3rd February: AM.
I awoke this morning with trepidation, anxiety and a feeling in the pit of my stomach that acknowledged that today was going to be the day I was going to change the course of my adult life and cross boundaries that were previously thought unbroachable. At least by society, that is. I’m not going to lie, I’m by no means a prude, perhaps inexperienced, but not a prude. I love fucking. I love doing it, I love listening to it, I love watching other people do it.
I couldn’t face breakfast, not even coffee, and it was only when my alarm went off on my phone, giving me that fifteen-minute countdown before I had to leave my apartment, that I realised I was kneeling in the shower, such was the daze and level of pre-occupation my mind had been placed under. I’d washed thoroughly, shaved, and applied a number of different perfumes. It’s something I was taught as an exchange student whilst living and studying in Italy. Apply one fragrance to your ankles, another to your midriff, and another to your wrists and neck, and make sure the scents all complement each other.