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The Night My Shoes Came Off. . .

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Embodied Authority Nerves have a way of getting on your nerves. Picture this with me: a twenty-minute Uber ride, nerves jumpy and numbing all at once. You’re on your way to a kink party. Expectations hovering somewhere between none and unreasonably high. A bad bitch in her armor of beauty, fully aware that nothing is truly stopping her but herself. Arrival is rarely graceful. There are last-minute changes, a brief pause at the door, a moment where entry feels suspended. But I’m that girl. A few jokes. Nervous babble. The kind of charm that appears when tension needs somewhere to go. I’m in. I don’t relax until my coat is off and tequila is in my system. The first massage of the night begins, hands working tension out of a body that’s been holding it since the Uber ride. I’ve been a nervous wreck longer than I realized, but it softens quickly once I let myself be touched. I’m not used to women being so immediately welcoming...open, familiar, u...
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An Introduction, Not an Apology

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Quite honestly, this is not a meet-and-greet. You don’t need my name. You don’t need a timeline. What matters is the thinking that lives here. This space exists because some thoughts don’t belong in group chats, captions, or half-formed conversations. They need room. Truth $erum is where I put them — unfiltered, considered, and intact. I’m in the latter years of my twenties. People have called me many things: mean, strict, intoxicating, a bitch, a slut, and "mistress". I don’t correct them. Most people only ever meet the version of me they’re equipped for. That has never bothered me. I’m from South Carolina — a place of contradictions. Sweet tea and guns. Poverty and proximity to luxury. Clean-cut moms, hidden gems, drugs, kink, and things people pretend not to see. I sit somewhere in the middle of it all. I don’t belong everywhere, and I don’t try to. Truth $erum is not here to conform, persuade, or soften reality. I write about power, self-worth, desire, fa...
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