---Vintage Glam---
It was a scorching summer day, and I was sprawled out by my parents' pool, baking in the sun with nothing but time and tanlines on the agenda. Finally, I had a minute to relax after that long exam season. And damn, I deserved it!
Originally, I'd planned a girls' getaway with my bestie Ariana, but she'd signed up for some student job bootcamp instead. A real shame, but understandable. The tech world's a cut-throat business, especially for women trying to make it without being mansplained into oblivion. So, it made sense for her to take every chance she could to gain an advantage.
Me? I wasn't about to go solo on some sad little vacation, so I decided to stay in town and parked myself at my parents' place. Not exactly a big, bougie mansion but a cute house with a pool and enough shade to chill. The perfect setup to recharge, sip some icy drinks, and catch up with a few high school friends before the school stress came clawing back.
Lounging around at poolside, I let my brain float off. Exam season had ended with a bang at the 'School's Out' Yamos kegger. But let's NOT talk about that. I preferred to forget what had happened there. Moving on already!
Instead, I let my mind drift back to yesterday. After crisping under the sun for a few weeks, boredom had hit me, so I said screw it and picked up a local modeling gig. Yeah, that's right, I'm working as a model. It's not exactly Paris Fashion Week, but small-scale gigs - a handful of local ad shoots here and there. Nothing too glamorous, but a solid ego pump. I'm not out here chasing supermodel status, I just want to make a little extra cash on the side to spend on those overpriced chai lattes on my way to the next debate tournament.
That's my real passion. I'm on the college debate team, always ready to shred some crusty conservatives and brazen blowhards who think they can drag us back to the stone age. I live for sparring with misogynistic men until I've proven them wrong. And I always win - well, almost always. There was that night at the Yamos kegger that proved otherwise. But nope, not opening that Pandora's box today. Let's just say, even I have my off nights.
Moving on to that modeling gig! I'm so not the sentimental type when it comes to gigs, but this one was special. The shoot was for a local fashion label called 'Vibeur'. I know, the name was pretentious as hell, but the setup was dripping in luxury. We were shooting in a penthouse studio that screamed glitz and glamour - art deco mirrors, velvet drapes, and gowns hanging from vintage racks. Everything looked like it was straight out of old-school Hollywood.
Not my usual style! Normally, I'm all ponytail and sneakers -- except that one kegger where I let my chestnut mane flow down my back, so I could flip it over my shoulder whenever I needed to dismiss a fratboy. But again, not thinking about that party. Shoo, back to the photo shoot!
The stylist worked her magic, turning my ponytail into a cascade of wild waves that looked like a shimmering waterfall. The makeup? So elegant it made me glow like a timeless icon! The heels? Screaming danger when they clicked on the studio floor. Suddenly, I wasn't Tammy the snarky debate nerd but Tamara the glamazon. Standing on the stage, I soaked up everything -- the poses, the flashlight, the photographer's admiring stares. I owned the room and played with the camera like a natural!
And then the lens-lurker had the audacity to say something like, "Well, look at you. Ain't you just a pretty little doll?"
Ugh, way to ruin the mood, camera boy! Just because the set had the vibe of a bygone era didn't mean he had to resurrect the caveman commentary. I wanted to fire back and give a speech about the importance of respect and equality in the workplace. But nah, gotta pick your battles! And this wasn't the right place, so I held my tongue.
The moment I remembered that comment, it triggered a memory. And there I was - back at the Yamos kegger. Not again! But it was too late. Back there, I hadn't held my tongue. Instead, I'd gotten into a debate with the frat prez himself, and it had cost me dearly. His whole schtick about 'gold diggers' and 'trophy wives' was outdated as hell, making my blood boil! So backwards and so easy to debunk! But the bastard had bite. Despite my debating skills, I hadn't been able to put him in his place. Not because he was right -- hell no -- but because I wasn't expecting the combo of smug one-liners and sharp arguments. It had thrown me off my game. And so, Colton and his Colt had left a lasting impression on me.
About Colt! When that goddamn soul snatcher flashed through my mind, my grip on my energy drink tightened. Pressing it against my neck, the chill kissed my skin, just like that fresh breeze from the wind machine at the photo shoot. The memory snapped me back to the modeling gig. Every dazzling detail replayed in my mind. The scene had been so dramatic, like I was acting in some vintage noir flick -- minus the murder, plus the old-school sexism.
"Push your chest out, dollface. Let the wind play with your dress," the lensman said.
Really, dude? I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my own brain. He had this whole fashion spread and all he cared about was a peek at my boobs? Classic!
At first, I wanted to pop off. But then I decided to let my action do the talking. Giving him some silent sass, I braved the wind and turned until my face was front and center, not my bust. Don't get me wrong, I got a nice pair of perky puppies, but they're not the headliners. My face is my real money maker - full lips, big doe-eyes, and a chin that doesn't back down in a debate. My angel-like features were the reason why I was a model in the first place.
And
BAM
! Just like that, the sexist instruction took me back to the Yamos house. There I was on the back porch with Colton. His hands grabbing me by the nipples. Dragging me around by my cherry tops. Leaving me helpless and exposed. I gasped when I felt a tingle in my rack. Not in my memory, in real time, right there by the pool. Jeez!
And then I realized I was pressing the energy drink against my boobs. The cold from the can radiated through my flimsy bikini, stiffening my nipples. Oh no, my body had gone full traitor! I quickly snatched the can away, letting out a shaky little breath. Phew! I'd just avoided a catastrophe there.
Once again, I snapped myself back to the modeling gig. Wearing that elegant gown on stage had been a total rush. But it also served as a reminder that beauty can be a powerful tool, just like arguments in a debate. It can turn heads and get men talking. Once they're drawn in, we can challenge their dumb stereotypes.
"C'mon, dollface, gimme that delicate-but-daring look." I heard the fashion snapper bark at me.
Letting out a short groan, I tried my best to stay cool. But the lens-lurker still caught my frustration.
"Soft 'n' strong, that's it! Roar for me!" he encouraged me.
At the pool, I let out a similar groan - not from frustration but from the ice-cold can I was pressing against my bikini bottom. Opening my eyes, my jaw dropped. My tanned legs were hanging over the armrests - left and right.
Oh shit! What the hell was happening? The words
delicate but daring, soft and strong
echoed in my head. The dichotomy sounded familiar. I knew exactly where this was going. Back at the party, I'd been determined to prove that women could be both smart and sexy. But in the end, it was the kegger king who'd shown me the real lesson - a colossal cock could make a good girl dickdrunk and dumb.
