Short Aesthetic Bio Novels & Stories

“Well, I prefer to let my work speak for me. There’s no need for my face to be out there.” “Damn! I never expected this was how you would look like.” Senina took a look at his powerful frame and well-toned body. While he might not spend a lot of time at the gym like Daykan, it was obvious that he did exercise. Maybe he had really good genes too. Senina said thoughtfully. “You absolutely do not look like some nerdy molecular biologist. I imagined a small, pale guy with huge glasses. I know I sound a little stereotypical but come on, you get where I’m coming from!”

Then I noticed they tagged the photo to me and Dionnah. I took my time staring at the screen, using the mouse to hover the arrow over the profile name. I held my breath and clicked on it. 'If you come to my F* page to spy, then good luck because all the good stuff is on I*.' What a weird bio, I thought. I continued to scroll down. She was a women's rights activist. No surprise there. She was a Capricorn who loved spicy food. She loved to dance. Designing was her calling and oh, she was a hopeless romantic who appreciated a single rose instead of a bouquet while Lilacs were her favourites. I smiled to myself. She was an interesting woman, for sure.

I look to see the person who spoke and saw a man in a navy blue suit. 'He's probably the big shot' I thought to myself. He offers a hand to help me up but I refuse and got up on my own, "there's no need to apologize, I was the one that wasn't paying attention to where I was going." " My name is Luke Anderson," He introduces himself out of the blue, "the PA of Eric James," he adds on. 'Eric James? The name sound familiar' I thought then it hit me. "Isn't he that rude CEO that despises all womankind?" I ask there are rumors around the city that he's gay.

Just symbols and vague offers. I keep scrolling. The next profile is different. The photo isn’t flashy, it’s a mirror selfie taken in what looks like a gym locker room. The man is shirtless, sweat-slicked, and well-muscled, but not in an obnoxious way. His expression is relaxed. Not smiling, but not severe either. There’s a confidence in it that feels real, not performed. His age is listed as thirty-two. His bio is short and to the point: Looking for a casual submissive to wine, dine, and worship for one night. I prefer softness with a little attitude. Show up as you are. I’ll take care of the rest.

“Spicy… Temptation! That’s it. It’s mysterious, alluring… it screams ‘look at me’ without giving it all away.” “Spicy Temptation,” I repeated slowly, letting the words roll off my tongue. It felt bold. Dangerous, in the best way. Bree leaned closer, excitement bubbling in her voice. “Perfect. Now, let’s craft your bio. Something short, flirty, and… hot.” I watched her fingers fly over the screen. “A little taste of fire. A masked tease. Dancing my way into your fantasies. SPICY… the heat you didn’t know you needed.”

MORE BASIC INFORMATION Height 5' 7" (170 centimeters) Weight 127.1 pounds (57.65 kilograms) Hair Color Brown Blood Type A- Mother's Maiden Name Civil Status Single Educational Background Current student at UCLA EMPLOYMENT & FINANCE (leave blank whichever isn't applicable to you) Employment Status Student Monthly Salary Occupation(Job Title) Company Name Company Size Industry PERSONAL INFORMATION (leave blank whichever isn't applicable to you) Vehicle 2006 Nissan M Car License Plate L75-GLT Signature (Insert signature) Biography Writer, Incurable food enthusiast, Evil

I pull it out slowly, unfolding it slowly like it might bite me. His I*******m handle is scrawled in sharp black ink. I stare at it for a few long seconds before letting out a breath and opening the search bar. “A little I***a-stalking won’t hurt anything,” I mumble to myself. The screen loads, and I blink at the header. His profile picture is a black-and-white photo of him with a sculpture in the background. His username is just his name. His bio just says: Sculpteur. Paris. Matière et émotion: Sculptor. Paris. Material and emotion.

Match based on desire. She hesitated for all of three seconds before downloading it. The signup was quick. She used a fake name, “ThickLittleSecret”, and a blurred profile picture that showed only the lower half of her body in black lace panties that barely contained her ass. In the bio box she typed the truest thing she’d ever written about herself: Curvy. Thick thighs. Soft belly. Heavy tits. Want to be worshipped… and completely ruined. Her heart was pounding as she hit create.

I loved the mansion, but I had been giving Alex and Cassidy space to enjoy each other in private. I returned to the apartment after lunch and was surprised by an email from Cory Booth, my editor. My bio and pics were live on their website and social media. I followed the link he provided. The sight of my image and life story made me cringe and giggle. The four photos Xander took made me look pretty and glamorous, and my bio made me sound like a courageous do-gooder. But it felt weird to be treated like a celebrity. The story was the star, not me.

She always is. Cross-legged on my couch, sushi boxes between us, my laptop balanced on a pillow, Rachel types before I can object. “Username?” I mumble, “Professional Trainwreck.” She smirks. “Cute, but let’s sell aspiration, not despair. How about BrunchAndBanter?” “Kill me now.” She ignores me. “Bio?” “I’m a marketing exec with excellent credit and no free time.” She snorts. “Too honest. How about: Creative strategist who loves good coffee, bad puns, and long lunches I can call networking.”