I write from the edges of desire, of curiosity, of memory. The kind of writing that stays with you, that lingers like the echo of a voice against your skin. My stories chase intimacy, sex, and the delicious tension between what we say and what we really mean. I don't shy from heat, but it's the connection I’m after, the moments that undress us before the clothes come off.

A lot of it comes from experience. Long nights in Berlin where conversation curled around whiskey and laughter like smoke. Hotel rooms where the sheets still held her scent at dawn. Airport lounges heavy with silence, stolen glances, and everything we wanted to say but didn’t. These aren’t just scenes—they're invitations. Portals. Maps to something truer.

You write? Even better. That means you understand the power of words, and how they can be just as intimate as touch. If you’ve ever felt that ache to feel more, to sink teeth into something raw and real, then maybe we already speak the same language.

If you’re a woman who writes, who listens, who feels, especially the things she’s not supposed to, let’s connect. Share a page. A poem. A night of conversation that unfolds like slow seduction. Or maybe just a look that says more than a thousand paragraphs.

I’m not here for games, or swipes, or “seeing what’s out there.” I’m here for the kind of meeting that ignites something. Maybe it begins with a message. Maybe it ends with a story neither of us expected.

But isn’t that the best part?