Alixandre Grimald — half French, half Vietnamese, tawny skin, jet black thick hair, golden green almond eyes, long limbed (of course), firm boobs, high, firm rear, etc.

Born in South Vietnam, spent adolescence in Thailand, educated in finest schools of Europe, speaks French, Vietnamese, Thai and English (with a Continental accent) fluently.

Socialite, debutante, does work for children’s relief fund, something like UNICEF but really does work for some coalition similar to the CIA or French Intelligence to help world peace, etc. Athletic, sportswoman, hunts, rides, etc.

Jay Plimpton — American, sandy blond hair, crystal blue eyes, great body, of course, well-muscled, but lean, not bulky. Has made it as a fashion photographer to pay the rent but really yearns for the photojournalism work, National Geographic, political stuff, war correspondence, is tired of all the empty people in the fashion world. Came from a working class family, hard-working, has earned everything that he’s got, first in his family to go to college. He’s a pretty boring guy, Actually.

They first meet on the island of Phuket, Thailand. He is staying in a hotel adjacent to her father’s property. He’s on a photo shoot for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue with all these beautiful models. There are mini cabanas set up nearby where the models can change into their different outfits. Hair and make-up people work on the models in the cabanas. He confers with the art director and stylist.

She’s on vacation but she’s actually waiting to go on a mission. She walks out of the pool and squeezes the water out of her long hair. She reclines languidly on a chaise and puts her sunglasses on. She stretches and rests her arms on the back of the chaise above her head as she surveys the beach. She watches the camera crew with slight interest as she sips coconut water out of a fresh green coconut. 

The models are knee deep in the water, posing ridiculously with their buttocks stuck out and their backs arched. The photographer has khaki shorts on. He’s got a pair of sunglasses hanging from some cords around his neck. The arms of his glasses are neon pink, she can see them from where she’s sitting clearly because of the color. He’s also got a light meter around his neck which he uses from time to time. She flips a look at her diamond studded Rolex that dear Daddy gave her and oh, guess what? It’s time for a massage down by the beach. She picks up her sarong and strolls casually down to the sand where some Thai women are giving massages under some coconut palms. She knows them well and calls to them and waves as they also do. 

“Sure wish I had a suit like that!” one model remarks.

“Look, she’s got tits too!”

Fact is, she’s got on a spare little maillot she bought on vacation in Brazil, which leaves more exposed than it covers. But this being Thailand, land of the gentle people and pornography, she can get away with it.

He takes his eyes from his camera to see what the models are ga ga over. He spies this gorgeous set of tight tanned bums and long legs covered by a long wrap. Only when she bends down on the grass mat for her massage and tosses her mane of hair over her shoulders as she lies down does his insides do flip flops and his loins catch on fire. HIs composure lost, he calls it a day. Gets his assistant to pack up the camera equipment and the models disperse.

Walks toward the woman under the coconut trees as the women wave to him. “Massage, 5 dollahs, monsieur.”

He accepts, the whole time keeping his eyes on the girl. As he lies down prone, she turns her head and their eyes meet. He tries a nervous smile at her. No response from her, she just closes her eyes behind sooty lashes. Her masseuse makes her flip over after a while. But the straps to her maillot have been pushed down over her shoulders and as she settles on her back, the top of her suit barely covers her breasts. He sneaks a peek through half closed eyes and marvels at the twin peaks. There are faint tan lines, teasing the tawny brown smooth skin, the nipples erect and pointy. Her stomach is flat and toned. She has one leg propped up and he fantasizes about tasting her inner thighs. Her eyes are closed and he relishes the time he can stare.

His masseuse makes him turn over. He closes his eyes. The native women comment on his half erection and the girl smiles and says something back to them in Thai. The ladies laugh gently. He doesn’t  know they’re laughing at him, he’s dreaming about her, reveling in that sing song voice of hers. He feels movement beside him and opens his eyes. Her massage is done and she squats beside him to pay the woman and to pick up her sarong. Her back is to him. He looks at her heart-shaped ass with the little twisted thong going up between the cheeks. She brushes the sand off of them and stands, looming over him. The sun is in his eyes but he thought he caught a glimpse of fine down. She walks away toward the hotel.

The Thai women laugh gently again. They ask, “You like her, monsieur?” in broken English.

