Walking back to the same basement I walked to a few dozen minutes ago... finding the fluorescent restrooms again. The feeling of moving for a purpose so dissonant with its initial function is rather disconcerting. It's a place I find almost repulsive for this kind of activity. Even when I'm just taking simple photos, I always manage to hide the white tiles, often soiled, the doorknob that everyone would have touched before... It's definitely a place I find shameful and dirty. But—because there is a but—whatever my opinion... that's not what matters at this moment. I don't have many options to satisfy His demand. Getting off before going home means either here, on public transport, or in the middle of the street... which is to say, I have no other choice. I'm convinced He certainly knows that. I settle in... It's a clean stall, because it's far away in the row of them. The toilet bowl is still raised after cleaning, the roll of toilet paper full, and the tiles immaculate, devoid of any footprints. The blue light, impersonal and icy, is less intense here than at the entrance, and besides, it's rather cold. I make myself as comfortable as I can and settle down on my sweater. "Good luck, Honey" is the caption for the first video I sent, where I'm simply showing myself in the act of getting ready. Gently parting my thighs, I recognize my own scent. The one that signals the awakening of my body... It makes me smile, imagining your satisfaction if you were here. I moisten my fingers, press them against the cold tiles, and begin to move gently. Very quickly, it's no longer my saliva that coats their pads, but my own vaginal fluid. Once again, I smile, holding back laughter... a mixture of astonishment, annoyance, and excitement. I'm still amazed to discover how receptive ...

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