As I sat in front of the mirror, my fingers delicately glided over the oiled canvas of my neck, each touch a dance of control. The sensation was surreal, the warmth of the oil seeping into my skin as I explored the contours of my throat, tracing the prominence of my Adam's apple. The oiled apple, a symbol of both fragility and strength, lay in my palm, its movements tethered to the subtle nuances of my larynx. I marveled at the beauty of my big bulged apple. With each controlled motion, the apple responded, as I was bobbing it up and down, playing with it, changing the rhythm and tempo...

As I sat in front of the mirror, my fingers delicately glided over the oiled canvas of my neck, each touch a dance of control. The sensation was surreal, the warmth of the oil seeping into my skin as I explored the contours of my throat, tracing the prominence of my Adam's apple. The oiled apple, a symbol of both fragility and strength, lay in my palm, its movements tethered to the subtle nuances of my larynx. I marveled at the beauty of my big bulged apple. With each controlled motion, the apple responded, as I was bobbing it up and down, playing with it, changing the rhythm and tempo. I discovered that by manipulating my breathing I can control the skin that is covering my throat and larynx making it more visible and exposed. The view was so stimulating.