INTERLUDE: BEFORE THE FIRST TOUCH

The room was silent, soaked in golden afternoon light. White walls. Clean linen. The city humming outside the glass.
He sat on the edge of the sofa bed, fingers twitching, breath shallow — not from fear, but from something deeper. Anticipation.

I didn’t ask much. Just let the silence hold us both.
Let him feel the tension. The heat.

This wasn’t a performance. This was his beginning.
And I was there to guide him through it.