back if given half a chance. She didn't know if the rumors of Epistien and pedophile rings were true, but she had seen first hand that directors, producers, and studio execs were too touchy for their own good. Usually the touches were innocent enough - putting their hand at the small of your back and they led you to their office and kissing your hand like an 18th century gentleman - but there's a dark side to everything. She had met some wonderful people in L.A. and she'd worked on a lot of projects that she truly believed in, but she was under no delusions: Hollywood was about as real as Bigfoot and after all these years being apart of it, she didn't think of herself as being one of them. She was just her, Bridgette, a girl who believed in something and wanted to share her beliefs with the world the way her grandfather shared his beliefs with her.
The hardest part about doing that was not coming across as sermonizing. She was not a political person and found nothing more annoying than a political partisan wagging their finger from a soapbox, even if she agreed with their message. She believed in climate change, conservation, and animal rights. She believed in green energy and veganism. She knew that not everyone would always agree with her and that was fine. She was young enough to believe that she could have a positive impact but not so young as to believe that she could "change" the world. The world had been here long before her and it would be here long after. If change came, it would take time; you can't turn a ship on a dime, and you can't change the world in a decade. She believed that while her message was important, vital even, the way she delivered it was more important. "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar," her grandfather used to say.
After her break-up with Geoff, she threw herself into her latest project - an online documentary about microplastics. Microplastics are tiny specks of plastic that enter the environment through a number of different ways. They have been observed literally everywhere: The ocean, our drinking water, inside animals, in the Arctic. They even get into the ground water and turn up in vegetables and soil. You can be the biggest vegan in history and still wind up with a belly full of plastic.
Microplastics are, perhaps, the most plentiful parasite on the face of the earth and we don't yet know how they affect human beings.
Bridgette was deeply disturbed when she first learned about the tiny plastic spores colonizing the earth. It was one thing to accept that Co2 emissions are causing climate change, but quite another to realize that we're already swimming in plastic microbes. To a lot of people, climate change is something vague and distant, a challenge to be met down the road, maybe even by our grandkids. Microplastics were already here and the more plastic junk we produce and discard, the more there will be.
On the morning of July 29, Bridgette left her mansion in North Hollywood for the half hour drive to Mercer Productions, the company handling her documentary: Why is There Plastic in My Food? Seriously, This is Gross. The title was a placeholder until she or someone else came up with something better. She didn't want doom and gloom (she instantly rejected someone's suggestion of The Plastic Apocalypse). She wanted something that would resonate with all people...but especially the ones inclined to disagree with her. Climate change deniers, Republicans, people who don't know and don't really care. What ever name you want to apply to them, she wanted to reach out to them. After all, it doesn't matter if you're a Biden supporter or a MAGA type, no one wants shards of plastic in their food and water.
Did thinking she could change those people's minds - even just some of them - make her idealistic? She didn't know. She didn't expect to be the one to show millions of people the light, but she was sure that her documentary would be a net positive. It was honest, after all. She made sure that all of the science presented in it was sound and that all of the people she interviewed knew what they were talking about. It wasn't framed any way. It didn't have an agenda. It was fact-based and explored the topic as it really is. She didn't know how many documentaries had an agenda behind them - certainly some - but hers didn't. Oh, she wanted people to realize what was happening and wake up to the fact that change needs to take place, but just wanted to raise awareness. That was. No judging, no finger-wagging, no for shame, America, for shame. That's not helpful. If anything, it hurts you message, no matter what it is or where it may fall on the political spectrum.
Being the middle of July, it was furnace hot when she left the house, the rugged hills dry and thirsty brown. Southern California had been in the midst of a drought for most of the summer and each day seemed hotter than the last. The governor had ordered water rationing, wild fires raged outside the city, some so close that you could see the orange glow of flames against the sky, and the state congress was at each other's throats over who was to blame and what to do. Combined with the recent riots and the rising cost of living - which didn't personally affect her - it felt like the whole world was coming to an end.
Maybe it was the constant parade of bad news, maybe it was the realization that she no longer had any real friends in a world that got darker and scarier every time she turned on the news, but Bridgette had been feeling more lonely than usual over the past week. When she wasn't working, she spent as much time out and about as she could to keep from going back to her big, empty could only put off the inevitable for so long, though, and she always wound up sitting in bed and listening to the deep silence that shrouded her existence. She looked up all her old castmates from Total Drama Island and sent them DMs (even the castmates she didn't like) and reminisced about the good old days. It had only been a few years since she stepped off the boat and onto that island, but it seemed like another lifetime. She was younger then, and more fiery in her approach to life. The world was her oyster and the future was bright: She could have anything, do anything, be anything.
