Sprawled belly-down on a deep brown velvet sofa, Helen G scrolls through her phone in a white tank vest, tiny red denim shorts and a pair of playful white knee-high socks trimmed with blue stripes and bright watermelon motifs. Chunky grey platform heels dangle behind her, her cherry-red hair tumbling around black-framed glasses as she kicks her feet in the air. The whole scene is sweet, lazy Sunday afternoon, all luscious curves stretched across the cushions and a petite, lithe frame wrapped in the softest cotton.

She rolls onto her back, one hand holding the phone up overhead, the other teasing the hem of her vest up over a smooth, toned stomach, shorts unbuttoned and riding low on creamy hips. The vest comes up over a white bra that she plays with slyly, cross-legged on the sofa in just those bright knee-socks and red shorts, tongue peeking between a shy grin. Peachy bottom propped up, watermelon socks still pulled high, Helen is all dimples and daydream, the kind of girl-next-door centrefold you would happily lose a whole afternoon to.