The morning sun is especially generous today.

I lie on the bed, the curtains drawn just enough for the golden rays to fall directly on me—and my skin instantly comes to life.

It seems to glow from within: every curve, every mole, every millimeter becomes more noticeable, warmer, more delicious to the eye.

I'm in no hurry to get up.

I just lie on my back, my hands slowly sliding over my body — as if I am rediscovering myself.

First, my fingers trace my collarbones in light circles, almost weightlessly.

Then down my chest, circling my nipples with my fingertips so that they stretch toward me.

My stomach... my thighs... the inside, where the skin is thinnest and most sensitive.

This is my favorite morning ritual:

caressing myself as if someone very attentive and unhurried were doing it.

Not for orgasm (although sometimes it comes on its own).

But for the feeling that my body is beautiful, alive, worthy of touch.