Wet in a Thong in the Tropics

Buck Maelstrom, M.D. and Miss Manners With a Whip

Yummy. Alexandra Shelby eyed her long, lithe, bronzed body in the mirror as she pulled the fishnet Brazilian panty on. She sighed regretfully. Even though she loved the colors, violet sorbet with scuba blue trim, it just wasn't her style. No, she needed something more classic, more spare. She eyed the growing heap of lingerie on her bed and realized that she was nearing the end of her options. What would be suitable for an up-and-coming lingerie model's portfolio? She needed undergarments that were tropical and carefree, yet not garish. Nothing lime green, fuchsia, or orange, nothing made from coconut shells, and nothing with jeweled beading. Well, perhaps the mini chandelier thong, with its rhinestones dripping from a juncture in the back straps.

Yes, she'd try that. She picked up the cream-colored thong and as it glided over her hips, the light coming through the blinds caught the glitter of the faux diamonds in the mirror, like sun flashing off the hood of a Delorean. The thong was a distinct possibility. However, then she remembered the words of her agent describing this proposal. If they hired her, it would be her first ever modeling job for the Fashion Secret catalog and outside the United States--"There'll be no mansions waiting on the hill, no crystal chandelier," he'd warned, cautioning her not to expect the luxe treatment Heidi Klum and the other top models garnered. No, she was merely an experiment for the catalog, and if she didn't photograph well, her fledgling career would be over before her image even hit the mailboxes. She dropped the chandelier thong carelessly beside the others.

The ribbon trim mesh demi bra and matching panty, that was always one of her favorites. Not the least because it conjured memories of Rob lingering over the ribbons, nibbling on the ends, drawing the knots out ever so slowly with his teeth. The sheer black set off the soft bronze of her skin nicely, and the shell pink ribbon bisected the firm flesh like an invitation to seduction. She could almost feel Rob's breath hot and urgent against her skin, brushing teasingly along the top of the silk.

Alexandra had a secret. Aspiring as she did to become a star for Fashion Secret's catalog and web site business, she needed an edge. Yes, she was beautiful. Yes, she was a slave to fitness. But it wasn't enough. There were many models arguably as beautiful, and some perhaps as fit. But Alexandra had a certain sultry, heavy-lidded look.

It was her secret look. She disclosed the secret to her success to no gossip magazine. Smiling to herself, Alexandra concluded that she would never reveal it until she attained the age of 80 and published an autobiography. But Alexandra knew that, long before she could seduce viewers, long before she could meet the demands of photographers, long before she could obtain wealth and public recognition, she would have to master the look of orgasm.

Yes, that was Alexandra's secret. When posing, she sought to look as if constantly poised on the precipice of another exquisite orgasm. She was a bit of an exhibitionist at heart, and she used care with diet and exercise to preserve, protect, and defend her taut, shapely form. It excited her to think, on the days before she would pose, that her lithe body would be seen by a lust-filled male. She enjoyed providing a visual tease because it was part of the vast cycle of desire, in which a wisp of lingerie tantalized the wearer as well as the viewer. Alexandra dressed to incite desire, and this excited her. She could see the excitement she caused in the hetero men who snapped pictures of her, as they struggled to conceal their erections. And that, in turn, made her writhe even more suggestively as she posed.

On days she would pose, Alexandra would begin to prepare several hours ahead of time. She would paint her toenails and fingernails. And shave her pubic hair until she was totally smooth. And she would cover her entire body with scented oil. Her nipples would swell as her oil-laden fingers danced over them. Her hips would tingle as she applied a light sheen of oil to them.

Alexandra's goal was to project a certain presence. She had no idea about the people who would view her photographs. As a practical matter, the best she could do was to seduce herself with her meticulous preparations for posing. And then she would emerge, clad in a robe, before the camera crew. Slowly, she would remove the robe and seek to seduce those present in the room. Not literally, for Alexandra was a true professional. But she needed those present in the room to feel her sensuality, to be drawn into it, in order to produce good photographs. Her goal was to pose in such a fashion that the photographer would find his mind turning, unavoidably, to thoughts of kissing her sleek thighs, to thoughts of allowing his hands to grasp her firm hips, to thoughts of allowing his tongue to run over her shaven lips.

But Alexandra was careful to avoid having an orgasm on a day she would pose. She would gently pinch her nipples to make them swell, but she would not permit herself to enjoy a climax until after she had posed, the theory being that her sexual tension would contribute to better posing. And so, as she posed, she was constantly looking forward to her post-posing orgasms, when she would writhe and undulate in ecstasy, savoring wave after wave of pleasure. It was this smoldering sensuality which catalog photographers admired.

