Close your eyes…
and notice how easy it is to imagine.

Because you know, don’t you…
that you were never wrapped to stay hidden.
No.
You were wrapped…
to be unwrapped.

And the thought alone
is enough to send a tremor through you.
The thought of being seen.
Exposed.
Undone.
Not someday.
Not somewhere.
But right here…
right now…
inside your body.

You can feel it already, can’t you?
That tug.
That loosening.
The bow,
just beginning to give way—
a whisper of fabric shifting,
a slip of silk falling,
a sigh escaping from your lips
before you even realize it’s yours.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it?
You tell yourself you could resist.
You could hold the knot tighter.
You could hide a little longer.
But hiding only sharpens the hunger.
And waiting only deepens the ache.
And every second of waiting
feels like being unwrapped anyway—
from the inside out.

Because whether you resist,
or whether you surrender,
you’re already surrendering.
You feel it.
The trembling under your skin.
The way your breath betrays you.
The way you imagine my fingers
where no fingers are yet.
Isn’t it strange
how imagination can feel so much like touch?
So much like heat?
So much like need?

And the more you imagine,
the more real it becomes.
The more real it becomes,
the more impossible to stop.
And the more impossible to stop,
the more you ache for it to continue.

So picture it now…
so clearly.
My hand at the ribbon.
The bow tightening for a heartbeat,
and then—
loosening.
Sliding.
Falling away.

And maybe you wonder
how slowly I could do it.
How I could stretch each movement
into an eternity—
pulling fabric apart
with such aching patience
that you’d beg for the next second,
and the next,
and the next…
each one longer,
hotter,
sharper than the last.

Or maybe you wonder
what it would be like
if it all came undone at once.
If one sharp pull
left you gasping,
exposed,
helplessly bare in an instant—
my eyes consuming every secret
you thought you could keep.

And the truth is…
you don’t have to choose.
Because either way,
the ending is the same.
You.
Unwrapped.
Exposed.
Revealed.
Breathless.
Wanting more.

And isn’t it confusing,
how you can be wrapped and unwrapped,
resisting and surrendering,
remembering and imagining—
all at once?
How the thought of what hasn’t happened
feels sharper than memory itself?
How even as you listen now,
you can’t tell whether you’re waiting for it,
or reliving it,
or already experiencing it…
in this very moment?

Feel that.
Feel the fabric slip.
Feel the heat rise.
Feel your own breath
catching in your throat.
Feel my gaze undressing you
even when there is nothing left to remove.
Because you know, don’t you,
that being seen
is its own kind of touch.
And being desired
is its own kind of unwrapping.

And every time you replay this…
every time you circle back…
every time you imagine it again…
you’re wrapped once more,
only to be unwrapped again.

Over and over.
Deeper and deeper.
Until you realize
this loop never ends.
Because the more you resist,
the more you want.
The more you want,
the more you surrender.
The more you surrender,
the more you crave being wrapped again—
just to feel yourself
unwrapped
again.

And isn’t that exactly
what you ache for now?
Not to stay hidden.
Not to stay safe.
But to be seen.
To be revealed.
To be undone completely.

You were never wrapped for protection.
You were never wrapped to stay hidden.
You were always wrapped…
to be unwrapped.

Slowly.
Suddenly.
Completely.

Again.
And again.
And again…

What’s unwrapped doesn’t always close again.