Dear Diary, 🖤 Here I stand, among the glittered curtains, the velvety darkness, and the paper-thin promise of propriety that separates today from tomorrow. Accompanied by the decadent whispers of the saxophone that snakes languidly through the charged air, my heart races in rhythm while my mind soars with sultry possibilities. Tonight, through a fiery dance of desire and defiance, I am to show them all what I truly am. I am Eros, unchained and uncontainable. As with any other night, it starts with the right lingerie. Strutting towards my satin-framed mirror, I am a vision of lean muscles and bronze-hued skin etched with my own life's narrative. The fitted corset hugs every curve just right, the gossamer threads whispering sweetly to my skin. I look into my own eyes in the mirror, fully aware of the power I hold. My black feathered boa snakes its way around my body, a seductive accomplice in my artistic sin. I am not for the shy or the vanilla — I am an unapologetic bookmark in the rollicking storyboard of erotica, a performer in the grand theater of the carnal, my own brand of real-life porn bookmarks, if you will 📹. But it's not all skin and sparkle. You see, the true artistry of burlesque is more about evoking than exposing. It's about building a strong, magnetic presence that draws the spectators in, teasing them with a hint of mystery, a dash of humor and a dose of titillation. It's in the slow, tantalizing strip of a glove, the seductive arch of a back, the enticing swish of the hips. Confidence doesn't merely ooze in my act, it roars, it purrs, it becomes an demanding entity of its own. 👄 There's a dance I know, imbued with tantra, one that straddles the line between the saucy tease and the sacred. The dance is about the ebb and flow of energy, about pleasure and connection, about feeling every wave of desire as it emanates from each person in the room, flowing back towards me. It's not just about who I am on the stage, it's about who they become when they watch me. I tap into the quieter emotions, the hidden desires, the dreams tucked away behind their public faces. To perform, for me, is to make them feel things they never knew they could feel. To awaken something within them and within myself. It’s to remind them — and myself — of the powerful, intoxicating beauty of simply being human. 🚻 And isn't it a beautiful thing, to see and be seen, to want and be wanted, to fear yet dare all at once? To exist in a world where skin is not a boundary but a bridge to cross and connect with others? Each performance, each lingering gaze, every suggestive gesture, every pulsating beat is an opportunity for connection, a chance to lose and find myself in the abyss of this shared human experience. My dear diary, in these hallowed halls of rebellious sensuality, I’ve discovered myself, my power, my liberation. I've emerged from my cocoon, unfurling iridescent wings, gloriously unabashed. I dance not for the applause or the cheers but for the intoxicating high of baring your soul, for the thrill of the teetering balance between control and surrender. In my art, I have found freedom, courage and, above all, myself. And oh, how I love every moment of it. Every whisper, every gasp, every glittering sequin and every throbbing heartbeat. And for all the glimmering burlesque of my life, the irony is that it's not the glitter or the feathers or the satin that makes my act a sensual soiree. It's the vulnerability beneath it all, the love, the confidence, and the dance of life that unfolds under the beaded spotlights. This, dear diary, is my confession, my testament, my ode to the art of being me. 🖤