My First Note: This is not a story about erotica, but about human desire.

I once worked in a somewhat unique nightlife service industry.

With just this one sentence, I imagine readers will imagine all sorts of things.

A flashy world. A dangerous world. Sweet talk. Unsavory stories. Things hard to tell others.

Perhaps there were indeed aspects like that.

But what I saw there was much more ordinary than I had expected, and much more human than I had imagined.

I used to think desire was something flashier. I thought it was more dazzling, more obvious, and something that existed in a far-off place.

But when I looked at it up close, it was unexpectedly shaped by loneliness, vanity, and a need for affection that couldn't be told to anyone.

People who looked strong wanted to be just a little bit weak. People who had their lives together wanted to step down from their roles somewhere. While they seemed to be seeking something, in reality, they just wanted someone to 'really see them'.

Of course, I don't know everything about anyone. I was just there, facing the 'things hard to say' of various people, just a little bit.

I have no intention of writing explicit stories here. I also don't want this to be a place to expose anyone.

But I think I will write a little about words I can't forget and nights that were strangely human. When I do, I will change the parts that would identify specific places or people, and leave only the temperature of the moment.

What I want to write about is not the stimulating experience itself, but what lay deep within that desire.

The desire to be fulfilled. Boundaries. The outside of allure. The weakness of people who pretended to be strong. The difference between kindness and service. And the all-too-ordinary life that waited after a seductive job.

Allure was mostly for work.

After clocking out, I was just a tired human being. I'd stop by a convenience store on the way home, worry about what to eat, find it a hassle to take off my makeup, and go to sleep pretending not to see the laundry.

In the midst of such a life, there are nights I suddenly remember.

What did that person want to fulfill? How far should I have accepted them, and where should I have drawn the line? What, in the end, was allure?

I think I will write about these things, little by little.

This is not an erotic story. But it is a story about human desire.

And perhaps, a story about desire is also a story about loneliness.

I am Michiru Mio.
I will put into words, just a little, about nights that never feel complete.