In this world, I have very few worries. I just live day- to-day, concerned only with being my best self by feeling and looking and smelling and tasting good. I am everything soft and feminine and lovely and relaxed and I don’t have to worry or “do” anything. My bills are taken care of, and I get my needs met almost instantaneously. Men are happy to procure whatever I can imagine, and I don’t owe anyone money. The days of owing or owning material possessions are gone. I am the possession, and I belong to one group exclusively. Men. I live on my own and move about public spaces just as before. In the morning, I go to a coffee shop sometimes or have coffee on my porch. In the shop (a little treat for myself) I enjoy waiting in line, greeting the day by feeling several men’s eyes lazily scan my body. None of them show a need for me beyond one greying older fellow who flashes me his limp member. He does this by lifting the waistband of his pants, elastic pants every man wears now, as he passes me. He stops next to me and gestures for me to look down. I do so automatically and obediently. I do not love what I see, but reflexively my mouth starts to water. I know from experience what his flaccid grey penis would feel like as it simultaneously rubs against my tongue and engorges itself, but the man just leans in (his hand still on gaping waistband) and licks my face. His tongue drags down my cheek, down the side of my nose. I can feel his hot breath, know he would be pretty rough if he chooses to take me. He doesn’t and keeps going. I step up to place my order. The man taking it already has his cock out, waiting to see what happens with the old man. It is understood now that women just wait when it comes to cocks and sex happening everywhere. We stop and participate as we are required, or the police come and set up a “pop up,” where they let their day out on us and invite everyone to watch. They’ve been livestreaming them too. Hasn’t happened to me yet, but I’ve always been more than a willing whore.