Lexie Miller woke up slowly, with sunlight already slanting hard across her room and the clock on her nightstand blinking 12:14 p.m. She didn’t bother opening her eyes right away. Her blonde hair, a little past her shoulders and tangled from sleep, stuck to the side of her cheek. The blue tank top (one of those thin, faded ones she’d stolen from her mom’s drawer years ago) had ridden up during the night, bunched under her small A-cup breasts so the hem sat just below her nipples. No bra, of course. Why would there be?

She stretched lazily, arms over her head, back arching off the mattress. The motion tugged the pink panties. They were small, childish; cotton with tiny red hearts scattered across them, the kind of thing she’d bought in middle school and never quite grown out of. One leg hole had twisted during sleep; now the fabric cut into her right cheek, leaving most of that small, round butt exposed while the left side stayed a little more covered. A careless half-wedgie she didn’t even register anymore.

Lexie swung her legs off the bed, bare feet hitting the carpet. She padded to the bathroom, still half-asleep, not bothering to pull the tank down or fix the panties. The mirror showed her a girl who looked younger than eighteen: lightly tanned skin from last summer’s pool days, skinny arms and legs, flat stomach without even a small line of softness despite she being living on junk food.

She turned towards the toiled, peeled the panties down in one careless motion, letting them slide to mid-calf. The twisted side caught briefly on her thigh before giving up. She sat, knees together, and peed in a soft, steady stream, eyes half-closed, head tipped forward so her hair curtained her face. When she finished she didn’t wipe right away, just sat there a second, blinking at the tiles, then reached for tissue, dabbed once, and stood, didn’t even washed her hands.

She tugged the panties back up without looking. The fabric snapped into place, but the right leg hole twisted again almost immediately, wedging back into the crease of her cheek.

Lexie went down into the living room. She didn’t opened any curtains, just limited to grab the half-empty box of Cap’n Crunch from the coffee table and headed to the fridge to grab the remaining three slices of cold pizza from the cardboard box that had been sitting out since yesterday. She dropped onto the couch sideways, legs tucked under her.

She ate mechanically, alternating bites of dry cereal straight from the box and greasy, congealed pepperoni pizza. Crumbs dusted the front of her tank top and sprinkled across her bare thighs. The TV was already on MTV; some reality show rerun played with the sound low. She watched without really watching, eyes glassy, chewing slowly. Her free hand drifted to her stomach, scratching idly under the hem of the tank.

At some point her head tipped back against the couch. The cereal box slipped from her lap to the floor, spilling a few golden squares. Her eyelids drooped. The half-wedgie tugged every time she shifted, but she didn’t fix it. She dozed like just like that.

The front door opened around 4:40.

“Lexie?” her mom’s voice, soft and surprised.

Lexie jolted upright, blinking fast. Cereal crunched under her foot as she swung both legs to the floor. Her tank top was crooked, one strap fallen off her shoulder again; the panties hadn’t magically straightened themselves. She stood quickly, smoothing her hair with both hands, but the wedgie stayed stubbornly in place, the pink cotton disappearing between her cheeks on the right side while the left looked almost normal.

Her parents were already in the doorway; Mom in her work blouse, Dad loosening his tie. They looked at her: the crumbs, the spilled cereal, the cold pizza box, the way she stood there half-dressed and rumpled.

“Hi,” Lexie mumbled, crossing to them anyway. She hugged her mom first, arms loose around her shoulders, then leaned into her dad’s side hug. Despite her indecent state, neither parent pulled away.

“Sweetheart,” Mom said quietly, smoothing Lexie’s hair back from her face. “You’re still in yesterday’s underwear?”

“I was gonna change,” Lexie lied. “Just… lost track.”

Dad sighed, not angry, just tired. “We need to talk, princess.”

They sat her on the couch. Lexie pulled her knees up, resting her chin above her knees, trying to hide the crooked panties, but the movement only made the wedgie worse; now both cheeks were now peeking out under her weight.

Mom spoke first, gentle. “We love you. You know that. But you’ve been home all summer doing… this.” She gestured vaguely at her. “No job, no school, no plan. We can’t keep pretending it’s okay.”

Dad pulled a folded section of newspaper from his back pocket; the classifieds, and set it on the coffee table in front of her. “We circled a few things. Retail, waitressing, receptionist at the dentist office. Real jobs, Lex. Something to start with.”

“I know it’s boring,” Mom added. “But it’s a start. You’re eighteen now. We just want you to try.”

Lexie nodded, she felt a small lump in her throat from the embarrassment. She didn’t argue. She never argued when they were this soft with her.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll look.”

They hugged her again, then left her alone with the newspaper and the TV still murmuring in the background.

Lexie stayed on the couch a minute longer, staring at the classifieds without really reading them. Then she stood, slow, the fabric had ridden up when she sat, now clinging high and tight like a makeshift thong. Both cheeks were exposed almost completely. the way the fabric had twisted and ridden up when she sat in the couch, now clinging high and tight like a makeshift thong with her childish panties, half obscene and half innocent, skin still faintly marked from the couch texture. While she paddled back to her bedroom, she felt small and ridiculous under their gentle gaze, the self-consciousness prickling her skin, but she didn’t reach back to fix it. Not in front of them.

She shut the door behind her and exhaled.

Her room was dim; curtains half-drawn, late-afternoon light slanting gold across the carpet and her unmade bed.

