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My breathing immediately became rapid. Dangerous—what did that word contain? Was it a threat or a promise? And why, when I should have felt fear, was I experiencing this unprecedented excitement instead?

Me: Dangerous men are more interesting.

My fingers trembled slightly from nerves.

Me: At least more interesting than all the boring-as-hell people I usually meet.

He replied quickly.

G: People you usually meet? Sounds like you're pretty unsatisfied with your current life. Tell me, what makes you so bored?

This question hit right at the heart of my pain. I looked around—broken-down furniture, faded curtains, my dusty violin case in the corner. This was my life, day after day of repetition, no passion, no surprises, no hope.

Me: Same old job, same old life. Every day, I know exactly what's going to happen tomorrow, next month, even next year. Like being trapped in a transparent cage where I can see the outside world but never touch it.

Silence for a few minutes, then he replied:

G: Then tonight, let me get you out of that cage. Tell me, what are you wearing right now?

This sudden shift caught me completely off guard. From philosophical discussion to such an intimate question in an instant—it made my cheeks burn red. But wasn't this exactly what I wanted? This unpredictability, this dangerous thrill?

I looked down at myself—in my rush to get home, I hadn't even changed clothes. I was still wearing that plain shirt dress from work with a thin cardigan over it.

Me: A black shirt dress and a thin cardigan. Pretty ordinary, the kind I wear to work.

G: Take off the cardigan.

I stared at the screen. What was this? An order? But my body seemed to have a will of its own. I stood up and slowly slipped off the cardigan, letting it fall to the floor.

Me: It's off. Now I'm just wearing the dress.

G: Good. Now sit down and tell me how you feel. Don't lie.

I sat back on the couch, suddenly aware that without the cardigan's coverage, the thin dress fabric against my skin felt unusually vivid. I could feel my heartbeat, feel blood flowing through my veins, feel a sensitivity I'd never experienced before.

Me: It feels strange. Just taking off a cardigan but it feels like I've exposed so much more. My skin feels really sensitive, my heart's beating fast.

I paused, unsure whether I should mention that flutter rising deep in my stomach.

G: Anything else? Tell the truth, good girl. Honesty is more attractive than technique.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Anonymous courage surged up again.

Me: There's also this empty feeling deep in my body, like I'm craving something.

G: Craving what?

This question exploded like a bomb, instantly blasting through the last wall in my heart. My fingers hovered over the screen, trembling, hesitating. Should I say it? Should I admit it?

Me: Craving to be touched by a strong, dangerous man.

The moment I sent it, I almost threw the phone away. This was insane! What was I saying to a complete stranger?

But the phone buzzed again, and his reply made my blood practically boil:

G: A strong, dangerous man? Your instincts are spot on, rose. That's exactly what I am. Now I want you to imagine I'm sitting across from you, imagine me studying every inch of your skin with my eyes. Can you feel it?

My breathing completely fell apart. My imagination ran wild—I could actually feel eyes watching me, with predatory focus. That feeling of being examined was both terrifying and exciting.