The Bikini Diaries (3 page)

what might have happened if she'd responded in kind.

Not that she ever would.

She couldn't imagine it.

But her pussy still fluttered with curiosity beneath her skirt as she walked.

Of course, maybe it wasn't fluttering just because of the Asian girl. Maybe it was

fluttering because of the sexy panties she'd bought—the boy shorts had looked

shockingly hot. Or the sexy dress—which she supposed
was
classy, but still definitely said she wasn't shy. Or that tight, revealing bikini. Was she
really
going to wear them all?

Was she
really
going out to look for a man—in the clubs, on the beach?

She bit her lip as the tingle in her crotch skimmed its way up her spine. She couldn't quite believe it, but the answer, she realized, was yes. Yes, yes, yes. She
was.

Happy hunting, indeed.

I
can't believe I'm really doing this. But I'm wearing
the
dress now—cut lower than

anything I've ever worn. And I'm starting to feel... braver. When I look in the mirror I

see... well, I guess I'm starting to see what my new little "girlfriend'' at
the
boutique

saw. No, I'm not
twenty-one, not
by a long shot. But I look pretty damn hot. The truth

is, I hardly recognize myself. Maybe that's a good thing. Because if I am to
actually
do

this—go out and catch myself a man, a gorgeous, sexy
one-night
stand—I
can't
be my

normal self. I have to keep seeing what she. saw. I have to be
the girl
on the beach. I

have to toss my fears aside.

I even shaved my pussy before getting dressed. I've never done that before, and
it was
surprisingly... titillating. I
guess
because I knew why I was
doing it, because I

suddenly want to reveal
that part
of myself to a stranger. And because I've never

actually
had occasion to be quite so intimate, visually, with myself. I expected to be

nervous with a razor so close to such sensitive skin, but my aroused and anticipation—

totally outweighed that.

I shaved away
all
but a
little
oval swath of hair just above my slit, and it was strange—

enlightening—to really see myself there. And to think of someone
else.
seeing me there,

that
way.
I couldn't believe how smooth and silky it felt to my fingertips, and added to

my new tan lines, it makes me feel unbelievably. . .exotic.

And even though part of me is scared to death to walk out the door in this dress,

wearing a new black lace thong underneath—and beneath that being completely bare

in a way I never have before—another part of me can't wait to put myself out there and

see what happens.

I've decided to think of this as sort of an... experiment. Was the girl at the shop
right?

Am I sexy? Amazing? Can a dress or a bikini really change who you are, who you can

be?

I
don't know the answer, but just for one night, I want to be someone I've never been

before
—
I want some hot man to make me feel like
the white
bikini girl, like the

personification of sex, like nothing else matters, like sensible Wendy Carnes doesn't

even exist. I want to be the hunter, the one who takes, the one who feels nothing but

pleasure and walks away satisfied in the end.

Take that, White Bikini Babe.

Chapter 2

She felt weird eating alone. She hadn't expected that because, as a busy single woman,

she ate alone in restaurants at home all the time—but this was different. Because of how she was dressed. Because she was in the entertainment district of a busy resort teeming

with people. So as she sat dining on the veranda of a Southern-plantation-themed

restaurant, appropriately called Tara, she couldn't help being aware that people stared.

They wondered, she supposed, if she'd been stood up on a date. Or maybe they wondered

if she was... well, exactly what she was: a woman on the prowl for sex. And both ideas

embarrassed her at first, until she noticed how many of the inquisitive looks came from

guys.
Inquisitive and admiring looks.

It wasn't like when White Bikini Babe had gone gliding up the beach—she didn't capture

every male eye. But enough. More than usual. And slowly but surely it began to make her

feel warm in her new thong panties. It began to remind her that she wasn't sensible

Wendy tonight. She was wild Wendy. Wanton Wendy. And she was doing this,
really

doing it.

And though it felt odd at first to be the object of so much male attention, it was also a quiet way to get used to those eyes on her, a quiet way to learn to like it. She sat eating, keeping her gaze to herself but fully aware of the ones that studied her. She could have easily continued to feel embarrassed, but instead, she grew to
like
the question she knew her solitary presence created in the minds of her observers.

And by the time she descended the front steps of Tara on the sexy new heels she'd paid

too much money for today, she realized those eyes had given her the confidence it would

take to walk into a club now, to
truly
put herself out there.

Even so, she found herself bypassing the swank, trendy-looking dance clubs she found—

the people heading inside were too young, college age, and she didn't want some young

boy. She wanted a man. Someone who'd been around enough to know what he was doing

in bed.

Then, just as she noticed that the crowd in the village was changing—that families must

be going in for the evening as darkness fell, since mostly couples and singles strolled

around her now—she spotted an establishment that instantly felt a little friendlier, more mature, and less intimidating. She might be overdressed for it, but she didn't care—it

would only make her more eye-catching. She made her way to what sounded from

outside like a piano bar—called Volcano's.

As she'd sensed, the mood inside was festive—two dueling pianos played rollicking tunes

as the pianists tried to engage the crowd. Wendy smelled beer, popcorn, nachos. And she

felt herself instantly immersed in more men's stares. To the degree that it normally would have made her very uncomfortable. But she was too elated inside to feel unsettled.

Because, God, this meant her salesgirl friend
was
right—she was hot! Not tacky. Not silly. Just hot.

She moved through the crowded club as if she had someplace to go. Of course, she
would
start to look silly if she kept circling the place like a land shark, so after a few minutes, she slowed down and tried to act cool.

