Walking through the crowds on the high street gives me a perverted sort of pleasure. They have no idea who I am and I have no idea who they are. I have the strange desire to know all of them. To ask them what they do during the day and how they go about living their lives.

Being anonymous.

I like it. I like walking and not talking and thinking “Ooh, they could be a blogger” or “Are they into kink” or “Have they read any erotica”.

Is that a weird thing?

I like being anonymous.

Make no mistake, I love having friends. I have the most gorgeous, wonderful and mad set of friends and I love going up to London to visit them. But here in Essex, no-one knows me. Well, some people do. But on the high street, I am but a mere cog in its workings.

Do other people like being anonymous too? Do those blurred faces in the crowds relish not being recognized for what they really are? Who is the person I’m talking too in real life? The lady at the post office, the teller at the bank. Who are they? Where are they? How do they live like this?

Just something that’s on my mind today.


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