Why is it that some days, you cannot help but think of all the stupid, dumb things you have done in your life? The idiotic comments that popped out, the way you could have handled something differently...

It's nights like this that make me long for the morning...a new day to start fresh.  I love the nights, I really do. Listening to the neighborhood sleep, the darkness becomes seductive with its mystery.  It keeps you on that edge, just between fear and need.  But tonight I am denied that luxury.

Instead, memories haunt me.  Events that never should have happened, things I never should have said or done.  I guess some nights are filled with dark promise, and others drag you down with past regrets.

The night is blessedly cool, the breeze brushing my bare skin, whispering across my neck.  I lay on my bed, waiting for him.  I close my eyes and conjure his face in my mind.  Broad shoulders, sinful lips, eyes that strip me naked with one glance. I feel a strong hand lightly glide over my lower abdomen.  The touch makes me shudder with anticipation.  I open my eyes and see him kneeling beside the bed, his fingers lazily toying with my hair, tracing the contours of cheeks and jaw.

I love and fear him.  I fear him because I love him.  He awakens a part of my soul I had thought lost. His warm touch cools, his face fading away like a cloud.  He is not here. I imagined him. I see him with my heart, not my head.  I must stop.  Come back to earth, Anna.  But I close my eyes again.  He waits for me.  He smiles, knowing my struggle. He beckons me toward him.  I hesitate, not trusting…who? Myself or him? I don’t move, but it doesn’t matter.  He disappears from sight, and I hear his whisper in my ear.  A strong arm reaches around and circles my neck.

A voice rings in my head.  It tells me to open my eyes, to stop this foolishness. But God help me, I don’t want to.  His hand tightens around my neck. He knows I am being called back. Back to reality. His deep voice breathes into my ear. He wants to know why I should go.  Why should I leave and we both know I belong here, with him. I pull his hand gently away and turn to face him.  He kisses me deeply. His lips strong, controlling the kiss. I pull back, and lay my head in the hollow where his neck and shoulder meet.  I don’t want to go. But the voice keeps calling.

I open my eyes. I am in my room, naked on my bed. Light streams through the window, warming my skin.  Silent tears slide down my cheeks.  I have lost him again. 

Almost ready to sleep...but I thought I would write for a little bit. It rained today.  It made me remember one of my daydreams.  It happened when I was on a bus, surrounded by people my age from church.  I had never fit in with the kids my age there.  They were prom queen cheerleaders, record-breaking athletes, and came from more affluent families.  I was always the oddball.  I preferred to read indoors when they wanted to play volleyball or basketball.  I liked to write and listen to music.  They interrupted me, wanting to know why I wasn't watching NFL highlights with them.

I was in a seat by myself on the bus. I could here the other girls talking about me with the friends they could afford to bring on the trip. The rain started coming down in sheets, drowning out their giggles. I lowered the book I was reading and looked out the window. I imagined a man, handsome, full of purpose. I watched him walk toward me in the rain, and hold out his hand.  Not so much a request as a command. 

I imagined myself taking his offer.  Anything would be better than listening to the fake teenagers behind me. I could feel the rain pounding my flesh.  Washing away the sorrow, loneliness and despair. Even though I never had a clear vision of this man, I remember his eyes.  Such an intense blue, staring straight into my heart.  It was at this moment that the daydream ended.  I was left with a small feeling of...love.

Once the bus stopped for us to get dinner, the rain still hadn't let up.  The others ran ahead into the fast food joint.  The boys chased giggling girls, but I walked slowly.  I stood outside and turned my face up to the sky.  The rain poured over me.  The drops caressed my skin, washed away the tears that I didn't realize were there.  I felt the love from my daydream.  And I saw those eyes, burning with knowledge and desire. They burned for me.  Not the bottle blondes that I was forced to travel with.  But me. Just as I was.

I was 15 when this happened.  10 years and I can still picture those eyes.  And every time it rains, I stand outside, and am graced with the same tender caress by each drop that touches my skin.  And I know, those eyes will haunt me for the rest of my days.

Once again, it is 1 am, and I am still not asleep. But I find the insomnia doesn't bother me.  I even have sleep medication, but I don't really want to take it.  Not just yet.

The night is warm again. My cheap fan swivels back forth, trying to coax some colder air my direction. I am not really sure what to write about. But I feel the need to just type. Some would say I was crazy, putting random thoughts online for all to read. But, I feel as if knowing someone else will almost certainly read this, it forces me to be honest.  With the reader and myself.

