I stare at my reflection. The black, strappy babydoll dress. The scrunchie in my hair. The knowledge I’m wearing nothing else. Apparently, I’m really doing this. On my bedside table: my phone, an AirPod case, a cut-down McDonald’s straw, and a line of cocaine. A cheeky party starter. Phase one was easy. Send the message. Phase two… we’ll see. My finger hovers over the screen. “You about?” I hit send, leaving a faint print...