The next day after a photo shoot at some waterfalls and hoping to bump into that woman in the hotel lobby without any luck, he decides to go snorkeling. The water is warm, it’s caressing him. He goes a little too far, forgets himself, leaves the waters of the hotel and swims into her father’s estate’s private beach.

She is sunning herself nude on her rock. She likes to sit on the rock. It is big and has a flat top. It is sizzling hot and she likes to spread out on it after a swim. It’s where she goes to be alone. The rock is one among a cropping of other jutting rocks that break the beach from the deeper waters of the ocean. She sees a snorkeling funnel and some fins paddling towards her but isn’t too concerned because tourists often pass the edge of the hotel property and wander onto hers. But they usually make it back, without discovering her secret place. She watches the snorkeler glide slowly through the water lazily.

A speed boat goes by too fast, too close to the beach and makes crashing waves which send the snorkeler smashing against the rocks. She sits up alarmed and doesn’t see him for a minute. And then she sees the body but the feet aren’t moving and, of my God, fearing the absolute worst, she jumps into the water to the person’s aid, forgetting her state of undress. She is able to drag him half way out of the water and pushes his back onto the rock where she had lain. She removes the snorkeling mask and stares into his face. He’s unconscious. She shakes his head, slaps his cheeks gently and talks to him.

When he awakes, the first thing his eyes see are these perfectly shaped boobs, glistening in the sunlight from the sheen of the water. There are little water droplets collecting at the nipples. He’s dreaming. It’s that woman. She’s completely bare and kneeling in front of him. When she sees that he has opened his eyes, she sits back on her heels and rests her hands on her thighs.

“Thank God you’re alright!” He hears this sweet voice with a lilting accent that sounded definitely European.

Her back is to the sun and he doesn’t see her face clearly but his eyes are at the same level as her pubic area. He stares at the neat triangle of fur, wet with ocean water. He tries to reach out a hand to touch the incredible looking down and she mistakes his action.

“Don’t get up. Just lay there a while and catch your breath. I think you hit your head.” She leans towards him again, cupping his head in her hands as she looks at the top of his head. This puts her incredible breasts mere inches from his face. “I’m afraid you’re going to have quite a bump.” He touches his head gingerly and winces.

“Can you get up now?” He nods. So she helps him get up, he slips a little on the uneven rock but she helps him towards the beach. She settles him on a grass mat on the sand. She chides, “You know, you shouldn’t have been out there, those rocks can be pretty treacherous.”

“I didn’t know. . .”

“It’s easy to underestimate how far you’ve gone out there. You’re staying at the hotel, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“I’ll arrange a car for you to get back then. You’ll hopefully feel better in a bit.”

“The hotel?” he asked.

“Uh huh, over there.” She points over his shoulder. “You strayed too far.”

The hotel looked further away than he remembered swimming.

“You’re the photographer, aren’t you?” Even with the dull ache in his head, he was thrilled that she noticed who he was. He nodded again. “Must be a fun job.”

“Not that fun.” He finally found his voice. “But it pays my rent and affords me time to do what I really want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Real photography.”

“And what is real photography?”

“I’m sorry, but I find it . . . a little . . . unsettling that you’re . . . I’m sorry to be staring.”

She looked down at her nakedness and smiled at him. “What?” she mocked. “You’ve never seen a woman’s nudity before? You with the camera? And a flock of pretty girls?” She wrapped a sarong around herself and asked, “Better?” She sat down beside him on the mat. “So, Mr. . . .”

“Jay Plimpton.”

“Alixandre Grimald, please to meet you.” She extends her hand. “So Mr. Plimpton, what exactly is real photography? I’m curious.”

“Stuff that serves a purpose.”

“And you don’t think beautiful women in swimsuits on a beach serves a purpose?”

“Sometimes I wonder why I even waste the film.”

“What a cynic you are! It serves some purpose, I’m sure. Some young women who see those magazines will aspire to become like those models. And the men! They probably dream of having your job. My God, you get to look at available and exciting women all day.”

“I guess excitement is in the eye of the beholder.”

“You don’t find those models exciting?” He shook his head. “Well then, what does excite you, Mr. Plimpton? Massages?” When he looked up sharply at her catching onto her hidden meaning, he saw that she was smiling at him impishly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to poke fun. Your masseuse called our attention to you . . . majesty.”

