Page 4 of Size Queen

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Damon

Iwouldn’t describe myself as a man who gets anxious about much, but I am definitely antsy on my ride to the shop this Sunday morning. I’m planning on making an entrance this time. Rather than being there waiting for the girls upon their arrival, I decide that on the second (and last) day of the swimsuit shoot that I’ll show up and feed off the girls’ anticipation.

Truthfully, there is only one girl I really want to see—Noelle Foster, the gorgeous, curvy babe with a killer body that looks both firm and soft. In a sea of nothing but blondes and redheads, it’s a good to see a nice brunette in the bunch. I want to run my hands through her long brown hair.

As I park my bike in front of the shop, I can’t help but wonder if the day before was a fluke. Maybe I’d find one of the other models more attractive on a new day in new bathing suits.

However, after just a few minutes of being inside and seeing the shoot in progress, I know that my feelings and desires stemming from the day before aren’t an accident. I am certainly enjoying the mass of half-naked women in my shop, but I’m specifically drawn back to Noelle. I can’t figure out what it is… I’m usually much cooler around women I’m interested in, but for some reason this girl is making me stupid.

Some of my Rolling Heads are with me, as are some other fellas who knew there were going to be women in swimsuits walking around. Once they see that Noelle is the girl I have my sights on, they back off. I don’t even have to ask. I’m not sure if they stop out of fear or respect for me—I know they definitely don’t stop out of the kindness of their hearts. I can tell all of them want to get at Noelle.

I totally understand why she’s making all the heads turn. She is obviously the top model at that agency. It’s her beauty, her style, her grace, and her natural charisma in front of the camera. The camera is pining for her, rather than the other way around. Describing her as simply “sexy” would be doing her a disservice.

Noelle is the last girl to be shot in the group. This makes sense to me; it’s like they’re saving the best for last. Today is my lucky day, because Noelle is in front of the camera frequently and for much longer durations of time than before. Each bikini she comes out wearing is perfect and enough to make every man in the place salivate. It’s thrilling—I never know what kind of swimsuit she’s going to wear next, and it always surpasses what my imagination could conjure up.

I keep my distance during the first half of the day’s shoot; however, I have plans for the second half of the shoot. I have a few motorcycles of my own of course, but my classic Yamaha is what is typically known as “the boss’s bike.” I want Noelle to get on the boss’s bike.

I decide to approach her before she gets in front of the cameras again. I refrain from being blunt with her, although I want to—she’s wearing an amazing, revealing beige bikini that keeps her breasts ample and outward. She is a goddess among mortal women. Her aura becomes stronger with each subsequent step I take, and I actually think I might chicken out.

“Hi,” Noelle says with a suggestive tone.

“Hello there,” I say back. “How are you?”

“Good,” she says while adjusting her bikini. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain.”

“Yeah, your shop’s full of a bunch of models in swimsuits,” she chuckles. “Could be having a worse day than that.”

“Without a doubt,” I laugh. “You’re doing an excellent job again today.”

“Well, thank you,” she says with a slight curtsy. “Do you have a favorite swimsuit?”

“That you’ve worn?” I say, raising my eyebrow. “No, they’re all good to me. I think you look fucking sexy in all the bikinis you’re wearing.”

My eyes dart down to my feet. I’m embarrassed by my admission and sloppy wording. But when I look up again, she’s smiling with a slight blush on her face, and she doesn’t seem to mind. “Thanks.”

“I was thinking,” I begin, “I want you to pose on my bike. Not one of my bikes here in the shop—I meanmybike. My bike that’s parked right outside the shop. Y’all haven’t shot much outside, have you?”

“No,” she assures.

“Well, maybe you should talk to your coordinator and see if they’d like to get a few shots of you outside on my bike,” I suggest. “I think it would be the perfect fucking picture. You’ve got the sexy girl in a bikini on a motorcycle look that every man wants in the Florida sun. Doesn’t get much better than that, I don’t think.”

Noelle takes a step closer to me and lowers her voice slightly. “Or we could have a private photo shoot on your bike after I’m done here.”

Intriguing, I think. “I like the sound of that.”

I stick around during the rest of their shoot, trying my damnedest not to stick to Noelle like glue. But I learn that whenever I’m away from her for too long, others would slowly start to swarm in for the kill. They are jackals, hungry and thirsty.

As a result, I stay closer to the dressing rooms so I can make sure no one pounces on her. We can talk casually about essentially nothing, but getting face time with her is good enough.

The more we talk, the looser we both feel. We get comfortable around each other fast, and before we know it, we’re joking around and laughing so hard that it actually bothers most of the other models and workers. The looser we get, the less we care what people think.

I’m looking forward to the professional shoot wrapping so that Noelle and I can proceed with our “amateur production.” I’m hoping that the other models are going to leave fast once work is complete, and that all the other fellas will stay back without a fight. I want it to just be me and her. I can tell she is into me before we start laughing like schoolchildren, and I’m planning on seducing her.

At the end of their shoot, some of the models flee the scene, but many stick around for drinks with some of the guys. While they stay inside, I escort Noelle out to the parking lot.