Skin in the Game
Marley Quinn
Skin in the Game
by Marley Quinn
Copyright Information
Skin in the Game
by Marley Quinn
© 2026 Marley Quinn
All rights reserved.
Author: Marley Quinn
Contact details: marleyquinn.reformist760@passinbox.com
Twitter/X: marleyquinn2000
Book cover, illustration: Marley Quinn
Editing, proofreading: Marley Quinn
This e-book, including its portions, is protected by copyright and may not be reproduced, resold, or redistributed without the permission of the author.
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Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Table of Contents
Lucky Day
Icarus
Goodwill
A Real Natural
Awesome Sauce
Crème de la Crème
Bridging the Gap
Less Is More
I Won’t Tell
Seize the Moment
Risqué
Lioness
Sparkling
Suave
Santé
A Wonder
All Wet
Shangri-La
Gamed
Taking Risks
Bounded Infinity
Uninhibited
Flash
Renounce
Exhibition
Exactement
Also by Marley Quinn
Lucky Day
As a photographer, I was always on the lookout for interesting subjects to shoot, but nothing could’ve prepared me for what I saw that day in the park.
I had gone for a stroll to clear my head when I saw her sitting there on a bench, and it was like being hit by a bolt of lightning.
From her long, glossy hair that cascaded down her back like a waterfall, to her wide, innocent eyes and her full, plump, pouty lips, she looked like a doll. Her nose was perfectly shaped, her cheeks were high, and her chin was small.
She was beautiful. But no one else but me seemed to notice, probably because she was wearing an ugly denim skirt that went past her knees and an oversized T-shirt and had her head buried in a book.
As I got closer, I could see her eyes were a sparkling blue, and her eyelashes were long and thick, adding to the allure of her gaze. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched, framing her eyes with elegance and grace. Frankly, she looked like a supermodel in disguise, and for a brief moment, I wondered if she was a celebrity enjoying a brief moment of incognito peace.
“Hi there, mind if I sit down?” I said, my heart all aflutter by her sublime beauty.
“Um, sure,” she said with a little shrug, looking somewhat bored.
“I know this might be a strange question,” I said, taking a seat on the opposite end of the bench. “But have you ever modeled before?”
“What, me? No way,” said the girl, giving me an awkward smile that made my pulse race.
“Yes!” I muttered to myself, doing a little fist pump.
“Huh?” said the girl, giving me a wary look.
“Sorry, excuse my poor manners,” I said, extending a hand. “My name is Bernard LaTouille. I’m a photographer, and I think you would be an excellent model.”
“Tia,” said the girl, giving me the limpest of handshakes.
“I mean it,” I said, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. “I don’t often say this to total strangers, but you’re beautiful, Tia.”
“Hey...” said Tia. “Did someone put you up to this? You’re joking, right?”
“No, no, I never joke about my art,” I said. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous. That hair? Those cheekbones? I know a dozen women who would kill to have your looks.”
“Gosh,” said Tia with a shy smile, her cheeks pinkening.
“Please, just give me the chance to photograph you, and I’ll show you how beautiful you are,” I said, my palms sweaty.
“Like... right now?” said Tia, glancing around nervously.
“Yes, with your permission,” I said, unslinging my backup camera from my bag, the one I carried around precisely for emergencies such as this.
“Um, okay,” said Tia, too shy to meet my gaze.
“Thank you!” I said, immediately hopping to my feet.
Knowing that I had to prove my worth to her, I did a rush job in setting up the f-stops and aperture before firing off a couple of quick shots. Since she was wearing such an ungainly, disjointed outfit, I tightened the frame to focus on that flawless face of hers, angling myself so I could catch a bit of sunlight reflecting in her eyes.
“Oh wow,” I said as I paused to use the viewscreen to review my last few shots.
“That bad, huh?” said Tia with a little chuckle.
“No, no,” I said, taking a seat next to her and angling the viewscreen in her direction. “See for yourself.”