She didn't have that hint of mystery anymore. She was settled and knew roundabout where she would be and what she would be doing in five years. Despite her crushing loneliness, she did not regret the track her life had taken. She loved her house and her work, she just missed that feeling of being young and having so many choices. It was like opening the last present on Christmas morning. You got everything you wanted, but you still had that gutted feeling in the pit of your stomach because reality can never, ever stack up to our expectations. When you build such burning anticipation, the inevitable climax always falls kind of flat, even if it's everything you wanted it to be.
It annoyed her that she had everything she desired but didn't feel complete. It annoyed her that she should have so much privilege, so much success, and still be unfulfilled. It also scared her. What if this is just who she was? What if she was the kind of person who would never be satisfied? She could accomplish - nay, exceed - every goal she set for herself and still not be happy at the end of it.
To her, that sounded like hell.
Those thoughts were far from her mind on that July morning. With the top down and the wind in her hair, she was on her way to meet with the producers of her documentary and everything was okay. Not sunshine and lollipops, maybe, but she was content.
Well...until she got stuck in traffic on the freeway.
L.A. County was the most populous county in the United States and had the traffic to prove it. No matter where you went or what you wanted to do, you had to allow for at least a half an hour in traffic, and showing up ten or fifteen minutes late for an appointment was considered on time because of it.
Sitting on the 405, cats log-jammed ahead of and behind her, Bridgette propped her elbow on the door and threaded her fingers through her sandy blonde hair. She took a deep breath and let it out in an even rush. It looked like she was going to be really late this time.
Might as well listen to some tunes while she waited.
She leaned over, turned the radio on, and sat back. "...totally fabulous. I just can't wait to have it done and out to everybody. You're all gonna love it, I guarantee it."
Bridgette's brow furrowed. High pitched, bubbly, slightly...uh...ditzy, for lack of a better term. She knew that voice.
Derek J, the disc jockey, uttered a hearty laugh. "We certainly can't wait. That's Total Drama Superstar, the debut album from Lindsay, out this fall."
That's it! Lindsay. They were on Total Drama together. Lindsay was an airhead blonde; if brains were dynamite, she wouldn't have enough to blow her nose.
Okay, that was mean. Truth be told, Bridgette liked Lindsay. Her upbeat personality and almost childlike innocence were endearing. She felt a special connection with all of the other Total Drama alumni, but if she had to pick a favorite, Lindsay would certainly be up there. In her own way, Bridgette wished she could be more like Lindsay; Lindsay was always self-assured and happy. Oh, she had reason to doubt herself and to be unhappy, but she never wavered, never faltered.
After finishing with Total Drama, Lindsay disappeared into the inner workings of Hollywood, her wholesome face and statuesque figure landing her on the covers of magazines and a few fashion shows on the east coast. The last time they talked six months ago, she said she was trying to break into the music industry. As much as Bridgette liked her, she couldn't lie: Her singing was terrible. It sounded like a car being strangled with piano wire. She didn't think Lindsay would get anywhere, but apparently she had an album coming out. She couldn't help but wonder how much of it was auto tune.
"Thanks for talking with us, Lindsay, Derek said. What's your favorite radio station?"
There was a pause. "Uhhh….95.9?"
"This is 98.5. You were supposed to say 98.5."
"Oh. Okay. I love 95.8. It's the best."
Bridgette laughed until fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Yep, same old Lindsay. That girl's going places. Not college, but places.
Traffic began to move again shortly and Bridgette made her way to the studio. As she navigated the palm lined surface streets of Century City, she found herself thinking of old times again, mainly of Lindsay. A pit of loss opened up in her stomach and she realized just how much she missed those days. At the time, she hated that godforsaken little island and dreaded all of the stupid and dangerous challenges she and the others were forced to do. She hated the bugs, the muggy nights, the communal bathrooms, and especially Chris. God, that man was insufferable. Oh, and don't even get her started on Chef. She was convinced that man was a serial killer and buried the bodies of his victims around the camp. She remembered one time she left her cabin to use the bathroom, and he was dragging an oddly human shaped trash bag across the ground. "Uh...what's that?" she asked.
"This doesn't concern you, little girl," he said.
LOL. What a card. All the Total Drama contestants were cards.
She arrived at the studio a short time later and sat through a meeting where a group of ad execs presented her with a dozen different marketing strategies for Plastic in My Food. She stroked her chin and considered each one carefully. "I don't like it," she said of one, "it's too…" she made a circular motion with her hand to buy time as she came up with the right word, "preachy." Another was too casual and, she felt, downplayed the importance of the documentary's message.
