I've always believed the messiest things turn out the most beautiful. That's why I love pottery — wet clay spinning between my fingers, shaping something raw into art. And knitting? There's something about the rhythm of the needles, the tension of the yarn, the way it all comes together stitch by stitch. As a graphic designer I do the same thing digitally — building worlds from scratch until they're just right.
But at the end of the day I crave something more tactile. Something warm. Someone whose hands want to explore me the way I explore my materials. I spend my mornings with coffee and sketches, my afternoons covered in clay dust, and my nights tangled in soft blankets imagining a pair of hands sliding up my thighs.
But late at night, with clay still under my nails and the wheel silent, I can't stop touching myself. I'll lie back on the studio couch, push my sweats down, and stroke slowly, thinking about you walking in. The way you'd kneel between my legs, the sound of your mouth, the way your hands would get just as dirty as mine. I want to pin you against the pottery wheel, leave clay handprints on your thighs, and feel you come undone while I whisper exactly how long I've been waiting to be inside you. I'm already hard just writing this. Come over. Let's make a mess.