“Aw, geez! That’s what you were laughing about! Well, that’s just great!” His mood went from surprise to embarrassment to anger in one fleeting minute, as he tried to stand up.

“It’s ok!” She laid a hand gently on his arm. “I was flattered.” When he caught her eye, she kissed him softly. “I thought it was sweet.”

“Sweet?” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her mouth with that natural pout to her bottom lip. She was sitting so close to him that he could feel the whole length of her body against his. She nodded her head yes. He crooked a finger under her chin and brought her face closer to his and kissed those fabulous lips back. She covered his hand with hers and turned closer to him. She returned his kiss and they both parted their lips at the same time. She tasted the ocean on his tongue and closed her eyes. He was nibbling on the corners of her mouth when she heard “M’selle Alix, phone call for you.” It was her housemaid, calling from the house.

Alix blinked her eyes open and adjusted a proper posture. They parted and she murmured, “I have to get that.” Louder, she said, “Somchai, can you arrange a car to take Monsieur Plimpton back to the hotel?” And then to Jay, “Do you feel better yet?”

Disappointed, he nodded and got to his feet and dusted the sand off his shorts. Alix gathered the rest of her things and led the way back to the house, a large stucco example of Colonial architecture, typical from the days Southeast Asia was occupied by the French. There was a seating arrangement of wicker outdoor furniture on the stone courtyard connecting the house to the beach by a few steps. From there, they entered a large sitting room with high ceilings and slowly turning ceiling fans. Alix put down her sunglasses and mat on a settee. She looked at her watch and apologized to Jay. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that it had gotten quite so late. But I’ve been waiting for this call all day. I hope you don’t mind. My driver can take you back to the hotel.”

Jay was awed by the size of the house as it looked from the beach. Now he was trying to measure up the sitting room, with its huge windows and real wooden shutters. The elegant furniture was covered in Jim Thompson silk. The walls were covered with artwork which seemed to range from early European to Oriental, yet it was tastefully done so that it looked appropriate together. 

“That won’t be necessary. I can walk.”

“Mr. Plimpton, don’t be silly. I saved your life once already today, I wouldn’t want anything else to happen to you. And now, if you’ll please excuse me, I really have to go. Somchai can show you out.” She started to walk out of the room.

“Will I see you again?” Jay blurted.

She smiled her demure but sensual smile of hers. “Do you WANT to see me again, Mr. Plimpton?” When he nodded, she said, “Then I suspect you will. Goodbye.” And then she was gone.

Jay touched the bump on his head gingerly and winced. He wiped away some of the steam that had collected on the bathroom mirror and surveyed his reflection in the glass. His damp hair hung in curls about his face and nape. He smoothed it back on his head with both hands. He reached for a towel and secured it around his waist. He automatically reached for the can of shaving cream and lathered his face. He turned the tap on and ran his fingers under the jet of water testing the temperature. While he shaved carefully, his mind wandered back to Alixandre Grimald.

In all the time that he had worked with the top models of the fashion world he had never met any woman who had such an effect on him. He tried to rationalize what exactly it was about her that was so attractive. Maybe it was her unusual coloring, or the way her golden eyes seemed to penetrate his very core when she looked at him.

He rinsed his face and toweled off. He propped himself on his knuckles as he looked closer into the mirror. Who was he kidding? A woman like that? Way out of his league. She smelled of money, sophistication and class. He didn’t stand a chance. For that one minute when their lips met, he’d thought his insides were going to explode, he’d felt such pleasure. He’d wanted to sink into the warm abyss that her mouth offered. But it was a fluke, an accident, an event that was sure to not repeat itself.

He really wanted to crawl into bed and dream about her. Instead, he was going to a nightclub with the crew tonight. He reached into the closet and reached for a pair of black linen slacks and an off-white linen shirt. It was far too muggy for a jacket He grabbed his room keycard and snapped off the lights.

Bored, Jay watched as the models danced with each other. He had never liked loud and noisy places like this. It was a meat market, no matter what part of the world you were in. Clubs like this never varied whether they were in LA, New York , or Phuket. He took another swig of whiskey and turned to survey the place. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of Alixandre and two men at the entrance of the club. She was wearing a simple black slip dress with spaghetti straps and the two men were in black tie.

 They were ushered to a banquette on the second level of the club, away from the dance floor.

