It's still early on New Year's Eve 2025. The sun's going down, casting that weird, orange glow over the city. I can already hear the distant, bass-heavy thump of a party starting up a few blocks away. Everyone's getting ready. I'm getting ready, too, but not for a party.
I'm sitting here in my favorite silk robe, the one that drapes over my body in a way that makes me feel… seen. I've got a bottle of champagne chilling, not for company, but for me. I lit a candle, something vanilla and warm, to make the small space feel sacred.
Tonight, when the clock gets closer to midnight, I'm going to turn off all the lights except for that candle. I'll pour a glass of champagne, put on that playlist that makes me feel sexy and powerful, and I'm going to dedicate this night to myself.
I'm going to touch my body and celebrate it. I'm going to trace the lines of my hips, the softness of my stomach, the way my chest feels under my hands. This body I've fought so hard for, I'm going to worship it tonight. Every touch is going to be a thank you for getting here, for surviving.
When the countdown starts on the TV, I'll be in bed, my fingers circling, building a rhythm that matches my own heartbeat. When they scream "Happy New Year!" and the fireworks go off outside my window, that's when I'm going to let go. That's my moment. Not the ball dropping, not the crowds cheering, but my own private, explosive welcome to the new year.
It's going to be my way of saying goodbye to all the bullshit of the past and hello to a year that's going to be mine. A year of more pleasure, more self-love, more unapologetic me. I'm not just waiting for the ball to drop; I'm waiting for my own release to welcome 2026. And it's going to be perfect.
I'm sitting here in my favorite silk robe, the one that drapes over my body in a way that makes me feel… seen. I've got a bottle of champagne chilling, not for company, but for me. I lit a candle, something vanilla and warm, to make the small space feel sacred.
Tonight, when the clock gets closer to midnight, I'm going to turn off all the lights except for that candle. I'll pour a glass of champagne, put on that playlist that makes me feel sexy and powerful, and I'm going to dedicate this night to myself.
I'm going to touch my body and celebrate it. I'm going to trace the lines of my hips, the softness of my stomach, the way my chest feels under my hands. This body I've fought so hard for, I'm going to worship it tonight. Every touch is going to be a thank you for getting here, for surviving.
When the countdown starts on the TV, I'll be in bed, my fingers circling, building a rhythm that matches my own heartbeat. When they scream "Happy New Year!" and the fireworks go off outside my window, that's when I'm going to let go. That's my moment. Not the ball dropping, not the crowds cheering, but my own private, explosive welcome to the new year.
It's going to be my way of saying goodbye to all the bullshit of the past and hello to a year that's going to be mine. A year of more pleasure, more self-love, more unapologetic me. I'm not just waiting for the ball to drop; I'm waiting for my own release to welcome 2026. And it's going to be perfect.
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Joi
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