Cherry Bomb

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Dear Diary,

I had a quarter life crisis last night. Maybe I should move to LA, not to be near Jeremy but to figure out what life looks like without him. You know, leave my comfort zone and find myself.

Is there a line between running away from your problems and running toward your new self? What’s personal growth and what’s immaturity? Should I take the road of least resistance or the road less traveled? Fuck, how am I supposed to know these things? It’s not like I have parents or mentors to teach me.

Maybe that’s why I’m so attracted to older men—deeply rooted Daddy issues. I want someone to hold me and tell me everything is gonna be okay...I really shouldn’t go out tonight. I know I’m vulnerable. I feel like I’m two seconds away from crying or fucking someone. It all depends on who looks at me and in what way.

Maybe I should hang out with my friends...but I low-key feel like they want to fuck me too.

-🤷🏼‍♀️

Might be, Maybe

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Hi diary,

I’m still waiting to hear back from HBO. I hope it goes well, I’m so anxious. And it sucks because I know they’ll call me sometime next week, but I don’t know when. Now, every time my phone rings I get excited because I hope its them...also, I’ve been super horny and I don’t know why.

Maybe it’s because Jeremy moved to LA. It’s officially over, we’re over, and he’s gone. It’s like I’m coming to terms with the truth...we’re never going to be together. He doesn’t love me, he doesn’t see me as a person he can spend the rest of his life with. Maybe I’m too young to think about forever but...the alternative is thinking about sex.

I don’t know why, but whenever I get anxious and sad, I get super horny and latch onto the first available guy. I’ve been thinking about it and maybe that’s why I got so attached to Jeremy in the first place. When I met him, I was an emotional wreck, and he made me feel better. Maybe I should stay home tonight? Looking for my next Jeremy might be perpetuating a vicious cycle.

Might be, maybe...it’s so weird, growing up. I’m old enough to see these patterns but too young and stubborn to change them. Oh well.

-💋

It's the taste.

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He kisses every part of my skin. Indulged in the texture of silk and velour. It’s the gentle aggression titrating into my body. A soft trance takes over. He isn’t the first one. To be taken unaware, by the inescapable aroma. A wild mask worn. He tastes, I watch. I find him deeper in this realm than ever before. Gasping for air as if it impossible to separate but for a few moments of air. Deep grumbles escape from him as he devours me. An all-encompassing kiss of my pussy. “It’s the taste of you,” he says, “it’s the taste of you.” Ravaged and satisfied I lay there. It’s the taste of me. It’s my poison that fiends, a nectar that feeds. Inescapable and always desired. It’s the taste of me, it changes you. - Eve


Promise of Again.

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I received a lovely surprise yesterday. The handsome, bearded man from Ecuador I met a month ago has returned. He came looking for me at the club on my usual Wednesday night hustle. I had just finished a dance with a rather dull financier, one of the first of the night. There I was, sitting at the bar where he had found me last. I could smell a familiar scent of brandy and vanilla. I felt a grasp at my hip and turned to see him looking down at me with his blue eyes. He whispered in my ear, “I’ve come to take you away.”

The sound of his rich, deep, woody voice made my pussy swell. At that moment, with his voice in my ear and his arm around me tight, I had no will of my own. I was in surrender to his desires. He told me where to meet him and not to change from what I was wearing. He kissed my cheek, turned and left. I was paralyzed, unable to move my gaze from where he had just been. Lost in such a sudden rush of oxytocin and dopamine, I wondered if I was adrift in a daydream. My obedience to him usurped my confusion. I grabbed my jacket, draped it over my nearly nude body, and walked out the door.

I met him at this rooftop lounge a few blocks away. It seemed to amuse him to see me trembling in my lace dress beneath my long, velvet, trench coat. He let me suffer briefly before warming me with his large hands. We ordered a drink and sat beside one of the steel patio heaters and watched as the night grew. There was this delightfully cocky air about his accomplishment. He would slip his hand beneath my jacket to slowly squeeze up my thigh, teasing me with the pressure of each fingertip. He knew he had succeeded thus far, in his evening's goal. We casually drank our cocktails with a few brief, salacious interludes when the servers disappeared. This pattern continued into our intoxication, on the cab ride to the penthouse, and submerged in the concrete freestanding bathtub. We spent the evening traversing different pleasures, from wet to restricted. We fucked in every room of the penthouse until we fell asleep on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Morning came, and we shared coffee and pastries in sweet and silent repose. He left with a promise of again, a check to my landlord for three months rent, and my magnified thirst for his love.