“Gosh, is that really me?” said Tia, her eyes wide as I scrolled through the images I had captured of her.
“You see? You’re gorgeous,” I said.
“Wow, I hardly recognize myself,” said Tia, blushing even as a smile crept across her lips.
“Just think how good you’d look if I could shoot you in a proper studio set-up,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. “With the right clothes and the right lighting? My God, you’d set the world on fire.”
“I don’t know...” said Tia, looking down at the cracked cement.
“Come on,” I pleaded. “Don’t tell me no one has ever told you how photogenic you are.”
“Um, not really...” said Tia.
“Seriously?” I said, confused as to why she was still playing coy when she’d seen those quick shots of her I’d just taken.
“If you want to know the truth, mister,” said Tia, turning to look at me. “Most people say I look like a boy.”
“What?” I spluttered, dumbfounded.
“Well?” said Tia, gesturing in the direction of her chest.
“What?” I said. “Because you’re not full-figured? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Full-figured?” said Tia with a bitter laugh. “Buddy, in case you can’t tell, my chest is flat as a board.”
“No...” I moaned.
“Barely mosquito bumps,” said Tia. “I’m the only girl in my grade who doesn’t have to wear a bra. Hell, you’ve got bigger tits than me, mister.”
“Please,” I said, feeling faint. “It’s Bernard.”
“Well, Bernard, thank you for the nice photos, but you’re wasting your time,” said Tia, standing up from the bench and walking off.
“Hang on a second!” I said, running to catch up with her. “You don’t need big breasts to be a model. Some of the most famous models in the world are totally flat-chested.”
“Oh, really?” said Tia, not slowing her pace.
“Sure, like Twiggy or Kate Moss,” I said. “Big chests aren’t everything. All fashion designers care about are the proportions of the body, not whether a woman is well-endowed up top.”
“Sorry, not interested,” said Tia. “Anyway, I don’t think my parents would approve of strange men taking pictures of me.”
“Well, who says you have to tell them?” I said with a little chuckle.
“Um, me,” said Tia, stopping and turning to look at me. “I’m still a teenager, living in their house.”
“Woah, really?” I said, unable to believe my good luck.
“Yes. Does that surprise you?” said Tia, an amused expression on her face.
“If I’m being honest? Yes,” I said. “I assumed you were 22 or 23 at least.”
“Interesting...” said Tia, one hand on her hip. “And how old are you?”
“Oh, um, 29,” I said with a gulp, praying she couldn’t tell that I was lying.
“Ha!” said Tia, walking away from me with a smile on her face. “I would’ve guessed you were at least 30.”
“I’m European,” I said, jogging to catch up with her. “We smoke and drink too much. But hey, at least we know how to have a good time.”
“If you say so,” said Tia with a little laugh, increasing her speed.
“Please!” I said. “Just let me shoot you properly once. That’s all I’m asking.”
“And why are you so obsessed with all this, anyway?” said Tia, stopping and whirling around to look me directly in the eye.
“I told you,” I said. “I’m a photographer. And capturing beauty is my art.”
“Nah,” said Tia, looking me up and down. “I think there’s more to it than that.”
“Fine,” I said, throwing up my hands. “You got me. My visa runs out in a few weeks, and I’ve been going through a dry spell. You’re my chance to get some really good shots before I have to go home.”
“Nah,” said Tia, one finger to her lips. “That’s part of it, but I still think there’s something more. What is it you’re not telling me?”
“More?” I said, too out of breath to be able to think straight.
“It can’t be my clothes because they’re ugly hand-me-downs from my cousin,” said Tia, her eyes narrowing. “So what is it about me that’s got you so hot and bothered?”
“Well...” I said, finding myself unable to meet her gaze.
“It’s okay. You can tell me, Bernard,” said Tia. “But be honest. No more games.”
“Fine,” I said, feeling my heart swell. “It’s your eyes.”
