Page 46 of Make You Mine

It took me a few years to come up with something to write here, but here I am. The things I’ve written here are diverse and extensive. This journal started out innocent. A simple outlet for my sinful thoughts.

But I’m in my twenties now. Why do I need to keep up this innocent girl facade?

I mean, I still love innocent things. Pink, teddy bears, flowers, cotton candy.

But you know what else I love? Sex. I mean, I think I do.

I love the idea of it. I haven’t actually…mmm…done things yet.

I know, I’m late to the party.

I just need a man who’ll give me his all and fuck me right.

I, Madelyn A’gosto, love sex. And I want it. I want it dirty. I want it hard. This journal is my confession. The one reason I’ll be sent to church to get down on my knees and repent for my sins.

Okay, probably not on my knees. That only happens in my smutty books.

I wish I lived in a world where I wouldn’t be judged for enjoying my body, wanting to be worshipped by someone, and I could express myself more. This journal is a place where I let myself go. All my fantasies. Dark, twisted, dirty, fucked up. Everything I want. Maybe, someday, I’ll tick them all off.

And if this journal, be damned, gets lost and a handsome stranger finds it, and wants to make me come—hey, there, at least you’ll know where to start.

Like that’ll ever happen lol

-Madelyn A’gosto

Shit. I completely forgot I wrote this intro to my journal a couple of years ago.

That I even admitted who I am. Wrote my name and all. Twice. I shouldn’t have done that.

Unknown:

Ironic, how you predicted the future with that last line, my wife.

Ping.

Unknown:

And I’m thinking this could be a good punishment, too. If you don’t do what I say, we could get you out of that school real fast. You’d have all the time in the world for me to fuck you in all those different ways you describe here.

Unknown:

If I release this beautiful and inspiring foreword to your bulletin board as I did with the previous page, your career is over, darling.

A wave of panic settles in my bones, rushing all the way up to my throat, a lump forming in it and blocking my airways.

Deep breaths, Maddy. Deep breaths.

That’d be…horrible.

Flashbacks of college and how my first year went down the drain from a stupid clip, a vivid motion picture in my head. How it made me feel to have everyone watch me at my most vulnerable. Ashamed. Judged.

That’s why I made this journal in the first place, to keep all my dirty thoughts locked in somewhere, so I don’t have to deal with them.

He’s right. I need this, but I can’t give in. This is wrong. I shouldn’t want this.

Why am I always attracted to danger?

“Can I call you tonight?” I ask before I regret it.