Mask Off

Sophie was moving with newfound confidence.

Working with intention to become as relaxed with her body as her girlfriend, she set herself the task of playing the hot and cold game in nothing but her mostly mesh bathing suit and a sheer wrap around her waist.

It was still more than what many folks wore around the resort, she told herself. And maybe she could learn to enjoy some of the lustful glances she received. Being desired, at least by folk polite enough to just look, wasn’t so bad.

Her latest match made her feel overdressed, however.

She was laying on a towel in the sun face down, top off, with a thong bottom so stringy that Sophie had to look twice to be sure the woman was wearing anything at all. She had beautiful dark skin, a wonderfully tapered waist and a lovely ass, which Sophie caught herself admiring for longer than was respectful.

“Sorry, miss,” she said, rousing the dozing woman. “But I think you’re my match.”

“Boop away,” Aanya said and held out her arm. In doing so, she caught sight of what Sophie was carrying. “Ugh, another of his books. I must be cursed or something.”

“Actually, H. B. Selkirk is a woman,” Sophie corrected.

“She is,” agreed Aanya. “But she didn’t write that one. An insufferable jerk did.”

“You know the ghost writer?” Sophie exclaimed excitedly.

“Yeah, a twit named Martin,” she grumbled. “Ah shit, I probably shouldn’t have told you that. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

Sophie left with a boop and a “thank you,” and went in search of a cagey ghost writer.

She sat down at his lunch table uninvited and slid her book over to him. “Could I get an autograph?” she said, grinning ear to ear.

“Ah shit,” replied Martin.