“My eyes?” said Tia.
“Your eyes and your mouth,” I said. “The moment I saw you sitting on that bench, it was like looking at an angel.”
“Nope,” said Tia, shaking her head. “You were close there for a minute, but you’re still not being truthful. Tell me what’s really going on or I walk, and you can kiss your fantasies about photographing me goodbye.”
“All right!” I said, scarcely able to believe she had seen right through me like that. “Okay, you want to know the truth? The truth is that I am very attracted to you.”
“That’s better,” said Tia with a little laugh as she turned and began walking down the path.
“So... you’re not mad?” I said, hurrying to catch up with her.
“No, I think it’s cute,” said Tia, giving me a little smile that had my cock stirring in my pants.
“Really?” I said, risking a quick look at the way her long, glossy hair fell in shimmering waves to her petite behind.
“You see that bus right there, Bernard?” said Tia, pointing at an ancient vehicle wheezing its way down the street toward a bus shelter. “You’ve got ten seconds to take down my number before I climb onboard.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I cried with delight as I pulled out my phone.
My whole body was glowing with happiness as I stood there a few moments later and watched the bus pull away. Not only had she given me her contact information, but she’d also rewarded me with the warmest, most inviting smile a man could ever receive from a woman.
Yes, it truly was my lucky day.
Icarus
Sitting in the shabby kitchen of my apartment that night, I kept going over the photographs of Tia that I’d taken that day.
Every time I saw those gorgeous lips and impossibly blue eyes staring up at me, I felt my heart flutter. She was the epitome of perfection, so young and fresh, her beauty unspoiled. My only regret was that I hadn’t taken even more photos of her while I still had the chance.
Opening up my laptop, I found her online profile and began browsing through her updates. Most of them concerned boring stuff like chess tournaments and something called the math olympiad, but there were a few of her in more social settings, a big smile on her face. Yet in every single picture, she was wearing the ugliest, least flattering clothes imaginable.
Why did she insist on dressing like that? Was it a matter of poverty? Or was she trying to hide her good looks from the world for some reason? I just couldn’t figure it out. I also couldn’t understand why she surrounded herself with dorky nerds and other awkward looking boys in those group photos. Didn’t those guys know she was way out of their league?
I kept scrolling, thinking I was bound to find evidence of a boyfriend, some handsome stud with a smirk on his face and his arms draped possessively around her, but there was nothing. Tia was a stunner, and yet no one seemed to have noticed that but me. Clearly, she was intelligent, so why weren’t there a line of guys throwing themselves at her feet?
Was she a lesbian, perhaps? No, there didn’t seem to be any evidence of that either, no photos of her hugging some butch girl with short hair or anything along those lines.
From what I could see on her online profile, Tia was some kind of academic whiz and nothing more. Oh, how I longed to see at least one shot of her in a swimsuit or a short dress that flattered her figure, but there was nothing, just endless pictures of her wearing dumpy, formless outfits that hid her body from view.
With a shrug, I chose the three best photographs I’d taken of her earlier that day and sent them to her. Maybe when she had another chance to get a look at them, she’d realize how flattering the camera could be when wielded by the right hands. I then went back to my dinner, grimacing at the sour taste of the thing that Americans had the nerve to call cheese.
A few minutes later, I heard the beep, letting me know I’d gotten a new message. When I saw it was from Tia, my heart began to race.
“Nice!” it read, followed by a thumbs-up emoji. “Want to meet tomorrow at three? I’ve got some free time.”
I wasted no time in tapping out a reply: “Yes, definitely! We can meet at my studio or anywhere else you want.”
“Cool beans,” came her answer a few agonizing minutes later. “Got anything for me to wear?”
The truth was that I was renting the studio from a friend of a friend. It was located in the basement of a commercial building downtown, and the only reason I’d taken it was because of how cheap it was.
I’d rented a quality lighting system, and of course, I had all my camera gear set up and ready to go, but I’d been mostly shooting print ads, not models. Which meant that I had no wardrobe on hand, meaning nothing for Tia to wear.