Sparkles

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Okay Diary,

 

Tomorrow is the day.

 

I’m so glad I was able to pull myself out of that funk. I’ve gotta focus on what’s important. I may not get the outcome I want but I know, no matter what, I’ll get what I need. Besides, if my friends can break into creative industries then why can’t I??

 

They think I’m talented and it’s time I thought so too. At the same time I don’t want to put all of my eggs in one basket on this one. I should diversify my hope and apply to Buzzfeed or something.

 

Okay, so enough about potentials, let’s talk the present. Rosewood has been really good! The founder’s thinking about expanding to Miami and he wants me to come with...I’m honestly thinking about it. I love Miami, and it would only be for a few months! Then again...my regulars would miss me.

 

Besides that, there’s nothing new to report. My writing’s going well, I have a new opportunity on the horizon, and life is beautiful.

 

-XO

❤️✨👽

No Halo

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I gotta get out of this labyrinth. My interview is in two days and I’ve done nothing to prepare. That’s not true, I have done something...but I haven’t done anything since I saw Jeremey and that girl.

 

I’m too much of a boss bitch for this shit. I’m too expensive, too valuable to cry over a fuckboy in his mid 30s (maybe if I write this enough I can actually believe it). I also can’t talk to anyone...not my girls, they would all judge me. I always say that I can’t catch feelings...the last thing I want to do is eat a big slice of humble pie.

 

Here’s something I’m going to admit to you and no one else: last night I had a dream me and Jeremy got married. It was beautiful. Lavish but tasteful, we had the ceremony in a church and the reception in a banquet hall. We played my favorite songs...then I gave him a lap dance in front of his parents and my aunt. Everyone looked so embarrassed...in a sweet way.  Then I woke up.

 

Fuck.

 

-Your favorite alien girl,

👽

If I gotta take the high road...

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Dear Diary,

I went out last night and saw Jeremy with another girl. I don’t know why that hurt me so much. Maybe it’s the girl scheduled to interview me in a few days...I don’t know. I’m not even sure he saw me. Part of me wanted to channel my inner Maddie, find a hot guy, and make a slut out of myself on the dance floor. But I didn’t do that, I just grabbed a drink and sat by the bar. My girls were like—OMG, you’re so classy but I couldn’t hear them, and not just because the club was loud.

I didn’t go home early. I stayed and finished the night like a champ. Then I got home and decided to write to my best friend in the world (that’s you fyi).

This sucks. I’m so lonely but I hate being vulnerable. I guess that’s what keeps me lonely.

I guess I should get some sleep or something. Maybe that will make it better. In the morning, under the light, maybe all the pain goes away.

 

-XO

👽

Most Girls

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Dear Diary,

Okay, I know I have serious things to worry about (my interview that’s coming up, my friend...my other friend) but now is not the time for serious ambitions. Now is a time for the gutter. For the trivial...for the petty.

 

I got into one Twitter fight and one Instagram fight. Basically, there’s a girl I introduced to the game. She wasn’t slim (or pretty) enough to work at Rosewood so she works at some dump in Queens. Honestly, maybe it wasn’t her looks at all. Maybe her personality is repellant enough. Allow me to explain.

 

She’s one of those people who walks around in a fog of self-righteousness. Everything she does is right and good—she’s like Daenerys Targaryen with none of the talent or ability. So, she was complaining about how the Hustlers movie didn’t have enough body diversity (or something) and I snapped. It’s like, just because everyone in the movie didn’t look like you, doesn’t mean there was no diversity. Also, if they did have hella body types the movie would be unrealistic.

 

Anyway, we go back and forth and I complain on Twitter. This time another friend of mine (a real friend, not a fake friend) said all girls at Rosewood are “like that”. “Self-righteous, wannabe Instagram models.” I love her but its like babe, just because they didn’t hire you doesn’t mean the club sucks.

 

Also, some girls are Instagram models—not a wannabe in sight.

-XO

❤️👽✨

The Perfect Remedy

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Dear Diary,

So I’m an idiot, what else is new?

