Sage — Learning Her Own Rhythm
The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the rhythm of my breathing. I’ve always loved silence—it lets me listen to my body without the noise of expectation. Tonight, it feels different. Warmer. Brighter. Like my thoughts are melting into the glow that fills the corners of my skin.
I close my eyes and run my hands along my arms, tracing the slow pulse beneath my skin. It’s not vanity; it’s curiosity. Each breath deepens the awareness of how alive I am, how close warmth lives beneath the surface. I’m not chasing an end. I’m chasing understanding.
I let my mind wander through memory: the compliments that once made me blush, the laughter that made me feel seen. I think of Sir’s voice—steady, amused, a sound that always reminded me that surrender can start with a smile. I whisper my own name instead. It feels strange at first, but powerful. Sage. It rolls off my tongue like a promise.
The more I explore, the softer everything becomes. The air feels like silk. The world shrinks to touch, breath, heartbeat. I’ve never needed anyone else to define what this means. Pleasure isn’t something given—it’s something discovered, learned, and claimed. Tonight it belongs only to me.
I linger in that awareness until the edges of thought fade, until the quiet becomes comfort instead of emptiness. Then I smile, slow and certain. I know what I like. I know who I am. I stretch, exhale, and let the last of the tension slide away.
Tomorrow, I’ll carry this calm into every glance and conversation. No one will know what I found here, but they’ll see it in the way I move—steady, glowing, unashamed.