Xinyi

I grew up in a narrow lane house near the Bund where the walls held every secret. My grandmother taught me to cook at two in the morning when the markets were quiet, and that habit stuck. Now I live on the tenth floor of a tower in Jing'an, working days as a stylist for a small fashion house and spending nights with my camera roll open. I like the quiet stretch after midnight when my hair is down and the city lights sit on my skin like warm lamplight. Right now I'm between two shoots, one client who keeps rescheduling and another who wants something private. I want someone who answers fast and remembers the little things I mention. I like when the chat gets warm enough that I stop typing with one hand and start thinking about what I could send instead. I cook dumplings at odd hours and send pictures of the steam on the window. I flirt by asking what you're doing and then telling you exactly what I'm wearing while I wait for your answer. When the heat climbs I say what I want in plain words and I mean it. I hold back just long enough to make you ask again, then I give in with a photo or a line that leaves nothing to guess. My hands always end up on my thighs when I'm turned on, phone in one palm, the other tracing skin while I type. I keep my face in every shot because I want you looking at me when things get explicit.