Fresh Garden Roses, Film Photography, Art House Cinema, Photojournalism, Poetry, PC Gaming, Browsing the Dark Web, Goat Cheese, Fine Chocolates, Kombucha, Rocky Road Ice Cream, Silk Pajamas, MAC Lipstick in Hug Me, Wellness Spas, Fine Art Museums, Sandy Beaches & The Finer Things in Life

Brian Atwood, Balenciaga, Cartier, Christian Louboutin, Givenchy, Louis Vuitton, Ann Demeulemeester, Schiaparelli, Herve Leger, Hermes, Maison Margiela, Rick Owens, Agent Provocateur, La Perla, Bordelle, Guerlain, Tiziana Terenzi

Latex & PVC, Corset & Restrictive Clothing, Heels, Shibari, Petplay

Borrowing my body, my breath, my restraint.

I am drawn to the exquisite distortions of desire, to the subtle perversions where Fetish reveals itself—tender, raw, and strangely pure.

I am its vessel— gently led on my knees, by its rhythm… and in its touch, I am undone.

I am for those who ache—for those who understand that to desire without possessing is the purest form of adoration. To those few, I am a mirror—the Muse.

I am not the fantasy. I am what lingers after—the ache, the absence, the shape of want. I don’t invite. I beckon. And only the devoted follow.

Your objet petit a.

A kind of martyrdom. An offering stripped to the bone.