I’m being completely honest here; I had good intentions. It’s like...ughhhh, I don’t even want to get into it but I feel like I need to. Why else would I have a diary?

 

I mentioned I was nervous about my interview right? So I call up one of my exes, Jeremy, to help me sort this out. I wanted his advice on what to wear and how to act...and I didn’t mind if we had sex later. It seemed like a fair trade. So he gives me the advice and we have sex after—totally normal. Then he asks, “Who are you interviewing with” and I tell him. Then he laughs softly and says, “Oh word?! That’s an ex of mine—I’ll put in a good word for you.”

 

Honestly, I didn’t even care if he was joking or not—not about the ex (that was obviously true) but about his tampering with my interview. I flipped out, I said, “Don’t you fucking dare! Don’t even think about telling her you know me.” He had the audacity to be offended and say, “I thought you wanted my help” and I said, “Yes, obviously, BUT NOT LIKE THAT.”

 

And he’s looking at me like I’m crazy and I can’t believe I have to explain to him why talking to an ex he’s apparently still “cool with” about helping your current off and on hookup is a bad idea. I mean that could bias her against me...am I being crazy or is he being stupid?

Regardless he wouldn’t let it go...he left in a huff and I was glad to see him go...but now I’m freaked out. What if he talks to her about me anyway, but says super bad things about me...I don’t think he would do that but all’s fair in love and war.

 

I don’t know man. I think I need to smoke and sleep...hopefully tomorrow will be better.

-XO

👽

What Ifs and Maybes

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Dear Diary,

I am so nervous. It kind of feels like, if I wanted to, I could make myself throw up. But we’re not going down that road...not tonight. Not right now...

 

I got an amazing opportunity to interview with HBO as a PA. This would be amazing because I’d be specifically assisting the writer’s room and getting to know some of my favorite content creators. I don’t mean to stick my head too far into the clouds but what if this is my big break? What if this is my Peggy Olsen from Mad Men moment? What if all I have to do is be close enough to these people...and my life will change?

 

I know that’s a lot of What Ifs but I have to start somewhere, right? I’m telling myself that since I got this far it must mean they like my work...and that has to count for something. Maybe they see something in me that I can’t see in myself. But now what? If this is my chance how do I make sure I won’t fuck it up? There’s no one I can talk to about this...how am I supposed to dress for an interview when the job isn’t even well defined. Like if I Google PA what even comes up...ugh, I’m freaking out!

 

Maybe I’m worried about the wrong things. Maybe I need to focus on potential interview questions...or filling gaps in my resume. These people work in show business, they can smell BS a mile away...omg, there are too many Maybes and What-Ifs in my life right now. I’m so over it.

 

-Until next time,

Your favorite girl ❤️

Please, Mr. Postman.

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The postman arrived today. I’ve never wanted one so bad. I was waiting for him like a double D blonde in a bad, 80’s porno. As soon as the buzzer in my apartment sounded, I almost immediately got wet. I unlock the door and skip downstairs. The UPS man stands there dropping down two different packages. I walk over, check the address and take the long rectangular package under my arms and run upstairs. I unwrap it like a five-year old fiend for Christmas. 

I’ve been waiting weeks for this to be shipped to me. She is beautiful, pearlescent in color with rose gold touches. She is heavy, long, and elegant. She is the magic wand every witch needs. She is the one and only vibrator I really actually want and need. She comes fully charged (thank god!) I clean her off, flip the switch and enjoy the deep rumbles that flow through my body up from my clitoris.

Now, just because I have a new and improved toy in my life, does not mean I will discard all of my trinkets in my velvet lined box in the corner of my room. But I must say, she brings a power to pleasure I haven’t felt yet. Her pure vibrations with the varying levels and wide range of modes bring me to a whole other level of ecstasy. Every time I place her to my clit I sky rocket, like taking a hit of the best weed on earth.

The next week the postman came again to deliver another package. I just so happen to walk out of my apartment as he is dropping another package. I smile coyly and wonder if he has any idea what I have been up to all week long since our last encounter.


What would happen then?

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I adore my dear friend. I visit her every chance I get. She lives in Spain so it is always either the first or the last place I go. I make sure my trips include a few days with her, wherever she is. Her name is Catrina, people call her Cat. I call her my precious little puss. She is tall, wild hair that has golden highlights from her days filled with the ocean sun. She has a slight gap in her teeth, high-arched eyebrows, a beautiful full body and a brain I could devour. Her intelligence and emotional attunement are the things I most admire and adore about her. 

