Dear Diary,
If it’s just a fantasy, why does it feel so wrong?
Whenever I close my eyes, I hear his voice whispering in my ear…
It’s okay, no one’s going to know. You should feel good too. Here, I’ll show you how…
Am I a deviant?
I can’t stop wondering what it would be like to have a man think of me in that certain, special way. To treat me like his porcelain doll and then do things to me like I’m just a naughty plaything.
His naughty plaything. His little girl. His everything.
I want to look up to him. I want to count on him. To feel his presence even when he’s not with me. To know, beyond anything, he is the one that believes in me. The one that wants what’s best for me. The one that will draw the line and not hesitate to correct me when it’s crossed.
I want to feel the sting of his hand while he puts me over his knee. Telling me it’s going to hurt him more than it hurts me but it’s what’s I need.
I’m a grown woman for Christ’s sake. Wait, is twenty considered grown? IDK, but, deep inside, there’s still a little girl. I could never tell anyone the things I think about. It’s embarrassing.
I’m supposed to go to some fancy uptown bar after work tomorrow where the drinks cost more than I spend for groceries in a week. But, maybe that’s where I’ll see him from across the room and he’ll see me. And we’ll just know.
Anyway, it’s just a fantasy, right? And fantasies are better left as fantasies. At least that’s what everyone says.
Okay, I need to go to bed. Maybe he’ll sneak in my room tonight, slip under the covers with me, tell me I’m such a good girl and he’s going to show me just how good. At least in my dreams that is…
Good night Diary. Keep my secrets for me while I sleep.
xoxo
Chastity