MEDIA
EXISTENCE
In the shadow of whispered desires, where taboo thrives and the forbidden lingers like a forbidden fruit just beyond reach,
I, Mysticflower, have made my mark. I am not here to be polite, nor to fit the mold that the righteous cling to. No, I am here to stir, to provoke, to ignite the deepest corners of your mind with desires that society insists should remain chained. As a sapiosexual courtesan in the heart of Manila, I understand the power of the untold, the delicious thrill of unlocking what others dare not touch.
Clara and I, together we’ve danced on the edge of these hidden cravings, and when we took to the mic on those award-winning podcasts, we didn’t simply speak—we breathed the truth of who we are. Yes, some of you squirmed at our words, wrapped tight in your little boxes of morality. But for those with minds untethered, for those who crave the darkness and the light it reveals, we enlightened you, didn’t we?
This is the truth, my loves: taboo is not a cage, but a key. A key to unearth desires you’ve buried deep within your own soul. And I? I am the guide, the keeper of the hidden path. So, come closer. Dare to listen.
BALUTKIKI
It’s a strange, intoxicating power to be truly heard. To strip away the surface, and be understood—not for the roles we play or the masks we wear, but for the unspoken desires that lie beneath. That’s the magic I’ve experienced as Mysticflower, a courtesan who’s much more than skin and bone, much more than the tender and untamed touch I provide. It’s an art, a science, a mystery, an exchange of energy that pulsates through every word I speak, every breath I take.
Sitting there, across from Clara on BalutKiki, the award-winning podcast that is nothing short of a sanctuary for minds like ours, I felt an almost sacred surrender. We weren’t just guests; we were connoisseurs of the taboo, the untold desires, the unspoken kinks that people are too afraid to admit. Clara and I, much like a secret whispered in the dark, were welcomed without judgment—just open ears and minds willing to dance with our words.
The hosts? They didn’t just listen—they understood. And that, my loves, is the rarest of experiences. Their gaze? It was not one of scrutiny, but of deep fascination, of exploration, not seeing me as a Manila courtesan but as the complex, fiery soul beneath. To be seen in that way, to be validated for every ounce of my expertise—my eroticism, my mystique, my sharp, dangerous intellect—was an exhilarating, intoxicating kind of satisfaction.
We all spoke of desire, of fetishes, of the dirty little secrets that make the heart race and the body burn. But it was more than that—it was a meeting of minds that reached beyond the flesh. And in that space, I felt the kind of raw, sensual power that only those who truly know what it means to desire can appreciate.
To be in that moment, to have BalutKiki cradle us in its award-winning embrace, was nothing short of an erotic confession—a dance of words that teased and satisfied the mind like the most sinful of pleasures.
THE KOOPALS
I have been whispered about in dimly lit rooms, dissected in hushed voices, and devoured by eyes that pretend not to see. But that night? That night, Clara and I were not just whispers—we were wildfire.Stepping into the lion’s den of Koolpals, a fraternity of sharp-witted, unfiltered men, felt like walking into a game where the dice were already loaded.
They were comedians—raw, relentless, crowned kings of organic humor. And we? We were the taboo wrapped in silk, the punchline they didn’t see coming.
We laughed, drank, and spilled stories that made their mics sweat. From the sinful annals of my Mystic Secret Files—where a masked man found more than just a wrestling fantasy—to the high-society wife who paid me to rewire her husband’s masculinity one thrust at a time. They wanted the truth? I gave it, unzipped and dripping.
Some listeners clutched their pearls so hard they turned to dust; others leaned in, their breath hitching, their minds wrestling between judgment and arousal. Was this confession or corruption? Neither. This was the gospel of a woman who does not apologize for being desire incarnate.
And when I spoke of my first, of the trembling hands and the false teeth that threatened to slip from his lips as he moaned my name, the room held its breath. Because in my world, pleasure and power wear the same perfume.
They called it controversial. I call it Tuesday.
Kwentutan Podcast...
A forbidden realm where whispered confessions and untold stories intertwine like sweet, dirty secrets. Imagine a space where unfiltered truth drips from every word, leaving listeners with a tingling sensation that goes beyond the skin and digs deep into the mind. That’s what *Kwentutan* is—an audio seduction, as raw and daring as my journey. A podcast channel that’s about *xerex* rather than tabloids—no need for dirty pictures when the words alone are a feast. The host, ever the silent voyeur, invited Clara and me to share our unholy path, peeling back layers of pleasure that most could only dream of. We talked about our lifestyle journey—yes, but not the typical kind. It was an exploration—a celebration of bodies, minds, and desires that most will never dare to taste. We didn’t just enlighten the listeners. Oh no. We set the host on fire too, watching as he absorbed every sultry syllable, every confession that oozed from our lips like honey and sin.
This was no ordinary chat. It was a rendezvous of minds, where every word was a brushstroke of sensuality, and every pause, a gasp of anticipation. And as the echoes of our voices hung in the air, I couldn’t help but smile, knowing I’d left them all wanting more. Because, after all, what’s more dangerous than leaving someone hungry for the next taste of your truth?
Tell Me Samthing.
Stepping into Sam’s podcast was like stepping into a sacred temple of indulgence, where curiosity meets knowledge, and judgment takes the back seat to unapologetic freedom. This woman, Sam—free-spirited, fearless, and keen as a whip—has crafted a space where kink isn’t just talked about, it’s worshiped, dissected, and celebrated.
As I, Mysticflower, Manila’s own sapiosexual courtesan, sat across from her, the air thick with anticipation, I could feel my desires unfurl like an intoxicating bloom in the sultry dusk. And beside me, Clara—brave as a lioness—shared our unholy truths. We spoke not just of our forbidden paths, but of our art, of the dangerous dance we perform, where pleasure and pain are woven into the very fabric of our beings.
Sam listened with that knowing, ravenous look in her eyes, as if she too could taste the forbidden fruit we offered. No judgment, no shame—just two women, wild in their wisdom, exploring the deepest caverns of human desire.
And so, our conversation unfolded like a secret told in whispers, every word a delicate stroke on the canvas of sensuality. This wasn’t just an interview; it was a confession—a raw, unapologetic exploration of what it means to be a courtesan, to be a woman who knows her power, her allure, her capacity to both give and take in the most intimate of ways.
Curiosity, they say, killed the cat. But for us? Curiosity made us queens. And Sam, with her open ears and mind, simply knelt at the altar of our desires.
PROOF OF
EXIXTENCE
If my podcast appearances still aren’t enough for you—
and you’re still bold enough to question whether I exist—
consider this your final confirmation.
This is your proof of existence. Mine. Not yours.
I am not AI.
Not a machine.
Not your fantasy tool.
And certainly not the remedy to your loneliness.
I am a woman in flesh—sharp, breathing, thinking, desiring.
Alive in body.
Alive in mind.
Alive in presence.
So instead of interrogating my reality,
follow me where I choose to be seen.
Follow my journey on X and IG.
And understand this:
I am a woman with a full existence beyond your screen.
If I’m not posting, it’s not disappearance—
it’s simply life being lived.
I may be:
— Deep in work
— Protecting my peace
— Riding the edge of my cycle and choosing silence over chaos
— Or being adored the way a woman like me should be
I don’t perform for politics.
I don’t feed on negativity.
I don’t waste intelligence on empty arguments.
My energy is expensive.
My time is selective.
My presence is earned.
Now that you finally understand I exist…
Behave accordingly.
—Mysticflower