“Yes, only the best for you,” I wrote back, my hands trembling.
“Alright, see you then,” said Tia in response, followed by another thumbs-up emoji.
Crap! What was I going to do? I’d always assumed that if I photographed any models, that either they or the clothing line sponsoring the shoot would supply the clothing. Now I had to quickly find something suitable for Tia to wear. This was my one chance to capture her ethereal beauty on film.
But where was I going to find suitable outfits for her at such short notice? I didn’t have time to order anything online, which meant that I was restricted to whatever physical stores there were in the area, something I knew nothing about. I did a quick Google search and was baffled by the lack of options. Was there not even one clothing boutique in this whole town?
The only result that even seemed halfway promising was a shop called Goodwill. I liked the name, but the reviews online seemed rather unpromising with lots of complaints about the rude staff and low-quality goods.
Nonetheless, the listing said that they sold women’s clothes, so Goodwill it was. Unfortunately, they were already closed for the evening, so I made it my mission to be there first thing in the morning when they opened up.
With that settled, I uncorked a bottle of wine and put on some relaxing music. Fate had brought Tia into my life, so it was now up to me to make the most of it.
As I sipped on my wine and danced around my tiny living room, I began repeating her name over and over to myself. Tia... Tia... such a short name, but also so lovely. It sounded vaguely Italian but also German for some reason.
Either way, it might have just three letters, but it spelled out the most beautiful young woman I had ever met.
When the room started spinning before my eyes, I shut down the music and went to bed.
As I lay there in the dark, images of Tia began flashing in front of my eyes as I fantasized about the different outfits I would dress her in for my shoot. At first, they were rather chaste clothes, the kind of strange, angular garments that permeate the high fashion world where models are considered living clotheshangers.
But then my visions began to take on a wilder tone, moving from dresses with stark, angular designs to ever more revealing outfits, skirts that started out at the knee and then got shorter and shorter until they barely covered her crotch. Likewise, the tops went from shortsleeved to spaghetti straps to no straps at all, just an ever narrowing band of cloth around that perfectly flat chest of hers.
Each time she sauntered down the catwalk in my mind, putting those feverishly inspired outfits through their paces, I felt my arousal grow. As I watched the tops of her slender thighs emerge and the tapered outline of her petite chest, she became more and more ravishing, the epitome of feminine beauty, a goddess come down from the heavens for a brief sojourn amongst us mere mortals.
Finally, with a loud cry, the dam burst, my bedclothes soiled with the fruits of my erotically charged mind. It was all so deviant and twisted that it made me disgusted, yet even as I wallowed in the sticky remnants of my guilt, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace in my heart.
Perhaps this is why I had become a photographer, to capture Tia’s essence, and then, like Icarus before me, have my wings melt by the heat of the sun as I plunged into the merciless ocean and sink beneath the waves, never to be seen or heard from ever again.
Goodwill
When I woke up the next morning, my head was pounding.
My throat felt raw and dry, and my stomach was heaving. All the chemicals and artificials colors that they put in the food in America was slowly killing me, and I longed to be back in my native village, enjoying a slice of real bread topped with some Gruyere and a tomato grown in the bright valley where there was too much sun for wine grapes to thrive.
Alas, I was still stuck here for a while in this dystopian, hyper-commercialized hell. But now, at least, there was something wonderful to look forward to - my photo shoot with the peerless Tia!
After chugging down a demitasse of scalding coffee, I did my best to make myself look presentable, and then I headed out for that fabled retail palace known as Goodwill.
As rundown and decayed as my own neighborhood was, the Goodwill store was located in a section of town that was even worse, with burned-out cars sitting on crabgrass lawns and nearly every centimeter of every building covered with graffiti.
