Welcome, pet.

Life is a routine of pretending. Blending in. Performing the version of yourself that fits. The version that stays quiet about what you really want.

I was raised in the South—where modesty was expected, restraint was survival, and curiosity was punished. But even then, something in me burned. A hunger to know the things I wasn’t supposed to know. To taste the feelings I was told were shameful.

Moments of connection where masks slip—those always fascinated me. Blindfolding a lover, tying them down, pressing into the tension between fear and desire. The heartbeat that spikes when they’re finally seen. I learned to welcome the parts of me I was told to suppress—my hunger, my curiosity, the pleasure I take in going deeper. What some call darkness, I call truth.

And now, I want to know yours.

What have you buried under politeness and performance?

What makes your breath catch, your skin flush, your mind race?

I’m drawn to those new to themselves, and those fluent in their fantasies. The common thread is honesty—the willingness to bring it out.

To surrender to me is to open the locked door. To take my hand and go wandering through what you’ve kept hidden, secret, sacred. To be explored, exposed, slowly undone.

I’ll peel back the layers, trace your soft spots, push into the tension. Until there’s nothing between you and what you really crave.

And then we begin.