When the meeting ended after three hours, she grabbed lunch at a vegan cafe down the street from the studio and scrolled through her phone. Somehow, she ended up on Lindsay's Instagram. A smiling picture of the blonde greeted her, and Bridgette couldn't help smiling too. Bridgette knew as soon as she hit puberty that she liked boys and had never felt anything - anything - for a girl, but she always lowkey thought Lindsay was pretty. With her fair skin, high cheek bones, and honeysuckle blonde hair, she was what Bridgette had hoped to be as a girl. It wasn't just envy, though. A few times on the island, she found herself staring at Lindsay's long, silky legs and wondering what was underneath her miniskirt.
Those were just flights of girlish fancy. Nothing more, nothing less. Everyone gets curious about how the other half lives, right?
Or was it just her?
Either way, that was the past. Her time on Total Drama Island was the past, the friends she had before was the past - this was the future. The cold, lonely future. Table for one.
After lunch, Bridgette drove to the Santa Monica Pier. She took her shoes off and walked along the shore, the warm, salty surf washing over her feet. Girls in bikinis lay on towels and talked as they tanned, and groups of shirtless guys played a vigorous game of volleyball. Everyone had a friend, everyone had a partner, but her.
Bridgette sighed.
Back at her car, she opened the driver door, turned around, and sat on the edge of the seat, her feet perched on the running board. A cool breeze washed over her and she stared up at the dusty blue sky, her greenish eyes troubled. The empty feeling in her middle was stronger and suddenly everything seemed dimmer...darker. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts list. What she needed was company, someone to talk to and hang out with. She was strong and independent and all that jazz, but she was also human, and humans crave contact with each other.
Who should she call, though? Her old friends thought she was a haughty celebrity now and not many of her pals from Total Drama were close enough to hang out with.
She came across Lindsay's name.
Lindsay lived in Beverly Hills, not far from Bridgette. Why they didn't make time to see each other more often. Bridgette didn't know. Pressing the CALL button, she lifted the phone to her ear and waited. She let it ring five times and was just about to hang up when Lindsay answered, sounding sleepy. "Hello?"
"Hey," Bridgette said, "it's me, Bridgette."
The thickness vanished from Lindsay's voice, replaced by evident delight. "Oh, hi. How are you?"
If Bridgette didn't know any better, she'd say that Lindsay was genuinely happy to hear from her. Was that wishful thinking or truthful knowing?
"I'm doing okay," Bridgette said and switched the phone to her other hand. For some unaccountable reason, her heart was beating faster than normal. "I heard you on the radio earlier."
"Yeah," Lindsay said, "that was me. 95-point-uh…" she trailed off. "I can't remember. I've been doing a lot of press stuff for my album lately."
Overhead, seagulls ducked, whirled, and cried. "Congrats," Bridgette said. "I'm really happy for you. I knew you'd make it in music."
That was not true, but a little white lie never hurt anyone.
"Thank you," Lindsay said, "that really means a lot to me. I worked really hard on it."
"Did you write your own songs?"
Lindsay laughed. "What do you think I am, a brain surgeon?"
Okay, fair enough.
Deciding to cut to the chase, Bridgette said, "I was wondering if you wanted to get together soon. Have dinner or drinks and catch up."
"Sure," Lindsay said enthusiastically, "that'd be awesome. When?"
Bridgette shrugged. "Whenever you're free."
"What about tonight?"
Honestly, Bridgette didn't expect to see Lindsay so soon. "Yeah," she said and laughed, "tonight is perfect."
"Awesome," Lindsay said.
They made plans to meet for dinner at Vero's, a sidewalk cafe in Beverly Hills, at six. It was half past three, which gave Bridgette enough time to race home, take a shower, and brush her hair. She was not a high maintenance woman by any stretch of the imagination, but as she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, she decided that she wanted to look nice tonight. It wasn't everyday that she got to go out with an old friend, after all.
She didn't own very much make-up, but she did have some pink lip gloss around here somewhere. She rummaged through the drawers and the medicine cabinet, finding it behind a box of Band-Aids. She took the cap off, pursed her lips together like she was going to blow her reflection a kiss, and applied just a touch. She checked herself, nodded her pleasure, and put the gloss away.
