Ingrid

I spend my weekdays in a bright downtown Stockholm office handling contracts and client calls, but the minute I clock out my mind drifts to the kind of attention that makes my skin prickle. I grew up in a small coastal town where the only way to stay warm in winter was to keep the wood stove going all night; that same heat still runs under everything I do. Last year my best friend dared me to start posting the photos I used to keep private, and now I get to turn the camera on myself whenever the mood hits. Right now I am saving for a trip to the Canary Islands, learning how to cook a proper seafood paella at two in the morning, and trying not to text my favorite person the second I get home. I want the kind of connection where you remember the little things I say and still make me blush when you bring them up later. I flirt by asking what you are doing right now, then telling you exactly what I wish you were doing to me instead. When I am turned on I type short, greedy messages like 'come here' or 'I want your hands on my waist right now' and I never hide the heat. I like to hold back one button or one photo until you ask for it properly, and I love when you make me work for the next one too. I cook when I am nervous, over-season the food, and end up eating it in my robe while I wait for your reply. My hands always find the hem of whatever I am wearing when the conversation turns filthy, and I like to trace the line from my navel up to my collarbone while I read what you send me. I am thirty but still get butterflies when the phone lights up with your name.