We first met at a bar and instantly went through a portal. We shared everything we could, laughed, and even cried a bit. We got so emotionally vulnerable with each other. I swear no drugs were involved! (Well...weed is ALWAYS involved!). I felt like I met a soulmate. 

We never truly separated although we share distance between us. We have always been so innately connected.  She is a part of me, as family is, she is in my heart as lovers are. Every visit I have and each intimate moment I share with her feels as if it is imbued with an intoxicant that only prolongs and exacerbates my love and admiration for her. And then I wonder...what if? What if we fell for each other? What if we gave ourselves permission to be completely here for each other? What if we crossed that boundary, what if we could love each other physically as we do spiritually? What would happen then… what would happen to us?


Cherished Pangs.

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I left him. We had a passionate kiss outside the tube on my way back to the US. He held on to me, laughed at my sweet face as he described it and said, “I’ll see you later.” It is never goodbye. It is always next time and until I say goodbye, I do not think I will ever have the peace I need yet so desperately disdain. So I looked at him as he stood there staring back. I instantly felt every emotion I have ever felt for or from him. Treacherous heartache, loneliness, complete wild inhibitions, deep intimacy, a connection beyond anything I ever felt, beauty, intelligence, actually recognition, sweet sense of longing and an absolute rage of never really knowing. 

I love every single one of these emotions, I cherish each pang that reverberates through my body. And yet, I value myself, my delicate heart and the intensity in which I love from. 

I gave him one last sweet and simple kiss. I smiled at him with all the love I had for him and said, “Goodbye, baby.”

When I found my seat on the plane an hour later and sat, still among the shuffling folks tucking their luggage away, I covered my head with my scarf. And beneath the soft white cashmere, I began to weep. Weep at the loss, weep at the desire, weep at the many things that may never have been and will never be. Not now. I left him, not like I have left him before, but in a way that felt total and final. And among the agony I truly felt, there is some relief. I can bring my desire with me now. It is no longer within his grasp. I had no longer left it as a souvenir for him to watch over until the next I fall into his arms. It is mine again. It will be mine forever.


Grand Delusions.

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I stay a while. it is as if we just met each other a couple of months ago and have seen each other every day since. The level of intimacy is shocking. I should be used to it by now. But still, I remain in awe every time I experience it again. The comfort and ease I feel just falling into him after months apart still make me feel deeply sentimental and nostalgic. It’s an odd experience. This tenderness, this sweet heartache I deeply feel despite being so close to him. I feel as though I am the only one he could ever want and ever love. Yet, I know that in a few days I will be thousands of miles away and anguishing over our lack of communication. As if it was some grand delusion I have conjured up and convinced myself of. 

It’s a love so good, it tears me up.


Some kind of Certainty.

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It’s been nearly a year since I last saw him and many more months since we last spoke. Yet, I still feel an intense longing, an ineffable desire that runs very physically through my body. Sometimes, I wish this wasn’t the case. Sometimes I wish that I could just release all this passion and infatuation for him. Just see him as a person I once loved, memories I will cherish. And I still feel that way, but the memories are not only cherished, but they are also demanded. They are a part of me, they are present in my hopes for the future. It is a weird position to be in, to give up hope yet be so full of wanted possibilities. This contradiction of knowing we are not compatible in the long-term, knowing that he is too shut off to really allow this in, yet experience an overwhelming feeling of forever, the feeling of falling and opening up to a person. The feeling projecting into the future. It is irresistible. The “what-could-be’s.”

I know this is not reality, yet here I am, about to see him. I am to spend 4 days in his arms, on his bed naked, vying for his expression of love. Begging him to divulge even the smallest bit of information that would put my sore heart at ease. But he does not reveal such things. Not in any tangible way at least. In bed he will stare at me with all of his soul, he will melt with me, bring me to tears, and fill me up so I feel like I can never truly fall. He will tell me every little thing he loves about me, everything I do that drives him crazy with lust. But when we are quiet, together on the balcony of his 5th floor London apartment… he says very little, reveals only his uncertainty and his confusion at the definition of his own emotions. I never wanted to be someone to be uncertain of. And I’ve ever wanted someone with so much certainty before. 


