Your wetness isn’t seduction. It’s sovereignty. It’s your body saying: “I’m clear. I’m open. I trust my instinct."
My wetness isn’t horniness.
It’s not desire.
It’s not a cry for stimulation.
It’s not an invitation.
My wetness is readiness.
It’s a state of self-expression; for no one but me.
I get wet because I’m placed.
On why I don’t get to London often enough. Fish and chips on Notting Hill. Noodles and dumplings steaming in Chinatown. And the correct Brasier.
He ruled the wok and the pot. He cooked tong from scratch with rice fluffy and hot and sweet. He pulled me out of abuse and hospitals and brought me home when I was lost.
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