Wrinkled Eyes Feeding Upon Tight Young Meat at a Moonlit Buffet
New log entry in ‘My Forbidden Sex Diary: Pink Nails & Silver Gods.’
This post is intended as entertainment only for mature audiences. Reader discretion advised. Please simply & kindly skip it if it offends you. Thank you so much! Hugs!
I write erotica novels & short stories. I also publish handbooks on how to train us, young women, for sex and share my sex confessions as a spermivore, spermaholic, and submissive teen (18+) slut. Yes, a slut! And I’m proud of it! Sex is good, and girls who love sex shouldn’t have to hide and pretend to be “pure.” Sex is pure! And naked skin is natural. #FreeTheNipple #FreeThePussy
Alternative titles:
Slit Surveillance: I Sleep in the Nude With No Bedsheets, No Blinds and with a Night Light for Men to Feast on My Young Female Flesh All Night Through the Bedroom Windows
Civic Duty Demands Our Young Female Bodies Remain Nude & Visible 24/7
In the previous log entry in my sex diary, I described how I found myself like a naked fish on display in a Miami condominium that resembles an aquarium. Now, let's talk about nights.
Dear Journal,
I've always slept in the nude. Even as a teenager. There's something about the press of cool sheets against bare skin that feels like freedom — or maybe just honesty. Our bodies aren't meant to be wrapped in fabric, not really. We're born naked, we shower naked, we fuck naked. Why pretend otherwise in the dark? But sleeping naked in my glass-walled bedroom was different.
Those first few nights, I'd cocoon myself in sheets, building a thin barrier between my vulnerability and the unknown darkness beyond the windows. I was bold during daylight, but night... night exposed different parts of me.
The bedroom in my aquarium has two full walls of windows — one facing the side beach access path and the other facing the back street. During the day, these windows frame the palm trees, gravel, concrete, and asphalt, filling the room with dappled, dancing light. But at night, they transform into dark mirrors, reflecting my bedroom back at me while concealing whatever — or whoever — might be lurking outside.
That first week, I'd fall asleep wrapped in my sheet, a thin cotton shroud that preserved some illusion of privacy. I told myself it was about temperature regulation — the air conditioning could get chilly at night — but I knew the real reason. Naked and asleep felt too exposed, too vulnerable. I could handle being seen while conscious, while I maintained some control over the gaze. But sleeping? That was surrender.
I remember waking suddenly one night, about two weeks after moving in. My eyes snapped open to darkness, my heart racing for no apparent reason. The sheet had twisted around my waist in my sleep, leaving my young boobs bare in the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. As my eyes adjusted, I became aware of movement outside — a shadow passing slowly in front of my bedroom window.
My breath caught in my throat. I lay perfectly still, watching. The shadow paused, a darker silhouette against the night. Someone was standing there, looking in. Watching me.