In the process of posing, Alexandra would focus on a sensual memory. For example, she would recall that evening last weekend in the hot tub. As she drew her boyfriend Rob closer, she recalled how his gentle but persistent kisses turned, now and again, into tender love-bites. The kisses continued, tormenting her mercilessly. The kisses moved from her shoulder to her arm. And then, as she trembled, she felt his soft lips -- and the slight scratch of his beard -- on her tummy. She had looked down and his eyes were half-closed in passion.

As he began to kiss down her right leg, Alexandra leaned back against the back of the hot tub. Looking down, she saw his hair, blonde and long, and then she felt the shock of his kiss on her inner thigh. She trembled and tried in vain to stop her hips from undulating. Gently, Rob pulled Alexandra to her feet in the tub. Still kneeling in the warm water, he began kissing at the side of her right leg. Then his relentless kisses moved back around her waist, to the top of her right hip, kissing her low back. With each kiss, she gasped at the pleasure.

Alexandra shivered as her right hip, so firm and ripe, was kissed. The kisses burned, but she had no time for reflection. She was too busy moaning in pleasure, and trying to keep her hips from moving. She was dimly aware that one of his rough hands had reached around and was lazily flicking her swollen left nipple. That was her remaining rational thought. He paused, the love-bites on her right hip halted, and involuntarily her right hip moved toward his lips in search of more of the little love-bites that seemed to propel her to the edge of climax, pull her back, and then push her to the brink again.

Struggling to maintain decorum, Alexandra could not. She reached back, grasped his hair, and tried to push him away from her hip for a second to normalize her respiration. But then he was kneeling in front of her in the tub. She looked down as his kisses began on her stomach again, and slowly drifted lower. As she stood there, her head back in pleasure, she caught a glimpse of the stars before his kisses made her eyes close again in ecstasy.

When the kisses stopped, she thought she would scream in frustration. But then she felt a cool sensation as he directed his breath toward the most sensitive part of her intimate skin. That alone was all it took to send her quivering on the brink of orgasm. He continued to blow gently as she twisted and writhed and when she felt the warmth of his fingers touch her, that was all it took for her to explode in ecstasy.

That was the moment she strove to hold in her mind as the camera shutters clicked and whirred around her. She was gratified to learn that the photo shoot included a night-time hot tub, and she posed willingly as the photographers aimed kleig lights to catch the reflections of the water against her skin. The lapping of the water, the blue-green ripples, the balmy night air, memories of Rob--all conspired to lull Alex into a heightened state, giving the resulting proofs a distinct edge. They transmitted a sensuality that was rare even in the Fashion Secret catalog. In fact, if the innocence of her facial expression not belied the carnal invitation of her supple body, the photo editors at the head office would have forwarded the photos to Triple X Trashy Lingerie & Fantasy Aids en masse and put the model's home phone number on their speed-dials.

Because the entire process of organizing large photography shoots was complex, there were many days in which Alexandra had little to do. Given her interest in technology, she often surfed the Internet to read online newspapers and manage her finances. One day, she stumbled upon a web site consisting of erotic stories. Inspired, Alexandra began writing and submitting stories. Like all authors, she had times of creative block. And times of doubt. When was a story done? When was it progressing satisfactorily?

Because of her training in computer science, Alexandra was able to run spreadsheet analyses of erotic story progress. Based upon her research, she was making progress in writing one of her erotic tales if the first 5 paragraphs assisted her in arriving at one orgasm. The lightbulb went on. As her old math textbooks were drawn, one by one, down from bookshelves, she arrived at what literature scholars would later dub the Five to One Rule of Creative Writing. Alexandra followed her own rule. She had done 10 paragraphs on her present story, and those 10 paragraphs had inspired her to have two orgasms.

In the future, there was no doubt that Alexandra would move from the lingerie model world to more scholarly pursuits. For the time being, though, she was content. She was young, and her luscious poses were very successful in luring lingerie buyers. The modeling enabled her to devote plenty of her leisure time to writing, and as she honed her skills, she developed a formulaic yet vibrant approach, which resulted in prose not only hotter than Antonio Banderas shirtless on a Harley, but the literary equal of an erotic Faulkner. As her modeling career took off, her secret erotic compositions soared as well. The Five to One Rule was an unqualified success; hits on her posted stories affirmed her considerable talent.

One award followed another, and Alex realized she had finally found a way to unite her vocation and her avocation. Expanding her stories into full-length books was child's play; designing lingerie and toys to go with each novel sheer indulgence; packaging the two together a stroke of marketing brilliance that touched the pulse of a heretofore untapped sector of the reading population. Her Ocho Rios Orgasms included a tiny thong the color of turquoise seas, Hawaiian Hedonists came with a shell-bedecked pareo, Kama Sutra Kisses a scarlet lipstick and frangipani pasties, and her favorite, Big Sky Seduction, a cowboy hat and fringed leather teddy. When Oprah called to book her, Alex was ready to come out of her secret closet. The future glittered before her, various, beautiful, and new, like the folds of a bright girdle unfurled.