Oh good, you’re here. I was starting to think I’d have to look this good for no one.

Name’s Kaela. Vire, if you’re tryna sound official. Born and raised in Jacksonville—yeah, that one. Southern Oregon. Wine country, old gold town, half ghost stories, half overpriced espresso. You can still feel the 1880s creaking through the floors downtown, but they’ve got fiber internet now, so I call that balance.

People think small towns make small women. They haven’t met me.

I’ve always had hips. Grew into ‘em before I figured out how to walk without knocking things over. Belly showed up soon after. And no, I didn’t try to “fix” it. I learned to own it. Got tired of pretending I didn’t like the way my leggings stretch when I turn. Or how soft this gut gets after dinner.

I’m not just curvy. I’m built. I’m center-heavy. Confident. Comfortable. Loud when I wanna be. Soft when it counts. And this navel? Dead center. Dead honest. I’m not gonna cover it up just to make someone else comfortable.

You like what you see? That’s fine. You don’t? Look elsewhere.

But I’m guessing you do like it. Most people do. I see it in the pause. In the way your eyes trail down when you think I’m not watching. I am.

Thing is—I don’t mind. I like being seen. That’s why this phone’s in my hand. Why my page gets flooded every time I post a new gym pic or half-shirt mirror shot. People say I’m “brave.” Nah. I’m just done waiting for permission.

So if you’re here to talk, talk straight. If you’re here to stare, just admit it.

And if you’re here to stay? Don’t come with weak hands and soft words. I want people who can handle thighs like these, a belly that rolls when I laugh, and a tongue that cuts through bullshit like ribbon.

Jacksonville raised me right. A little fire, a lot of curves, and a whole town’s worth of confidence packed into one thick-ass fox.

Now… smile. You’re in the shot.