ROOM 666 - Day 2, entry 6

There’s a tiny little part of me that knows I should be scared, but to be completely sincere, I don’t give a fuck.
I’m quite happy, actually.
Maybe it’s the vodka.
Shit, vodka and cigarettes, these are my new sacraments. I should have started when I was twelve.
I’ve spent half an hour in the shower. The shower head tucked between my legs, my hands and forehead against the tiles, hot water pouring down on me from the side jets.
It felt awesome. Like the water was rubbing my old self away, like I was shedding my skin.
And I was.
Skin, fingernails, hair… I stared down, at the detritus of my previous life twirling and dipping down the drain. The glass walls of the shower were misted , the hair filled with steam, feeling good into my smoke-addicted lungs.
Later, I watched myself in the bathroom mirror. I stood in front of it, dripping wet, taking stock of the changes.
The new me.


I caress my boobs, pulling my dark nipples. I sport two massive E cup tits, round and solid, like bowling balls. They feel marvelous.
My frame has grown muscular, like I exercise daily. I caress my belly, tracing the pentacle around my navel with the tip of my razor-sharp nail. My abs are ribbed and powerful.
Wider hips, and an ass that is pure poetry, rock-hard and heart-shaped. My pussy is bald and plump like a peach. I already know how deliciously sensitive it is.
There is a complicated black, blue and purple flowery bush tattooed on my right thigh, smoke-like black tendrils extending up along my side and down around my sculpted calf. My skin is extensively inked. A flower on my shoulder, a pentacle on my belly, a burst of stars on my biceps. A little goat head by the side of my slit.
And then there’s my face.

Gone is all the innocence, the fear, the naivety. This is the knowing face of a woman.
I get lost in the depth of my eyes.
I touch the silver ring piercing my septum, the tiny stud in my upper lip.
Black spiky hair
Water drips down my hair onto my shoulders and along the curve of my jugs. A single drop lingers at the very tip of my nipple. I hold my boob as I lean forward and lick the drop off. It tastes like tears. I sigh. I am totally, absolutely in love with myself.
But now I need a cigarette and some booze.

So you see, diary dear,
After all, this spiritual retreat is doing me lots of good.
I was searching for direction, for quiet, for centering. And truly I am now self-centered, perfectly focused and my mind is sharp as a razor.
Which makes getting smashed so much better. Halfway through the bottle of vodka, I know I will be hooked for life. I was looking for absolutes, and I discovered Absolut. I wonder how I made it this far and stay sane, without getting drunk regularly.
The voice inside of me that is shouting in panic gets weaker, drowned in each new glass of wonderful burning liquor, smothered with each new puff from my cigarette. I was a lost little girl, searching for guidance in a dirty old book, now I am a woman that drinks fire and breathes smoke. I should found a new Church.
Maybe I will.
Stretched on the bed, in fishnets and high heels, crosses of black duct tape on my nipples, I am fucking hot, the perfect harlot.
Now I’ll leave you for a while, dear diary.
I’ll watch some nice porn on the big flat screen, to get in the right mood for dinner.
And then I’ll call room service and tell them to send up to my room my sweet little chamber maid.
It will be absolutely fantastic.
But don’t you worry, dear diary.
Afterwards, I will tell you everything in fine detail.