La Sirena 69's Galerie

The charts just handed my whole week to the camera instead of the water, so the fitting for the next shoot has officially begun — and it went off script fast. Which one gets packed: the shirt, or what's under it?

Everyone's still sleeping off Halloween and the forecast says the ocean clocks out by mid-week, so I'm up plotting one last proper session — the freezer's more use than the charts right now. Come talk me into the early one?

Wind's shredding the surf so Halloween won the afternoon instead — one eye done, the other still blank, and the corset already voted for less fabric. You'd let me walk out the door like this, right?

Slasher Night starts in an hour and my costume's still in pieces on the bed. You'd help me decide what stays on, wouldn't you?

Salt's still on my skin and the water's doing that thing where I forget I ever had plans today. Come tell me what you'd do if you found me like this.

Someone ordered a custom and I've been recording ever since — the ring light's the only thing still on and I stopped being professional about three clips ago. You'd watch the whole thing, wouldn't you?

Sky's barely awake and the parking lot's already empty, so I'm changing in the driver's seat with the board loaded. Last clean morning before the ocean goes quiet for days — come keep watch for me?

Slipped past the break before anyone else even thought about it — the point is throwing clean little shoulders and tomorrow's swell is just the preview. The water's perfect and I don't share well. Hurry.

The casting ran long, the apartment's empty, and the sun through the blinds is doing things to me. I keep thinking this would go better with an audience — say something filthy to me while you watch.

The rain caught me halfway through my balcony flow and now the mat's abandoned and I'm the one getting soaked. Thunder's doing its best, but I can definitely be louder — come settle it?