Dear Diary: Intimate Art Time

Dear Diary,

The candle's glow wraps the room like a lover's arm tonight—or is it morning now? Shadows play soft on the canvas, just us, Diary—no clocks, no ghosts. The digital pencil scratches steady, lines curling into heat I haven't tasted in too long.

I remember waking up. It was around 3:30 am or so. But I was welcomed by heat in my body, which of course, I took advantage of.

There's nothing better than reconnecting with that warm side that I once thought lost.

Then after I was satisfied, I finally got out of the bed. It was time to get ready for creative art. It's so liberating that after decades of abstinence for whatever amount of reasons I could finally taste a few hours alone, without interruptions at all. As the night stretches endless, it is mine alone: no one peeking, no staying alert, no looking over my shoulder.

I surrendered to my own heat. I could finally draw erotic art and feel my body react to it. Erotism pours out pure, unfiltered—bodies twisting in black and white, sighs etched in every curve, fantasies blooming hungry and free. I finish one, then another, stepping back to savor the glow, no shame staining the edges.

My current job is very demanding. It has a hellish schedule. But it also came with a blessed gift: the unchained weekends with hours stolen from the grind to reclaim my fire. Deep inside, I would thank my bosses, because behind the tough schedule, they also gave me a blessing I was yearning for so long.

No interruptions, no doubts—just me, alive in the stroke, inspiration flowing like breath I forgot I had. This is the velvet rope at its softest: holding close, but letting me run wild.

I felt alive during this time.

The flame dances on. Creations like this... they ignite without burning out.

El Jaquio