I saw a few poor, lost souls shambling their way down the sidewalk as I clambered out of the ride-hail car, the driver zooming off the moment the door was closed. He had given me quite a frightful look when I’d confirmed that I genuinely wanted to go to this address and even now was probably classifying me in his mind as a mental nutcase.
The Goodwill itself, however, seemed to be more or less normal with no iron bars on the window or cracks in the glass of its front doors. I stepped inside to find myself in a vast fluorescent-lit Aladdin’s cave of sorts, a bewildering assortment of different items haphazardly piled onto shelves that ran the length of the building.
Off to one side, I could see furniture of every description, including some baby cribs and slightly stained mattresses lying on their sides, tightly packed together in a row.
After wandering around a bit, I found the clothing section. I bypassed the goods on offer for men, although I was intrigued by the odd collection of shoes, some of which looked to be of genuine vintage material.
Once in the women’s section, I got a bit lost, unable to puzzle out how all the different offerings were sorted. Finally, I decided to jump in at random, only to discover that everything was far, far too big for Tia to wear.
“Finding everything alright today?” said a clerk from behind me, causing me to jump.
“Um, yes. Well, no,” I said, turning to see that he was a pimple-faced teenager. “Do you have anything smaller?”
“Smaller?” said the kid, his Adam’s apple so prominent that I had to tear my eyes away from it.
“I’m a photographer, you see, and today I’m looking for some clothes for my model to wear,” I said, not wanting the clerk to get the impression that I was shopping for myself, although upon further reflection, I guess that sort of thing wouldn’t faze him.
“A model? Wow, that’s neat,” said the clerk with a low whistle.
“Err, yes,” I said, trying to hide my irritation. “She’s about your height, but, well, all of the garments here are well in excess of her measurements.”
“Huh?” said the clerk, idly scratching at one of the zits on his face, an oily, angry looking Mount Vesuvius, topped with a shimmering white tip that looked ready to erupt at any moment.
“Smaller clothes,” I said, enunciating my words. “Do you have smaller clothes?”
“Oh, you mean, like, for girls?” said the clerk, staring at me with the same expression as a cow chewing her cud.
“Sure, yes, for girls,” I said.
“Ahh, why didn’t you say so?” said the clerk, giving me a lopsided smile. “Right over here.”
I followed him over to a different section of the store. The garments on display were certainly much smaller, but they were all festooned with garish graphics of either cartoon figures or childish caricatures of cuddly animals. It was an awful sight to behold.
“Ah, yes, thank you,” I said, finally having to make a gesture with my hand for him to understand that I no longer needed his services.
Once I had some privacy, I began going through the jumble of outfits, some so tiny that they were clearly for toddlers while others were perhaps passable for Tia’s lean frame.
I began to understand why she always wore such ungainly outfits in her pictures because in this world, only clothes designed for a child would fit her. Even the outfits without vacant-eyed princesses and unicorns all over the front were made from hideously ugly bright pinks and purples, as if those were the only colors suitable for girls.
I was just beginning to lose hope when I spied an acid-washed denim skirt that might be acceptable, although I’d have to remove the attached plastic belt.
I threw the skirt over my arm and plunged back into the maelstrom, eventually coming up with a few more items that might work, including a pin-striped dress and an odd garment that seemed to be a pair of cotton shorts sewn together with a deep V-neck top.
It wasn’t much to work with, but it was better than nothing. After scouring the racks for anything even remotely passable, I gathered my strange haul and took it up to the counter.
The same zit-faced clerk was working the register, never blinking even once as he rang me up. Yet there was a big smile on my face when I saw that the sum total was less than what a fashion house would sell for a simple pair of wool socks.
I supposed that all the goodwill to be found in that barren wasteland of a store was in the low cost of the items, but it was of only meager comfort to me as I headed outside and went through the same tedious process of finding a ride-hail driver willing to pick me up from such a bleak location.
The benighted soul who finally agreed to take me across town was a black man so skinny that I could see his bones jutting out from his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt. The app showed me his name, but it was unpronounceable, and his English turned out to be even more limited than mine. Nonetheless, he delivered me safely to my studio, so I gave him five stars.
