My room is private and mainly masculine.

The bed is unmade, but not messy. You sit on the edge and study the bed sheets. The pillows are big and soft, one slightly on top of the other.

You run your hands over the cool sheets, imagining my dark naked body stretched across them. Knowing that my naked skin has touched these sheets arouses you.

You smell a hint of my scent all over the sheets and pillows, an intoxicating mixture of Bleu De Chanel and something more natural.

My room is neat but not zealously orderly. The wardrobe door is ajar. There are shoes in a line on the floor inside the closet. Lots of different types of shoes: many dress shoes, a couple of pair of work shoes, causal slippers, and about six different Nike sneakers.



My wardrobe has five drawers. The third is slightly open. You open it to find my T-shirts. You slide your hand around and under the cotton shirt finding nothing significant, and you then close it back to the position you found it in.

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