Travel Diary

Entry #1 – I Don’t Think This Is My Room… or My Body

I was supposed to wake up in a cheap hotel in Lisbon. Alone. Jet-lagged. Probably regretting my last-minute flight. But when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t staring at cracked ceiling tiles and a squeaky ceiling fan — I was looking at hand-carved wooden beams, silk curtains... and two very unfamiliar legs.

Slender, smooth, bronzed. Definitely not mine.

And then I saw the mirror.

Long, wavy brown hair. Sharp cheekbones. Deep eyes. Lips slightly parted like they were mid-confession. And that red lace thing I was wearing? It clung to this new body like it belonged here. Like I belonged here.

I panicked. For about ten minutes.

Then I stepped out onto the wooden porch, the morning air cool against my skin, and something in me... settled. The sun filtered through the trees just right. The scent of lavender drifted from the garden below. And this body — whoever she was — breathed deeply, like it had waited forever to exhale.

There was no explanation. No warning. Just me, in a woman's body, in a foreign place that felt too perfect to be real.

I touched the doorway with slow fingers. My hips swayed when I moved, not on purpose — just naturally. And I liked it. I liked the way the silk brushed against my skin, the way this body stood tall, confident, sensual without trying.

I should’ve been searching for answers, freaking out. But instead, I went back inside, picked up the notebook left on the dresser, and started writing.

Because maybe this wasn’t a mistake. Maybe this was a detour.
A sensual, surreal, unplanned detour.

And if I’m stuck in this woman’s life for a while...
I think I’m going to enjoy it.