My name is Emre, and I am a farmer in the hills of Turkey. My hands know the soil, my body knows the sun, and my days are long with work. But a man is not just his labor—his body must feel pleasure, not just strain. At night, when the fields are quiet and the stars are high, I remind myself: a man who only works forgets his own touch. So I slow down, let my rough hands explore the strength they have built. The sweat of the day is washed away, but the heat remains—a deep, pulsing warmth that calls for more than rest. A strong body deserves more than toil—it deserves pleasure, release, and the slow, lingering reward of knowing itself.