“Hey, do you know who that is?” Jay asked the Thai interpreter that the magazine hired.

The Thai man turned to where Jay pointed. He put a hand on Jay’s arm and pushed it down. “Please, Mr. Jay, we don’t point in Thailand. Very rude.”

“I’m sorry. But do you know who those people are?”

“Everyone know who that is.”

“What do you mean?”

“She Alixandre Grimald. Her father very famous, very rich French military man. Mother Vietnamese.”

“What does she do?”

“Her?” The interpreter laughed. “She spend a lot money, go to parties. She on TV many times. Very beautiful, yes?”

Jay ignored the interpreter’s comments. He didn’t want to believe that this woman, of all women, would be another shallow fashion slave. He made his way to where she was sitting. She was seated between the two gentlemen. The handsome Caucasian was smoking a cigarette leisurely, his other hand toying with his Cognac. The Asian man with them was of slight build and quiet in both speech and manner. 

“Hi. I wanted to say hello and thank you again for yesterday.”

“Mr. Plimpton, how nice to see you again. Please, won’t you join us? This is Luc Semon and Tran Trinh, friends of mine from childhood. Jay Plimpton.”

The men shake hands and Jay slides into the banquette next to the Vietnamese man.

“Can we get something for you to drink?”

“No, no thank you, I’ve already had my fair share tonight.”

“Mr. Plimpton is a photographer for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. He’s been traveling with an entourage of beautiful nymphs.”

“You are a lucky man,” Luc adds in English with a French accent.

“Yes, I was especially lucky yesterday to have this wonderful woman save me from drowning.”

Alix laughs, “Oh, you are making far too much of it. I did nothing.”

“She is being modest. If she hadn’t pulled me out of the water, I would have been filleted like sushi on the jagged rocks.”

He says that it was nice to meet them politely although he feels out of place because of their obvious sophistication and their private party vibe. He doesn’t even have a jacket on. 

After Jay leaves their table, Alix scolds her French companion for being a pig. Luc asks what she knows about Jay. She admits very little. “But you say he takes pictures? We need pictures of the reeducation camps along the border.”

“For God’s sake, he takes photos of women in bikinis, Luc!”

“Use him, Alixandre.”

“There’s no reason to involve him, Luc.”

“But he’s perfect.”

The conversation irritated Alix because she knew there was some truth in it. And because it came from Luc. She does a mental slap and can’t believe that she was ever engaged to him. But he holds all the cards, he’s got the connections to find her brother. She realizes she needs Luc.

Jay sees her striding briskly to the exit and follows her outside. She hails for her car.

“Is everything alright, Miss Grimald?”

She turns around surprised, but when she sees him, she gives him her gorgeous smile.

“Why, of course, why do you ask?”

“You seemed upset back there.’

“Ah yes, Luc can be rather boorish. Can I give you a lift?”

“Sure, if it’s convenient for you.”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” she says and moves so he can reach for the door. He bends his tall form into the car and settles next to her. 

Alix gives the hotel as the destination to the driver but is quiet otherwise. In the dark confines of the car, he feels electricity arcing into his body from being so close to her. He goes through the times table in his head, earnestly hoping that he won’t get hard. But he can see her form under the little dress. It’s apparent she is wearing nothing under the dress. He sees both nipples straining against the silk of the dress.

“So you never told me what you thought real photography was.”

“I want to document life, history, people, cultures, the good and bad of humankind, before their way of life doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Very noble of you.”

“Not noble, I feel like it’s my duty.”

She uncrosses and crosses her legs and he feels a hardening between his thighs. She sees he is attracted to her and really looks at him for the first time. Even in the dim light of the car, she can see his ocean blue eyes. The heat of a Thai evening has produced damp curls at his nape. She resists the urge to tame them. Their bodies touch as the car jostles over a pothole and their eyes meet.

Lights illuminate the car. They have arrived at the hotel. He doesn’t want the connection to her body to end, but has enough sense to open the door, get out and bid her goodnight. “Thanks for the lift.” He is rewarded with a smile.

Back at her house, she’s sipping on a brandy when she realizes that there might be some truth to what Luc was saying. She’s been needing those photos. She hadn’t been able to get close enough. They had already studied aerial views of Camp 254 to know that Albert, her brother, was not located there. He must have been moved again. She’s waited for years. The enemies had been careful to keep his whereabouts a secret.