Once inside, I laid out my ill-gotten treasure out on a table to get a better look. Some of the clothes had an odd smell, and one otherwise acceptable dress turned out to have a cigarette burn on the back, which made me shudder.
About half the items were unsalvageable, leaving me with a motley assortment of items to mix and match as I mentally prepared for Tia’s shoot. As gorgeous as she was, pulling off some decent photographs with her in those rags was going to be the greatest challenge of my professional career.
Finally, when I could do no more, I laid out everything on the table in the order in which I wanted her to wear them. I then went across the street for a coffee and a smoke as I waited for Tia to arrive.
To my great surprise, she showed up precisely at the stroke of three o’clock. I’d gotten so accustomed to the lackadaisical attitude of the other models that I had to stub out my cigarette and dash across the street to let her in the front door of my building. She seemed a bit nervous as I led her down the steps and into my studio.
“Wow,” said Tia, stopping to look around at my set-up. “This is nothing like Sears.”
“I beg your pardon?” I said, afraid she’d used one of those seemingly endless colloquialisms that Americans favor.
“Oh,” said Tia with an awkward chuckle. “When I was little, my parents took us to the mall to get our portraits taken. It was just some rinky-dink set-up with a bale of hay and a bunch of corny backdrops on a pull-down thingy. Anyway, nothing like this, that’s for sure.”
“Ah,” I said, hoping that her words meant that she was pleased.
“Okay, so how do we do this?” said Tia, rubbing her hands together. “Do I just stand over there or what?”
“Oh,” I said, remembering that she’d told me that she’d never modeled before, something I still found hard to believe. “No. First, I’ve got all your outfits laid out for you on this table. Then once you’re dressed, I’ll direct you.”
“Aww, neat,” said Tia, walking over to the table and perusing the items. “Gosh, not bad. Better than anything I’ve got in my closet, that’s for sure.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling inordinately pleased.
“I always have the hardest time finding clothes that fit me,” said Tia, fingering the hem of the denim skirt. “That’s why I mostly wear my cousin’s hand-me-downs. We both drew the short straw in our family, hehe. She lives up in Milwaukee, where they’ve got more beanpoles, I guess.”
“I’m sorry?” I said, confused.
“We’re both tall, skinny, and flat-chested,” said Tia.
“Ah,” I said. “Well then, you can step behind the screen over there to change while I go get set up.”
“Nah, I don’t mind,” said Tia, shocking me by pulling her shirt off to reveal her bare chest. “Not like there’s anything to see, right?”
I couldn’t have disagreed more, but I forced myself to look away as I marched over to my camera and began planning out the different aperture and lens settings I wanted to use.
Clearly, Tia was not used to anyone thinking of her as a beautiful woman, but I hoped that the photographs I was about to take of her would convince her otherwise.
With my cock stirring in my pants, I made some last-minute adjustments to my lights, gulping hard when Tia stepped into frame wearing the first outfit I’d picked out for her, a simple cotton sundress that I thought would nicely flatter her long legs.
Sure enough, even before getting set in a pose, she was gorgeous, the slightly baggy nature of the dress working to highlight the contrast to her long, lean limbs.
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do,” I said, my pulse racing. “First, put one hand on your hip. Yes, perfect. Then move one foot slightly forward. Yes, that’s it. Okay, now look toward me but slightly away as if you’re gazing out over a meadow. Yes! Okay, now hold that pose.”
My fingers trembling slightly, I fired off a rapid series of shots. At first, I could see the nervousness and uncertainty in her eyes, but as the lights continued to strobe with every shot, I saw her face harden slightly and that mystical combination of confidence and aloofness that all true models possess began to shine through. Not only was Tia physically gorgeous, but she had the natural skills of a trueborn model.
Being in the presence of such greatness nearly brought me to tears.