Confessions of a Beach Girl

There’s something about Sydney mornings that makes me feel like I could live half my life in the surf. The smell of salt in the air, the sunlight catching the water just right, the quiet hum of the city waking up. It all seeps under my skin.

I find a different kind of peace underwater. Submerged, everything softens. The noise, the tension, the racing thoughts. The water holds me in a gentle hush. For a moment, I can let myself drift away from everything. Yet even here, in this suspended calm, flashes come: the last time I met someone, the way my body ached from being bent into just the right angles, the subtle memory of every shiver and gasp.

Floating between chapters of my latest fiction, I let my mind wander. I savor the words, but also feel the quiet hum of excitement for what’s next. Each upcoming booking vibrates through me before it even happens, a thrill tucked behind the calm, a pulse beneath the peaceful surface.

Being by the water is my reset, my indulgence, my private world. Sun on skin, salt in hair, the ache of remembered pleasure lingering, a shiver of anticipation for the next time I’ll meet someone new. Out here, I can be both reflective and restless, quiet and electric. It’s exactly the place I need to be to prepare for the adventure that awaits.

If you’re feeling curious, why not steal a moment with me. Let’s turn the anticipation into something real, a private escape just for the two of us.