Natalie Byrne

I have an innocent and sweet face – easy on the eyes with soft and appealing features. Red hair, saturated with blonde in the summer months, and curls that always seem to sashay perfectly into place.

My porcelain skin, so flawless and freckled that you could trace constellations and watch the goosebumps trail across my skin in pursuit of your fingertips. Tall, supple, and sylphlike.

I am your oasis.

I want for you and me, something so perfect. But that’s where my pedantry comes in; I care too much.

I love the foolish extravagance of fine-dining and the belly-laughs we can exchange. I like expensive silks and shoes an awful lot, but I’d be lying to you if I said I wasn’t a fool for charming cards and thoughtful gifts. I’m most content when the sun is bright and crisp, there’s a light breeze, and San Francisco is buzzing with electricity. I talk too much but our secret will forever be mine to hold; like a gift. Ready for unwrapping time and time again.

I’m heedful and obsessed with the intricacies of intimacy. I worship the unbridled confidence that comes after a few sips of whiskey and relish in the tickling aches that impatience brings. The glide of silk across my skin, the clumsiness of newness, and the spark of magnetism that echos in my bones and I hunger for a partner who can fall into the obscene with me.

A visceral attraction, the clink of glasses, and with infinite ease let us become part of our own narrative, shall we?