Amelia in "Pussy Pink"
Pussy Pink
The California sun, a fiery orange ball just breaching the horizon, cast a warm glow on the boardwalk as Amelia kicked off her heels. The insistent rhythm of the after-party still thumped in her head, a counterpoint to the rhythmic crash of the waves. Just past six in the morning, she was a lone figure, still shimmering in the after light of a yacht party hosted by a high-rolling client of her modeling agency.
Exhaustion wrestled with the exhilaration of a night well-lived. The supposed midnight-ending party had morphed into an impromptu sunrise session, fueled by champagne and the shared energy of beautiful people with nowhere to be. They'd danced on the polished deck, the city lights twinkling like fallen stars in the inky black canvas of the night.
Amelia ran a hand over the soft silk of her dress - a shocking shade of pink that mirrored the color of her pussy lips. It was a perfect, impulsive purchase. On a whim, she'd stopped at a boutique earlier that evening, drawn by the vibrant hue gracing the display window. One look and a jolt of boldness shot through her, she knew that color well, and she knew she needed that dress to match. A short, playful number with crisscrossing straps that dipped daringly low at the back in the exact color of her pussy.
Now, miles from her hotel (the after-party host had generously, but perhaps not entirely wisely, dropped her off at the embarkation point), Amelia found herself perched on a seawall. The ocean stretched before her, an endless expanse of turquoise reflecting the nascent sun. With a sigh, she leaned back, sunglasses tilted precariously down her nose, and let the warmth seep into her bones.
A shadow fell across her. She glanced up, squinting through the darkened lenses, to find a man with sun-kissed hair and a smile as bright as the California sky.
"Need a hand?" he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Amelia straightened, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Just catching my breath," she said, pushing the sunglasses further up her head. The salty air whipped around them, carrying the scent of the ocean and the faintest undercurrent of her cloyingly sweet perfume - Peony Paradise.
His gaze drifted to her dress, then back up to meet hers. "That's quite a color," he said, a low whistle following. "Looks like you swallowed the sunset."
Amelia laughed, the sound light and carefree. "It kind of feels like I did," she admitted. "Wild night."
He chuckled, leaning against the wall beside her. "Yacht party, by any chance?"
She tilted her head, surprised. "How'd you guess?"
"It's not exactly a secret," he said, gesturing towards the glittering cityscape in the distance. "Word travels fast on the boardwalk."
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the rhythmic crash of the waves. Amelia wasn't sure what drew her in - his easy charm, the way his eyes seemed to sparkle under the morning sun, or perhaps the sheer incongruity of meeting someone so grounded when she felt like she was floating on a cloud of champagne and adrenaline.
Amelia grinned, a playful glint in her eyes that mirrored the California sun dancing on the ocean waves. She struck a pose, one hand confidently on her hip, the other playfully twirling the end of a strap on her dress. The movement sent the fabric swirling around her legs, a brief flash of toned muscle before it settled back into a cascade of pink silk. Then, with a playful laugh, she threw her arms up in the air, the morning sun catching the vibrant color of the dress and casting a playful glow on her face. The movement caused the dress to ride up, revealing a sliver of why she wore the dress before falling back into place. Finally, with a wink, she struck a final pose, leaning back against the wall and tilting her head back to soak in the sun, the vibrant pink a stark contrast against the clear blue sky. "Just living on the edge," she declared, her voice a touch breathless, a hint of lingering exhilaration from the night's events. "Besides," she added, tilting her head coquettishly, "the view's not bad, is it?"
He met her gaze, a slow smile spreading across his face. "The view's definitely breathtaking," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But you," he added, his eyes lingering on the curve of her hip accentuated by the dress, "you're the real sunrise."
A blush crept up Amelia's neck, a blush that rivaled the vibrancy of her dress. Years of experience in the modeling industry had built up a wall of confidence, but something about this man, about this unexpected encounter, dismantled it with surprising ease.
"I'm Ethan, by the way," he said, extending a hand.
"Amelia," she replied, taking it in hers. The touch sent a jolt through her, unexpected and exhilarating.
They sat there for the next hour, the sun climbing higher, painting the sky with streaks of pink and gold. They talked about everything and nothing - the city that never slept, the fleeting nature of beauty, their hopes and dreams. Amelia learned that Ethan was a musician, a struggling one he readily admitted, with a passion for surfing that mirrored his love for music. He, in turn, discovered her world - the high-pressure world of runway shows and magazine covers, the constant pressure to project an air of effortless perfection.
As the sun climbed higher, casting its heat upon them, Amelia realized with a start that the last thing she'd consumed was champagne bubbles.
"Well," she said, reluctantly breaking the comfortable silence, "this has been lovely, Ethan, but I think reality's calling."
He nodded a hint of regret in his eyes. "Maybe I could walk you to your hotel?"
The thought of him disappearing into the throng of people milling about on the boardwalk was strangely unsettling. "Actually," she said, an idea forming in her mind, "I was thinking something a little more...unconventional."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Unconventional? You've piqued my interest."
As the sun reached higher in the sky, they walked hand-in-hand back towards the hotel. The audacious pinks of Amelia burned strong into Ethan.
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"Pussy Pink" »
A Haiku: "Pussy Pink"
Pink lips, matching dress,
Boardwalk whispers turn to dreams,
Ocean paints their vow.
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