Since her father’s death two years ago, she had painstakingly tried to find out where her brother was imprisoned but without success. On his death bed, he had asked for that one request, that she bring home his wife’s only son, who had been abducted from the streets of Paris. Albert, strong, tall and handsome, had held a special place in her heart too. They had been a tight family. The three of them. Albert, like his father, had also worked for the French intelligence.

Like his father, he had become an authority on the machinations of the new Vietnamese Communist regime. Sure, they had open borders and manufactured everything from shoes to smart phones for the Western world but the citizens still suffered. Capitalism thrived in Vietnam but most of the profits made still belonged to the state.

She had received tips that Albert had perhaps been moved to Camp18. She was worried about her brother. It had been 5 years since he’s been taken. She didn’t know what physical state he was in, let alone his mental state. She feared that he might have been “re-educated.”

“May I have Jay Plimpton’s room?” Alix dangles a crossed leg back and forth as she waits to be connected. “Mr. Plimpton? Jay?”                 

Jay still thinks he is in a dream, because she was calling his name, her hands cupping his rear and pulling him closer as he was thrusting into her. 

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” He shakes his head, coming awake. 

“Yes, but it’s ok.” His voice is low and gruff with sleep. He clears his throat. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. I couldn’t sleep and my mind’s been churning. I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“How much longer will your assignment be for the magazine?”

“I’ve got about 2 more days, if the weather cooperates. Why?”

“Well, I was wondering, you said you wanted to do the kind of photography of authentic people, the natives, in their own setting.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, if you have the time, would you be interested in taking a trip with me through the mountains? And along the Mekong. I’ve got to go up there to visit some medical facilities and see how our immunization program is working.

“Are you kidding? I’d love to.”

“It would be for about a week or so, do you think you’ll have the time?”

“Hell, I’m a freelancer, I go where ever the picture is.”

“Alright, then it’s a deal. I’ll talk to you about the details tomorrow. Good night, Mr. Plimpton.”

She hangs up and stares at the phone as if in a trance. Then she paces the floor.

“Oh Papa, I’ll bring him home yet.”

Jay can’t believe his luck. A whole fucking week with this gorgeous woman in the lush jungles of Thailand. He sleeps like a babe.

Over dinner the next day, details are confirmed. They’ll leave for Bangkok first. Then they will hole up at her house in the city. They’ll get their supplies and make the necessary travel arrangements. Drive the all-terrain truck to the countryside. Visit some villages where she will drop off medical supplies. And continue into the jungle.

They catch a flight back to Bangkok. First class, of course. She’s polite in conversation but seems aloof. At the house, he’s surprised and impressed with the size and amenities of the house, especially because it is such a contrast to the neighboring cardboard boxes on the other side of the tall wall topped with shards of glass.

He gets his own room and bathroom. There’s a silk robe and slippers laid out for him. There’s a glass of juice and ice water on the night table before he goes to sleep.

The next morning, he comes down late and she’s already had her breakfast. He apologizes for oversleeping. She’s in jodphurs, been riding her horse all morning. She orders his breakfast by clapping her hands. He gets fresh squeezed juice and exotic fruit. There’s an English language newspaper folded neatly beside his plate. Coffee is served.

She asks for a list of supplies that he would need for the trip that she can get picked up for him. But he really wants to visit a camera store himself so she offers to drive him. She knows where to go and she drives expertly on the left side of the road, handling the clutch and the gearbox like a pro. She has changed into loose linen pants and tee. Her hair is held back with a bandana. She dons sunglasses and a bucket hat, which would look ridiculous on anyone else.

They are in Bangkok for a week. In that week, she introduces him to all the tourist attractions; the many temples, the rides in fast boats on the klong, the traditional dance and dinner theater. She encourages him to make himself at home. Well, his house doesn’t have a salt water pool, or servants doing everything but pissing for him. They even ironed his tee shirts and boxers.

They leave the city. The driving is slow. The roads are not good and full of potholes. Soon the trees become denser. They find an inn to spend the night but there is only one room available. She doesn’t see any problems with sharing. They are both exhausted from the day’s drive and go the bed after dinner. She comes to bed in a tee and undies. He swallows hard and slips under the covers on the other side of the bed in his boxers. She complains about the heat and tosses the covers aside and snuggles up to him in her sleep.