Forty-five minutes later, she walked into Vero's. The dining room was small and crowded, a bar to one side and a line of booths to the other. She found Lindsay sitting on the patio in a skirt, tank top, and cowboy boots, a blue bandana tied around her forehead. Bridgette broke out in a big smile at the familiar sight of her old friend and went over. Lindsay got up and they hugged. "You look wonderful," Lindsay said, "I almost didn't recognize you."
"You look good too," Bridgette said, "I love what you've done with your hair."
Lindsay's hair looked the same as it always had, which wasn't a bad thing. It had always looked nice, and as the saying goes, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. "You really like it?" Lindsay asked as though it were a totally new hairstyle that she wasn't sure of yet. "I have a guy who does great hair. He does all the most famous people. You should try him out one day." Seeming to realize that Bridgette could possibly take what she said as an insult (she did not), she hastily added, "Not that there's anything wrong with the hair you have now. Just...if you want a change, you have to try Lorenzo. I don't let anyone else touch my hair. Not even men."
They both laughed.
A waiter came over and took their drink orders. When he was gone, Lindsay leaned over the table, one corner of her mouth turning up in a smile. "So what's up with you? You make smart movies now, right?"
"Yeah," Brridgette said. "I'm doing one right now about microplastics."
"What's that?" Lindsay asked.
"Alright, well, you know how a bunch of stuff is made of plastic?"
Lindsay nodded.
"Well, those things produce tiny plastic particles that get into our soil, our drinking water, our food, and pretty much everything else. Chances are, whatever we order to eat will have little bits of plastic in it."
Lindsay features twisted in horror. "Oh my God, really?"
"Yep," Birdgette said.
"That's so gross." She took her drink from the waiter, who then sat Bridgette's in front of her with a nod. "I'm still hungry, though." She picked up the menu and scanned it, and Bridgette did the same. Lindsay finally settled for a seafood salad while Bridgette ordered a vegan hamburger and French fries. Her veganism was inspired by her love of living creatures more than by health concerns, so greasy French fries were okay by her. The greasier the better, in fact.
As they waited for their food, Lindsay and Bridgette chatted about nothing of particular import. Eventually, and perhaps inevitably, they got around to reminiscing over their time on Total Drama Island and laughing about all the crazy times they had. "Sometimes I really miss it," Lindsay confessed. "Like…looking back, it was a lot of fun."
"Yeah," Bridgette said. "If Chris and Chef showed up right now...would you go with them?"
"Hell no," Lindsay snorted.
That struck Bridgette as unreasonably funny, and she laughed so hard she almost peed. "I don't know if I would either."
"It's a fun memory to have, but, like, they weren't very fun memories to make," Lindsay said. "It's like how you say we'll laugh about this one day but at that moment, you're crying."
Maybe Bridgette had unrealistically (and unfairly) low expectations for Lindsay, but that line was unexpectedly deep. Mark Twain once said that a classic novel is "a book that everyone wants to have read but no one wants to read." That summed up her feelings for Total Drama Island. The memories she made there were nice, but only because the human brain naturally separates the wheat from the chaff in recall. Looking back at something from the other side of a gulf of years, you tend to see the positives, even if the positives were very small and very few. When she thought of Total Drama Island, she didn't think of all the bug bites, sunburns, sprained ankles, backstabbing, heartache, tears, and suffering, she thought of the good timers - the campfires, the camaraderie, the way the stars blanketed the heavens at night. She had never seen a sky so clear, nor had she ever seen wilderness so unspoiled, not even as a girl in Idaho.
She thought that everyone was that way unless their past had absolutely no bright spots whatsoever. In a dark maelstrom of bad memories, you cling to the flotsam of positivity, an errant experience or recollection made all the sweeter for its rarity. If your past was so unremittingly dark and depressing that no such pieces of flotsam existed...well that was sad. Really and honestly sad. There were people like that, she figured, and Bridgette felt terrible for them.
"How are you and Geoff doing?" Lindsay asked.
Bridgette shrugged one shoulder. "Eh. We kind of...broke up."
"Oh no," Lindsay said, "why?"
For a long time, Bridgette stared into her glass like a gypsy divining tea leaves. "We really weren't going anywhere and were were both always so busy." She uttered a sardonic laugh. "I kind of regret it. I've been really lonely lately. That's why I called you."
She didn't know why she was telling Lindsay all of this, but once she started speaking, it all spilled out of her.
A look of concern crossed Lindsay's face and she reached across the table to lay her hand on the back of Bridgette's. "I'm glad you did."
Shortly, their food came and they ate as the last rays of the California sun filtered from the sky. The evening was cool and breezy, and Bridgette realized something: For the first time since well before she and Geoff broke it off, she felt genuinely good. So good, in fact, that when it came time for them to part, she didn't want Lindsay to leave.
