I am raw.

I don’t mean to be raw. I don’t mean to push the limits and endurance of your hearts, but I know I do.

I drive for authenticity, magic, integrity. My words and images are everything to me. They are me.

I want my words to connect to fibers of your soul like hot, wet whispers on your ear. I want you to see how much we’re alike despite an ocean between us, mountains above us.

I want my images to grip you somewhere, somehow, even if it’s just a tickle. Especially if it’s a punch.

I may suffer, but I am alive and content; do not ever pity me. I am vivid and bright, eager for each morrow.

This month I am dedicating all my efforts to my accidental rawness. Thank you for being here.

February Photofest

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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