She padded to the desk. Her desktop PC hummed awake when she jiggled the mouse, Windows XP splash screen, then the cluttered desktop full of AIM icons and downloaded LimeWire tracks. She dropped into the creaky chair, thighs sticking slightly to the vinyl, and opened Internet Explorer.

First Craigslist gigs, same boring stuff her dad had circled: cashier, telemarketer, dog walker. She scrolled past them with a sigh, chewing the inside of her cheek. Then the newspaper classifieds Dad had left on the coffee table caught her eye again. She unfolded it on the desk, scanned the tiny print under “Talent & Modeling.”

There it was, near the bottom, in a box with a thin border:

*18+ FEMALE MODELS WANTED

High pay – $500–$2000 per shoot

Lingerie / artistic / fantasy content

No experience needed – open-minded a must

Specializing in playful adult themes

Call Rick: 818 555-01XX

All Access Backdoor Productions – Discreet*

Her pulse kicked up. Two thousand dollars. For one shoot. She read it twice, then three times. “Playful adult themes” sounded vague enough—maybe like those Maxim magazine spreads, but with more skin. She glanced at the closed door, then back at the number.

She grabbed her flip phone from the nightstand, flipped it open, and dialed before she could overthink.

It rang twice.

“Rick,” a calm, middle-aged voice answered. No hello, just his name like he expected people to know who he was.

“Uh, hi. This is… Lexie? I saw your ad in the paper. About the modeling?”

A short pause, then a low chuckle that wasn’t mocking. “Lexie. Cute name. You eighteen?”

“Yeah. Just graduated.”

“Good. You sound sweet. Perfect. So here’s the quick rundown: we do fetish-oriented content, mostly solo and light girl/girl. Heavy focus on the buttplugs, teasing, insertion play, that kind of thing. Nudity is required on set, full sessions, no hiding. We shoot in a private studio, professional setup, bright lights, multiple cameras. Pay’s cash same day if you’re good. You open to that?”

Lexie’s mouth went dry. Butt stuff. Nudity. She pictured posing in lingerie, maybe a toy or two, like the girls in those late-night Cinemax previews. Her stomach flipped, but the number $500 to $2000 kept echoing.

“I… yeah, I think so. It’s not, like… actual sex, right? Just posing?”

“Exactly. No penetration with guys, no sex. Just you, some toys, looking pretty and playing along. We sell mostly to overseas clients big market in the Orient. They would love a fresh-faced Western girl look. Gives you built-in local anonymity since the market for this type of stuff in the west it’s rare and niche, and we never use real names on the discs. You can choose whatever stage name you pick. Sound good?”

Oriental. Western option. She thought of Playboy spreads with exotic themes, maybe some Asian-market version. It sounded far away and safe. “Yeah. That sounds… okay.”

“Great. I need to see what I’m working with. Send me a couple quick pics to this email: casting_aab@hotmail.XX. Right now if you can, nothing fancy, just you as you are. Front and back. Make sure your face is in them so I know it’s you.”

Lexie swallowed. “Like… right now?”

“Yep. Sooner we see, sooner we can book you. You got a digital camera?”

She glanced at the cheap full body mirror at the corner of her bedroom “Yeah.”

“Perfect. Do it, email them over. I’ll look and get right back to you.”

She hung up, heart hammering. The room felt hotter. She stood, smoothed her tank top down (it immediately rode back up), finally decided to fix the wedgie of her underwear, feeling a bit more self conscious from all sudden and grabbed the camera.

Frontal: she stood straight, one hip cocked, blonde hair messy over one shoulder. Tank top thin enough to show the faint outline of her small nipples, panties snug across her flat stomach and the gentle curve of her mound. She held the camera at chest height, smiled a little shyly—big blue eyes, light tan, skinny frame. Click.

Then the back. She turned, looked over her shoulder at the mirror, arched her back just a touch so her small round butt pushed out. The pink hearts sat even now, framing both cheeks nicely (no wedgie this time). She angled the camera low behind her, caught the full shape: pert, pale against the bright cotton, legs slim and slightly parted. Click.

She plugged the camera into the PC with the USB cable, dragged the two photos to a new email.

*Subject: Lexie – from the ad

Body: Hi Rick, here are the pics like you asked. Let me know.

Attachments: lexie_front.jpg, lexie_back.jpg

Sent.*

She sat back, chewing a thumbnail, staring at the screen like it might bite her.

Less than three minutes later, the inbox pinged.

*From: casting_aab@hotmail.XX

Subject: Re: Lexie – from the ad

Lexie,

You’re exactly what we’re looking for. Fresh, innocent, great ass. We want you in for a proper interview/shoot test in two days: Thursday, 10 a.m. sharp. Studio address below. Bring ID, wear something cute and easy to take off. We’ll go over everything in person, run a short screen test, see how you handle direction. If it goes well, you walk with $800 minimum that day.

Don’t be late, sweetheart.

Rick

All Access Backdoor Productions

7815 W Waters Ave, Suite B

Town ’n’ Country, FL 33615*

Lexie read it twice. $800. Minimum. Her thumb hovered over the reply button, but she didn’t write back yet. She just stared at the photos she’d sent her own body, casual and unaware, now on some stranger’s computer in a place called All Access Backdoor Productions.

She shut down her computer, heart still racing, and flopped back onto her bed. The panties shifted again, riding up just a little on one side.