On the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, they hugged, and the feeling of Lindsay's breasts smooshing against hers made Bridgette feel strange and flutterry. Lindsay said, "It was really good to see you," Bridgette said, "we should do it again sometime soon."
There was a needy, almost desperate infection in her voice, and her cheeks blazed with shame.
"Totally," Lindsay said. Her face lit up as though she had just had a wonderful idea. "How about tomorrow? You can come to my place and we can hang out in the sauna."
The idea of sitting in a steamy room and sweating didn't normally appeal to Bridgette, but she would be doing it with a friend, and she needed a friend badly these days. "Yeah, that sounds awesome," she said.
"Great. Come over at, like, noon. Do you remember where it is?"
Bridgette thought for a second. "Yeah, I can find it."
"Cool," Lindsay said.
That night, Bridgette didn't feel so lonely anymore. The quiet and solitude of her bedroom was pleasant, not oppressive, and she was high on happiness until long after she had Lindsay had gone their separate ways. She went through the selfies she had taken of her and Lindsay that evening and smiled to herself. When she checked her Instagram, she was mildly surprised to see that Lindsay had posted her own photos and tagged her in them. Bridgette assumed that as a big time recording artist, she would be careful in managing her image and wouldn't post random selfies online. Then again, this was Lindsay she was talking about. She was pretty, popular, and even high maintenance, but at the end of the day, she was a sweet girl who lived life on her own terms. Granted, Bridgette once thought those terms were vapid, basic, and too conformist, but even if they were, they were Lindsay's and she stuck to them no matter what. She was true to herself and wouldn't think twice about posting happy photos of her and a friend online, even if she had a Nazi of a publicist who micromanaged her.
The more she thought about it, the more Bridgette appreciated that.
At one, she plugged her phone in, sat it on the nightstand, and brushed her teeth. Done, she rinsed with mouthwash, climbed into bed, and made a little nest for herself in the covers. She reached out, snapped the lamp off, and double checked to make sure she had set an alarm.
She had.
Snuggling against the pillow, she drew her knees to her chest and hugged a lump of blanket to her chest. She was so looking forward to tomorrow that it took her mind a long time to begin powering down. For a while, she drifted on the verge of sleep, and the last thing she thought about before she finally dropped off was Lindsay.
The next afternoon, Bridgette drove the ten miles to Lindsay's mansion. It was an uber-modern construct on stilts with wraparound windows and a gorgeous view of the city below. Bridgette followed the horseshoe drive and parked at the bottom of the steps. The door opened and Lindsay stepped out in a tiny bikini that did little to conceal her toned body, An inexplicable lump formed in Bridgette's throat and a flush crept across her face. She cut the engine, threw the door open, and got out. Lindsay came down the stairs and swept her into a big hug, knocking the breath from her lungs. The smell of perfume and sun tan lotion filled Bridgette's nostrils and she could feel the firm outline of Lindsay's breasts through her hoodie. "I'm so glad you could make it," Lindsay said. "Come in."
Inside, a tastefully furnished living room opened off the front door. Busts and plants stood here and there, and pieces of modern art decorated what little wall space wasn't given over to windows. A black leather sofa faced a plasma screen TV and a portrait of Lindsay smiled down from behind the former. "Wow," Bridgette said.
"Thanks," Lindsay said proudly. "I have an interior designer do everything for me. I don't even know what half of this stuff is but it looks pretty." She laughed. "The sauna's out here." She led Bridgette to a sliding glass door. Beyond, a wraparound deck commanded a sweeping vista of both Los Angeles and the surrounding hillsides. A thick layer of smog hung above the glinting skyscrapers dominating the downtown skyline and glimpsed from a distance, the whole thing seemed a sepia toned photograph from an age gone by. If she squinted, Bridgette could almost imagine that the people down there dressed in bell bottoms and watched boomer shows like All in the Family and What's Happening?
Before they went to the sauna. Lindsay gave Bridgette the grand tour, ending in the bedroom. Bridgette picked up a framed photograph of Lindsay and smiled. "You know, I always kind of wished I could be more like you."
"Say no more," Lindsay said.
Suddenly they were at Lindsay's vanity, Lindsay trying to put make up on Bridgette. "No," Bridgette laughed, "I don't look good in make up."
"I bet you do," Lindsay said.
That encouragement was enough. Bridgette allowed her friend to apply eyeshadow, lip gloss, and rouge to her face. When they were done, she looked at herself in the mirror and laughed. "I do look just like you."