"Buy you a drink?"

She looked up to find a guy in a cowboy hat standing near her.

She bit her lip and attempted to look like she wasn't sizing him up—even though she was.

And he was okay—right age bracket, decent body. But he wasn't what she'd come here

looking for—he wasn't a stud,'a hunk.

"No thanks—I'm meeting a friend." Wow, that lie had rolled off her tongue so smoothly you'd have thought she'd actually planned it. .

"I'd be happy to buy one for her, too."

She smiled kindly. "Thanks. But no." Then she turned to move on, squeezing through a particularly tight crush of patrons without looking back

She stopped when she found herself with a clear shot of the stage, listening as both

pianos joined in on a request someone had shouted from the crowd, an old seventies song

with a good beat called "I Hear You Knockin'." That was when a hand touched her bare arm.

She turned her head to see—oh, yuck—a guy old enough to be her father, and then some.

Despite the tropical temperatures, he sported a leather blazer and wore his hair too long for his age. "Hello there," he said, clearly putting the make on her.

Seriously!
she wanted to say.
You
really think this
is gonna go your
way? But even wanton Wendy couldn't be quite that cold, even if she thought this goofball deserved it.

Instead, she gave a slight nod, trying to appear bored, and turned her attention back to the pianos.

"You look like you need a drink. What's your pleasure?"

She didn't bother to look at him again. "No thanks—I'm not thirsty."

He leaned closer in response. "Then what say we get out of here, go someplace where we can talk."

Okay, come on now. If he were thirty-five and attractive, that would be overly bold at

this point, but from this guy, it was
ridiculous.
And this time, Wendy couldn't help it—

without weighing it, she let out her natural response, rolling her
eyes
at him.

Then she saw him flinch and realized what she'd done.

Wow, wanton Wendy was a whole new animal!

"Some advice," she said to her suitor then. "Try approaching women born in the same decade as you. And don't be so smarmy about it."

"Fuck you," the man said, then stalked away.

Now it was Wendy who flinched, but it was softened when two girls on the other side of

her laughed. One of them said, "Way to go. That creep kept hitting on us, too. What on earth is he
thinking?"

Good question, since these girls were even younger than her—although not dressed so

provocatively. The second girl said,
"We
should buy you a drink—for getting him out of here."

Wendy smiled, feeling as if she'd performed a public service, then took the opportunity to move on through the crowd, thinking it was time for greener pastures.

Soon, though, she understood the fatal flaw in her plan: Most men simply weren't hot

enough for what she had in mind. She was approached by several guys who were

pleasant, kind of cute, and on most nights of her life, she'd have been happy to get

acquainted with them. But this was about more than getting laid. About more than being

desired. This was also about what
she
desired, deep down. She'd come out tonight to "live the fantasy" and nothing else would do.

She wanted a guy she could be dirty with. Dirty and nasty. She wanted a guy who would

inspire her to let her inhibitions run free. It had been building in her all day—the

powerful need to be a sex goddess, to do and say and be as wild as in her nighttime

fantasies with nothing at risk, because it would only be for a night. And sadly, for that, no simply "pleasant" guy would do. To be a sex goddess, she needed a sex
god.

And that was when—oh God—she spotted him.

He wore a summery button-down shirt with stylish khaki cargo shorts and stood leaning

with his back against the bar, a bottle of beer in his hand. His pale hair dusted his collar, and the darker stubble on his chin said he hadn't shaved today, but she was pretty sure in

"real life," away from the resort, he was the professional type—which appealed, given that
she
was the professional type, and that it probably meant he had brains as well as looks. As his blue eyes sparkled on her and her heartbeat kicked up, she thought:
This is
it. This
is really
it?

She tried to flash her best come-hither look—and only hoped she could pull
that
off. She tilted her head to the right, just slightly, touching her tongue to her upper lip, easing it slowly across. She cast a sexy little smile at the same time, aware of the fluttering

sensation between her thighs. ,

But... nothing in his expression changed. She saw no recognition of her gesture

whatsoever.

And then—oh no—she realized where she stood. Between him and the stage. He was

looking past her, to the piano player now pounding out a solo rendition of "Stuck in the Middle with You."
Oh. God.

She shut her eyes, trying to block out her humiliation, then moved on quickly, praying no one else had seen the one-sided exchange. Spotting the bathroom, she ducked inside,

since she was starting to feel like
she
was on a stage.

In the stall, she sat down to rest her feet and began to wonder if she was really cut out for this. The "attracting guys" part was working like a charm, so she knew now—it was confirmed—she could pull off the sexy dress. But there just weren't all that many truly

hot guys
here.
Hell, maybe she should go to one of the trendier clubs, after all. Or...

maybe she should just catch the shuttle back to the Shellside Towers and call it a day and return that bikini tomorrow and consider this an experiment that had failed with a capital F.

Taking a deep breath, she exited the bathroom, not even bothering to check her look in

the mirror. It was too crowded and she was bummed out. The flutter
in
her panties had long since waned.

"Want a ride? I'm driving."

The deep voice caught her off guard and drew her gaze to the right. She found herself

staring into a small, open elevator she hadn't even noticed before. And into... sparkling blue eyes that made her weak at a mere glance.

Good God, it was her hot, sexy guy from the bar!

Without even considering it, she stepped inside the elevator and heard herself begin to

flirt. "But have you been
drinking!"