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Xo, Milo

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Milo is desperate for work. Desperate enough to go behind his girlfriend's back and answer a strange ad seeking a male model comfortable with 'high levels of physical contact.' When he turns up to the interview, he meets an equally strange - albeit captivating - young artist who refuses to look him in the eye. Xiomara is desperate for a model. Desperate enough to interview a man who'd been voted 'Most Likely to Bang a Celebrity' in high school. Against all odds, the unconventional pair form an unlikely connection. But is it strong enough to weather other people's prejudices?

Romance / Erotica
5.0 4 reviews
Age Rating:

1 - Milo




Height equal or greater than 1.90 metres.

Hairless chest, stomach, and appendages. Fine hair acceptable on arms and legs.

Defined jaw, brow, nose, and overall physique.

Ability to hold same pose for long periods of time.

Comfortable with nudity.

Available Monday to Friday, hours to be discussed in casting.

DISCLAIMER: Chosen model will be asked to sign a disclaimer consenting to non-sexual touching for the duration of the contracted period. Please do not apply if you are at all uncomfortable or disagreeable with high levels of physical contact. The successful applicant will be given the opportunity to designate areas on the body off limits (if applicable).

Email your resume and photograph to [email protected]

“Whoa…” What a weird advertisement. It doesn’t even say what the modelling is for. I add it to my Favourites tab anyway.

“Found something?” Dixy rips the laptop from my grasp before I have time to answer. Her beautiful lips dance silently as she reads.

By the time she finishes the disclaimer section, she raises a perfectly pencilled eyebrow and turns to face me in bed. I’m almost shocked to see a smile taking form at the corner of her mouth. “I know you’re a little short on money, but this?” She asks incredulously while holding up the tablet. “This is borderline prostitution. I’m surprised they let the pervert run this on Seek.”

So much for making her smile. And I was told there was a first for everything.

“It’s not prostitution.” I snatch the aging laptop and place it back on the pillow in front of me. “It’s… well, I don’t know what it is,” I finish with a grumble. I’m not even sure why I’m defending the advertisement. It’s not like I’m gunning for the esteemed position of Nude Model. Maybe it’s because I’d mistaken Dixy’s earlier expression as amusement when it turned out to be nothing more than derision. She makes it so hard to like her sometimes…

Dixy can see the uncertainty I’m trying to hide on my face. “Oh, come on! You think it’s weird too. Admit it.”

I nod my head slowly, conceding, even though a part of me still wants to apply for the job. It’s been three months since my last paid gig. Three months of me rocking the unemployed status and I’m hating every dull minute of it. I knew when I entered the modelling world full-time that the benefits – like meeting Dixy, travelling and free clothes – could quickly become out-weighed by the cons, like being jobless for long periods of time. But I’d been so sure I’d be the exception, especially when the Marx Agency approached me all those years ago when I’d been struggling to find a job. If the best modelling agency in Australia wanted to work with me then I’d have my pick of any brand name to work with, right?


This is the longest period I’ve gone without regular income coming in. I have my inheritance locked away for another few months. But for now, I’m down to triple digits in the bank and am needing a booking pronto.

“Yeah, okay. It’s weird. But it has ‘non-sexual’ in italics.” She rolls her eyes at my flimsy defence, making me huff in exasperation. “What’s the worst that can happen, Dix? That I’ll need to bust out the rape whistle?”

My joke is met by an off-key chuckle that I’m all too familiar with. I used to kid myself into thinking she was interested in me for more than my looks. But she’s said and done so many things over the last few months to crush that belief, like that shut-up-and-look-pretty snicker she’s giving me now. The longer I live with her, the harder it is to remain unaffected by her perpetual disdain and condescending smirks. But then I remember Dixy never smiles at anyone and the reminder calms me down. The fact that she tries to fake one for me every now and then is kind of sweet, right?

“Do what you want, Milo. It’s not like you can apply to any of these other jobs anyway.” As if her tone didn’t emphasise her point, she stabs a manicured finger at an advertisement seeking an electrical engineer, and then to another ad seeking an experienced project manager.

“Or this.” I kick her long legs off of mine when she has the gall to point to a janitorial position. This is just one of the million times she’s made it clear that she thinks I’m an idiot. And maybe I am for letting her get away with it.

“Nice, Dixy. Real nice.”

Dixy must sense she’s pushed too many buttons tonight because the patronizing smirk fades away. Wordlessly, she draws me back into bed and throws her leg over my waist in a consoling manner. I look over my shoulder, ready to tell her to piss off, but her lips jut out and her eyes look so sorry I end up eating my own words. She’s so beautiful when she’s pouting, my own pride pales in comparison.

“I’m sorry, Milo,” she whispers in my ear, making my arms break out in tiny bumps. Her hand caresses my shoulder, down the length of my arm and across my tensed stomach. I close my eyes and let her siren voice engulf me. “I know I can be a bitch sometimes. And I don’t think you’re stupid or lazy if that’s what you thought I meant. Can you forgive me?”

Who said anything about lazy? I choose to ignore that subtle jab and relax under her hand, which is moving lower and lower as she whispers her crap apology… and other things. By the time her hand has reached her destination, I’m completely at her mercy. “I… accept your apology.”

She snickers huskily when my voice cracks, which is as close to a genuine laugh that I’ll ever hear from her. My God, the girl could paint the Mona Lisa with those deft little fingers of hers. Who gives a shit that she’s a bitch? I think, my conscience wilting away under the heat of mounting ecstasy.

“Tell me you aren’t going to apply to this job,” she demands in her Sexy Voice, one used to get her way when she’s having her way with me. It’s the most delicious form of manipulation to succumb to, one I shamelessly fall for every time.

With some exceptions.

She squeaks when I pivot around to flip her on her stomach. I slap her ass playfully and then cocoon her back with the curve of my body. “I won’t apply to this job,” I whisper in her ear, making her shiver.

Too bad Dixy is too preoccupied to notice that I’m pointing to the janitor ad, I think devilishly as I unclip her bra.

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