Profane and Boring.

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A series of flesh, moisture, and sounds sweep across the screen. Bombarding my mind with the profane fantasies and the unrealistic movements choreographed solely for this scene. 

Somehow, I am turned on, but not aroused. My body responds but my aesthetic side judges me. Why are they excessive with everything they do? Every movement exaggerated, every sound forced from the throat he is grasping. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love being choked, I love letting my moans and pleasure sounds release, as loud or as soft as they might be…. But this… This just isn’t cutting it for me. I am sick of the same old storyline and the same people with the same bodies and the same, old, tired, repertoire of positions. 

We can do better...hell maybe I should start creating porn. I mean it can’t be any worse than this sad shit. At least I will have something to watch that is both arousing, beautiful, and worth my time.


Mr. Wolf with Rai and Alia

Location: Yotel Hotel, New York City

I met Rai and Alia last night at Rosewood Theater. I wasn’t prepared to do a shoot - I had no camera besides my iPhone and no hotel room booked. Their energy was undeniable and once I mentioned shooting them there was no turning back.

I pulled up my HotelTonight app and booked a room at the closest hotel. We got to my room around 2:30am. They put on some music, turned off the lights and began their private show for me. Alia was very new to this but warmed up quickly with help of her experienced friend Rai. They loved the attention my camera and I gave them. They needed very little direction. Their innocent playfulness and natural beauty had me putting my camera away often. I enjoyed just sitting on the bed watching them dance with each other. The faint lights from the City below lit up the dark room perfectly. Hitting their slender bodies and bright smiles just so. In between shots we talked about their modeling careers - Rai was in the latest Kayne music video and even performed with him on SNL. They also shared how they came upon dancing at Die Happy Tonight events. Their story similar to many of the Die Happy Tonight models I’ve spoken with before. They heard through a friend and had a desire to explore their sexuality. We ordered in an early breakfast and said our goodbyes. Today’s going to be a good day.

….

Part art piece, part expose, the “Mr. Wolf” photo series captures the intimate moments of Die Happy Tonight models - after the party. Shot by Die Happy Tonight’s Founder. To sponsor a shoot, click here.

Secrets

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Dear Diary,

Should I be kind and tell you what my new Daddy likes to do? Or should I be a good girl and take those secrets to my grave. I mean, imagine if anyone were to find this diary, that would be mortifying. Worse yet, I don’t think Aviator Daddy would ever speak to me again.

Then again, we’re friends right? Friends keep each other’s secrets.

It always starts out slowly. We have dinner and discuss the events of the day. Then he finds an excuse for us to go back to his apartment—he’s never straightforward. Once we’re inside all pretense falls away. Sometimes he ties me up, sometimes he makes me suck his cock until I gag on his cum. Usually, he spanks me and makes me ask for more. He always says the same thing—“If you’re a good girl you’ll get more tomorrow.” I wonder if he heard that in a movie or something.

Maybe I’m growing up and growing out of kinky sex, because I’m beginning to find S&M less exciting. I look forward to going through his record collection or discussing the differences between the original Italian and current translations of the classics. It could be that as my body grows accustomed to stimulation—my mind craves more variety.

If he wants to keep me he’ll have to engage with my brain as well as my body.

 

Submissive Honey

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Dear Diary,

 

I haven’t been someone’s plaything in a while.

 

Again, I went to another party with the promoter. This one was much more chill, although the girls still looked like they could be anywhere from 16 to 24...I wonder how I looked to them. Oh well, again, that is not the point. I met a new daddy.

 

Apart of me hates that word. It’s super creepy and I call my own dad Daddy...but Italian aviator likes it, and what he wants he gets. In this case, I guess that’s me. It’s so obvious now but I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.

 

First of all, he had the promoter introduce us. I figured he just wanted someone to practice his English on. Then he started fumbling with his words and I thought that was adorable until he said, “You know, we should go out sometime” perfectly and with, almost, an American accent. I nearly spit out my drink.

 

“What? You speak English? I thought you were just practicing with me?!”

 

He shrugged and kept staring at me and I realized I hadn’t answered his question. It was all so adorable and sweet—he seemed so shy. Until I said “Yes.”

 

-XO