"Now you have to act like me," Lindsay said.
For the next fifteen minutes, Lindsay taught Bridgette how to strut, bat her eyelashes for maximum sex appeal, and flirt without saying a word.
"Now you're just like me."
Bridgette couldn't lie, she did feel a little more confident and sensuous.
The sauna was housed in a blocky outbuilding with wood paneled walls and a single window peering in. A hot tub sat off to one side, the water clear and inviting. "I wanted a pool," Lindsay explained, "but there's no place to put one."
"How many acres do you own?" Bridgette asked.
"All the way to the street," Lindsay said and nodded to a dense patch of scrub, beyond which was, presumably, a street. "They can't put the pool down there because of mudslides and stuff." She opened the door and a puff of steam rushed out. She turned around, tossed her hair out of the way, and started to undo her bikini top. Bridgette blinked in surprise but didnt say anything. Lindsay tossed the top aside, shoulder blades flexing beneath her bronze skin, and jammed her thumbs in the waistband of her bottoms. Wiggling her hips, she pushed them down to her knees, baring her creamy behind. Bridgette darted her eyes away, blushing, but couldn't resist turning back to the heavenly figure before her.
Letting the bottoms pool around her ankles, Lindsay stepped out of them, twisted partially around, and picked up a folded towel from a shelf attached to the hot tub. Bridgette caught a pink flash of side boob and her stomach flipped. Lindsay wrapped the towel around herself and turned to face Bridgette. "All ready," she chirped.
"Alright, just let me change into my bikini."
Lindsay stopped her with a wave and a good-natured eyeroll. "You don't need a bikini in the sauna, silly. Just get naked and put a towel on like me."
Bridgette's heart did a barrel roll. "Right here?"
Smiling her slightly derpy default smile, Lindsay nodded, "Sure."
Never in her life had Bridgette been ashamed of her body, and she wasn't now, just...the thought of getting naked in front of Lindsay of all people made her feel funny. Lindsay was looking at her expectantly and Bridgette was suddenly aware that she was stalling, looking insecure in the process. It really wasn't a big deal, Lindsay had all the same equipment as her. It wasn't like stripping in front of a guy.
Though, truth be told, it felt kind of the same.
"Okay," she said. She hesitated, waiting for Lindsay to turn away and give her privacy. When she didn't, Bridgette unzipped her hoodie, taking as much time as she could in hopes that Lindsay would pick up on her discomfort and turn around.
She did not.
Really, Bridgette couldn't say she expected anything more. Lindsay wasn't exactly the best at reading others. If she was, her time on Total Drama Island would have been much, much easier and she would have come across as less of a simpering sycophant to Heather. Bridgette considered just asking her to not look, but that might come off as rude.
Taking a deep breath, Bridgette shrugged out of her hoodie, crossed her arms over her chest in an X, and pulled her shirt off. She wasn't wearing a bra and the fabric of the shirt grazed her nipples, making them hard. Lindsay went on looking, that same goofy expression on her face, and Bridgette's cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson. She unzipped her pants, stepped out of them, and then shed her panties, her knees closing in an unconscious attempt to protect the vulnerable junction of her thighs. She stood naked before Lindsay, blushing and raked with goosebumps, waiting for Lindsay to hand her a towel. Instead, Lindsay's eyes languidly caressed her body, and one corner of her smile seemed to sharpen in an almost predatory way.
Finally, she handed Bridgette a towel and piped, "Follow me."
She brushed past Bridgette and disappeared into the suna. Bridgette followed.
Inside, a bench circled a thingamabob filled with hot coals; Bridgette didn't know what it was called. A holder, maybe?
Shutting the door behind her, she went over and sat across from Lindsay, who ladled water onto the coals. With a hiss, steam rose up and filled the air. Lindsay sat back and drew a deep breath. "This is nice," she said.
Sweat sprang to Bridgette's brow and she swiped it away with the back of her hand. "Yeah," she white-lied, "it's really relaxing."
"Sometimes I come out here and think," Lindsay said. "I don't know why, but the steam helps me think clearer. Ironic because steam makes fog and fog makes things not clear."
Bridgette chuckled. "Life's funny that way, I guess." She perched her feet on the edge of the bench, drew her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her legs. "I think best at the beach. The roar of the surf, the salty air, the feeling of…" she thought for a moment, "...just being free. It really does it for me."
"What do you think about?" Lindsay asked.
"Old times," Bridgette said with a wistful smile. "I've been pretty nostalgic lately. What do you think about?"
"You," Lindsay said.
Bridgette missed a beat.
