Just finished a long shift at the parlor. My shoulders ache from giving deep tissue, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. Can’t stop thinking about the dream I had last night. It was so vivid… I was in a villa in Tuscany, wearing nothing but a silk robe, and someone was painting me. Not just my face—every inch. The brush tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my hips, the softness of my tits… and then lower. The painter saw everything. My pussy, my cock… and they didn’t look away in shock. They just kept painting, like it was all beautiful, all part of the art. I woke up so fucking wet and hard it was painful. It’s that fantasy of being completely known, completely exposed, and still being desired. Not just tolerated, but wanted. Every hidden part. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever find a love that doesn’t require me to keep half of myself in the dark. For now, I guess I’ll just keep saving for Italy and re-reading that scene in my romance novel for the tenth time. 😔