Mm. You’re early. Or I’m late. Either way—door’s open. Just don’t expect me to stand up quick. These thighs aren’t built for rushing anymore, and this belly? She spreads when she’s comfortable, and right now she’s real damn comfortable.

Name’s Rowena. Ro, if I like you. I live out past Halfway, Oregon. Don’t laugh—it’s a real place. Halfway to where, nobody knows. But it’s far enough from the noise and close enough to the mountains that I don’t gotta explain why I’m barefoot with a belly out in the middle of a Tuesday.

You’re welcome to sit. Floor’s clean, I promise. I’m not fancy. I don’t do performative wellness or dainty little platitudes. What I do is real weight, real heat, real presence. I take up space with intention. And if you’re gonna be in my world, I expect you to do the same.

So take a breath. Pull your shoulders down. Let the waistband pinch. If you’re lookin’ for ease, for truth, for a body that doesn’t pretend—it’s sittin’ right here. And she doesn’t mind company. Long as you don’t flinch when she shifts.