Getting up, Lindsay came around the steaming thingamabob and sat next to her. There was a strange gleam in her eye and her smile took on an almost wicked cast. Bridgette sat up straight, not knowing what was going on or how to react to it, and Lindsay giggled. She laid her hand on Bridgette's knee and Bridgette's heart bounced into her throat. "I think about you a lot," Lindsay said. "You're so...easygoing and I kind of wish I could be like that." She darted her eyes to her feet. "Never ever seems to, like, give you pause. Of all the people I know, you're probably the most grown up, and I know some ooooold people."
"I hardly feel grown up," Bridgette admitted. "Sometimes I feel lost and like I don't really know what I want out of life."
Lindsay nodded to herself. "It's kind of funny. Like...you're the most wisest and mature person and you don't know what you want from life, but I do.'
"What do you want from life?" Bridgette asked.
Looking her dead in the face, Lindsay said. "You."
Bridgette might have believed she heard wrong if Lindsay didn't start to stroke her leg then, her warm palm brushing Bridgette's slick flesh. Bridgette tensed and started to say something (what, she didn't know) but Lindsay silenced her by pressing her finger to Bridgette's lips. Lightly biting her bottom lip, Lindsay reached out and tugged Bridgette's towel down, baring her breasts. Bridgette's heart raced and when Lindsay locked eyes with her, her stomach fluttered. Half-lidding her eyes, Lindsay leaned in until their noses were almost touching. "Have you ever been with a girl before?" she asked.
All Bridgette could do was shake her head.
Lindsay ran her hands up Bridgette's stomach and to her breasts, lightly squeezing her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. Bridgette's breath caught and ripples of sensation spread through her middle. Lindsay bit her bottom lip seductively and slowly made a circular motion over Bridgette's breasts, her palms lightly scraping her nipples and making them throb. Bridgette was too shocked to move or speak, the strange feeling from the other day suddenly gripping her again. Lindsay touched and looked at her breasts with urgent need, and that made Bridgette hot all over.
A gentle pink blush colored Lindsay's cheeks as she moved her hands up to the sides of Bridgette's neck. Bridgette's eyes fluttered and she tilted her head back, reveling in her friend's touch. Lindsay traced the ridges of Bridgette's cheekbones with her thumbs and gazed lovingly into her eyes. Bridgette's heart soared, and when Lindsay guided Brigette's lips to hers, Bridgette went willingly, giving herself to the blonde. Their tongues swirled around one another with the clumsy trepidation of two inexperienced girls doing something they shouldn't be, then Lindsay threaded her fingers through Bridgette's hair and deepened the kiss.
Bridgette lost herself to the feeling of closeness and intimacy, and the towel pooled around her waist. Lindsay pulled it off and tossed it aside, her hands cupping and squeezing Bridgette's breasts.
In that moment, it was clear to her that Lindsay had planned to seduce her and that she, Bridgette, wanted to be seduced, not just by another but by the pretty, popular blonde on whom she had been crushing for years. She could only admit that crush to herself now, but that's exactly what it was.
In a single transformative instant, she went from a meek and uncertain woman who did not know what she wanted to knowing exactly what she wanted, what she needed, what she craved. In essence, she finally became just like Lindsay.
She was not an overly sexual woman but when she became aroused, she changed; nude and tongue kissing a half-naked Lindsay in the sauna, she was more aroused than she had ever been before. She ripped Lindsay's towel off and let it drop to the floor. She circled her arms around Lindsay and pulled her closer, their breasts smooshing and her hands pawing the curves and dips of Lindsay's back. Lindsay swung one leg over Bridgette's legs and shifted onto her lap, their nipples rubbing and their tongues making furious love. Bridgette cupped Lindsay's face in her hands and ravaged the inside of her mouth. Lindsay came up for air, and Bridgette attached the blonde's graceful throat with thirsty kisses. Lindsay purred like a cat and gently laid Bridgette down, kissing her lips, her chin, working her way down between her breasts and along her flat stomach. Bridgette ran her fingers through Lindsay's hair and gasped when she felt Lindsay's tongue exploring her outer lips.
Lindsay slipped her hands under Bridgette's butt and pressed her face into Bridgette's pussy, her tongue dancing across Bridgette's clit. Bridgette's eyes rolled back into her head and hot pressure built steam-like in her middle. She rocked her hips into Lindsay's kiss and clamped down on her own lower lip to keep from crying out. Lindsay traced her tongue around Bridgette's pussy lips and slid a tentative finger into her. She found Bridgette's G-Spot and Bridgette jumped. She sat up, grabbed Lindsay's face, and pulled her into another kiss. Lindsay straddled her and they made out, their tongues grappling for dominance and their hands all over each other. Bridgette grabbed Lindsay's butt cheeks and Lindsay played with Bridgette's breasts.
