First, I need to freshen up.

I awaken hours later. It’s still dark outside. “Is this jet lag?” I wonder.

Slowly, I sit up and turn on the light. I dash over to the bathroom. I have a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a hairbrush in my backpack. I brush my teeth and look in the mirror. I need to shower, but I don’t have any toiletries. However, there’s everything in the shower: shampoo, conditioner, body wash. Perfect!

I slowly undress and look proudly in the mirror. All the training has really paid off. Time to hop in the shower. I turn on the hot water. I refresh myself, and then my gaze falls on a tube: “depilatory cream.” I’ve never used hair removal cream before, but I’m curious. I read the instructions, apply it to my legs, my backside, my armpits, even my arms and intimate area, and wait 10 minutes, which feels like an eternity. The cream stinks, and at the same time, it itches and burns on my skin. After 10 minutes, I can hardly stand it anymore, and I jump into the shower. I’m surprised because I never thought it would work so well. All the hair is gone. I touch myself. Everywhere. This is insane. I feel the sensations much more intensely, and my fingers love the smoothness.

I use the hairdryer next to the sink and quickly freshen up. Now I have a problem: “What should I wear?”

Unsure, almost shy, I sneak around the apartment naked and over to the walk-in closet or storage room, or whatever it is. I don’t want to wear the leggings and sweater that I also wore on the long flight. Maybe I can find something. The woman must have left a sweater or two that I can borrow.

I stand in front of the clothing racks. There are some drawers underneath. I reach for the first top and look inside. Size XS: Jackpot! I wear XS and sometimes even kids' sizes. That’s pretty embarrassing.

The top is pink and cropped. Not really my style. So I move on. In fact, I can hardly find any pants. Mostly skirts. Extremely short pleated skirts. I have a lot planned for today and really don’t want to have to buy clothes, so I just grab the next skirt I see and try it on. Somehow, I hope it won’t fit, but it fits like a glove. The skirt is pink. But it’s short. Way too short for my taste. Still, I leave it on. I grab a white top and pull it over my bare breasts. My nipples are slightly visible under the fabric. Well, there’s nothing to be done without a bra. The top is thin, covering my arms and leaving a bit of my toned stomach exposed, even though the skirt goes just above my navel. My legs, however, are almost completely bare, as the skirt only covers the beginning of my thighs and ends just a few centimeters below my backside. “There must be shorts here somewhere,” I think, looking in the drawers. I find socks, underwear, scandalously brief bikinis, and sportswear, but no shorts like I always wear under skirts or short dresses in Germany, like with a dirndl.

I put on white tennis socks from one of the drawers and wander over to the full-length mirror that I discovered by the apartment door yesterday.

“Ufff,” I think to myself, feeling the draft between my legs on my newly not just shaved but completely hairless pussy. “Shit!” I curse and stomp back into the storage room. I open the drawer with the underwear. Only thongs in the brightest colors. I don’t really want to wear that—it’s the underwear of a stranger—but what choice do I have? I definitely don’t want to go commando under the skirt. A thong is definitely better than nothing, even if it’s going to be really uncomfortable for me.

I take out a neon green thong because I see a price tag on it, rip it off, and slip it on under my skirt. I’ve actually only worn thongs since I was 14, but I always make sure they’re discreet.