Www.ifeelmyself.com Link

Elara laughed. A virus. Definitely a virus. But her finger, traitorous and tired, clicked "Allow."

"Now, your forearm. The place where you scratched your skin raw during finals week in college. Forgive it." www.ifeelmyself.com

But she did it. She traced the bone beneath her hoodie. The camera on the website zoomed in, not voyeuristically, but reverently, like a nature documentary observing a rare bird. Elara laughed

For ten minutes, the website guided her. Not to arousal in the pornographic sense, but to a raw, terrifying intimacy with her own skin. It asked her to close her eyes and feel the weight of her own breasts. To press her palm against her belly and feel the ebb and flow of her breath. To run her fingers through her hair without styling it, just feeling the roots tug. But her finger, traitorous and tired, clicked "Allow

"Touch your collarbone. Don't pose. Just feel."

Elara’s breath hitched. The website knew things. It wasn't pulling from her search history or her social media. It was pulling from the diary she never wrote, the ache she never voiced.