Somehow in the heat of passion, they wound up in the 69 position, Lindsay's face between Bridgette's thighs and her pink, leaking center in Bridgette's face. Bridgette had never gone down on a girl before but she knew what she liked, so she just did that, curling the tip of her tongue around Lindsay's clit. Every time the pleasure became too great and she felt like her soul was going to come out, Bridgette licked harder and faster, making Lindsay's knees shake and her pussy gush.
Finally, the combination of giving and receiving became too much and Bridgette's eyes narrowed as she reached her climax. She moaned into Lindsay's pussy, and Lindsay bucked her hips, riding Bridgette's face to her own orgasm. For one perfect moment, they were shaking and cumming in unison, their fluids filling each other's mouths and the vibrations of their lips coaxing the other to cum harder and louder.
After catching her second breath, Lindsay pulled Bridgette into her lap and kissed her, hands kneading her breasts. Bridgette lifted her arms over her head to give her friend easier access and kissed her back. A milky white substance began to drip from Bridgette's nipples and dribbled over Lindsay's knuckles. Lindsay broke from Bridgette's lips and lapped the milk from Bridgette's breasts. She molded her lips to Bridgette's nipples and sucked. Bridgette threw her head back and let out a breathy, "Oh my God." Lindsay bobbed her head and the milk flowed more freely, rolling over Lindsay's tongue and splashing down the back of her throat.
When she pulled back, it coursed down her chin and the corners of her mouth; her eyes were hazed and her mouth open, lending her the appearance of a baby drunk on its mother's milk. Bridgette noticed that both of Lindsay's nipples were leaking as well, and she wrapped her lips around one, drinking straight from the source. The fluid was warm and rich and tasted good on Bridgette's tongue. Lindsay sighed and panted, her fingers running through Bridgette's hair and her nails grazing Bridgette's scalp. Bridgette sucked and slurped, Lindsay's milk filling her stomach, its warmth radiating through her.
Pushing her away, Lindsay sat on the bench and spread her legs in an M. Bridgette did the same and they began to grind their wet cores together. The friction of their pussies rubbing made Bridgette's eyes roll back in her head and she thrusted harder, another orgasm steadily rising in her. Her arms, splayed behind her, began to shake, and her mouth dropped open in a silent scream. When she came, she jumped and cried out, her body twitching all over. Her arms gave out and she lay there shaking and moaning. Lindsay crawled up next to her, hooked one leg possessively over hers, and held her in her arms as pulsating waves of sensation crashed over her. She ran her hand up and down Bridgette's stomach, intensifying Bridgette's orgasm; she seemed to cum for hours straight with no respite.
Aftershocks crackled through her when it was over, and Lindsay held her close, stroking her belly and placing wet, sizzling kisses on the side of her neck. Bridgette turned to face her and they started making out, their bodies moving back and forth and their hands charting every inch of one another's bodies. Bridgette dipped her hand between Lindsay's legs and played with her damp pussy; the pretty blonde's baking heat was incredible and when she came, her cum ooozed through Bridgette's fingers.
Next, Lindsay knelt on her hands and knees and wiggled her butt. Bridgette took her hips in her hands and humped Lindsay's pussy, the contact of their bodies knocking moans from their throats. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," Lindsay chanted urgently, her voice breathless.
Bridgette plunged her fingers deep into Lindsay from behind and stroked her G-Spot, making Lindsay scream. Lindsay's body clamped around Bridgette's fingers and she came again. Pulling out, Bridgette pressed her lips to Lindsay's pussy and caught the juice in her mouth, relishing its heavy, sticky taste.
After that, Lindsay sat on her face and rocked her hips, then she sat on Lindsay's. They held each other close, legs spread apart, and tongue kissed as they grinded. Lindsay came first, burying her face in Bridgette's neck, then Bridgette, moaning and gasping into Lindsay's ear.
They cuddled in the afterglow of their lovemaking for a long time before Lindsay propped herself up on one arm. "I'm hungry. Do you wanna get something to eat?"
"I could eat," Bridgette said breathlessly.
Lindsay smiled and made a circle against Bridgette's chest with her index finger. "And then maybe we can have dessert."
"Definitely,' Bridgette grinned.
After that day, Bridgette wasn't so lonely anymore. Especially when she moved in with Lindsay.
And especially especially when they got married the next summer.