If I am being honest, I should say that right now, a well-worn fantasy is running through my head.  A vision of me, and a man (a lover, a friend, a stranger?) laying on a blanket in the park, at night, looking at the stars. I don't know the constellations, but that doesn't really matter, does it?

I love looking at the stars.  I wish I could do it more often. The way they light sky, each one unique in it's own way. Not that I could tell the differences. They are just dots of bright light.  But I know, each one is different, like a thumbprint, or a snowflake.  Yes, snowflakes. Snowflakes imprisoned in the dark heavens. Each one has a story to tell. I wish I could listen to their stories.

What would they say, these trapped snowflakes that blink at us every night? I wonder, am I the only one that feels sorrow for them? Unable to tell us about themselves, their lives, their loves.

A perfect analogy for humans, wouldn't you say? It seems like we get wrapped up in everything.  Jobs, kids, marriage, whatever. How many of us stop to tell their story?  It's not like everyone should write down everything about their life.  Even though everyone should.  No life is unimportant. But we go and go, never stopping. We bottle our life, our emotions, inside of ourselves.

Why? Because society has a problem with us sharing? No, we must talk.  Even if it is to relay something as mundane as your childhood nickname to the bank teller. Because if we don't, we become like the stars. Cold, jeweled snowflakes, trapped and surrounded by the darkness of what we deem as a pathetic life.

Maybe that is why I type these things for everyone to read. I am so afraid of losing myself, that I am trusting strangers to help me remember who I am.  At this point, I will admit, I don't know who I am. I am a star.

Now that the lonely period has passed somewhat, my thoughts on relationships seem to be clearer. I feel that, at the age of 25, I should know what kind of relationship I want.  I always thought that I would find that perfect guy, immediately fall in love, and we would be happy forever. Then my parents got divorced when I was 16. I realized that all those books I read and movies I watched had lied to me.  And I was pissed!

Every girl dreams of the handsome prince coming to sweep her off her feet.  Disney bullshit, I say.  I was very depressed in my teens.  Not only because my parents divorced, but because I realized that every notion I had of love was wrong. I became bitter.  I didn't date in high school. I thought love was bullshit.

Then I went to college.  I was mostly hoping to find a guy to lose my virginity to.  Instead, I crushed hard on a good friend.  I would even go so far as to say maybe I was in love with him. We had several nights, just the two of us, watching movies, tickling each other, that sort of thing.  My junior year I went to Europe for a semester to study.  While I was there, I found out he had started dating a good friend of mine. 

I was crushed.  I went out, got drunk, and cried for 2 days. After a week or so, I felt like this was something that would not be a problem.  I could go back to school and pretend I was ok with it. I went back to school in Jan.  Our group of friends started hanging out again.  But I couldn't do it. I felt so betrayed.  He knew how much I liked him. 

So, that is the beginning of my experience with "love".  What do I want now?  I want someone who is a friend, a Dominant, and who I get along with.  At this point, would I get married? I honestly doubt it.  But a long term fuck buddy that is a good friend, that is the ticket to my happiness.  Who knows, maybe it could turn into something else.  But as jaded as I am, I don't think so.

Hmmm, maybe I am still a bitter, grieving chick.

Today, I feel pretty down.  I honestly don't why I am writing my feelings down in a very public journal, but I don't care that you can see this.  If people want to know the real me, then here I am. 

I miss being held.  I miss the afterglow of sex when you are just laying on the bed with each other, completely comfortable, bodies still entwined with the sheets and each other.  I miss that feeling I get, the safety and happiness that I feel, when I am laying my head on his shoulder or stomach.

I guess this should be a warning.  Please do not contact me unless you live near me and we can actually meet in real life.  I'm not saying that online relationships are bad.  I'm saying I can't handle them.  Words from someone else are little comfort when all I want is to feel strong arms around me.

It's funny, I keep glancing at my cell phone, waiting for Prince Charming to call me up and take me away.  Take me to a life of pure sexual bliss and experimentation.  Or at least a crazy weekend filled with kinky sex.  I know in today's world, women are supposed to feel empowered, to know they can control a situation.  You see a man on the street that you like, it's ok to make the first move.  But I have never been good at that.  I guess that's why I love being a sub.  I don't make the first move.  I don't have to lead the relationship. I already have enough responsibilities on my plate, I don't want to have to work at a relationship.  Tell me what you want, and I will do it.  If I have a problem, I will say something, I'm not a doormat. 

Now I'm getting preachy.  But at least the sadness has lifted somewhat.  But I wonder if the loneliness will ever go away.  Some days, I think it never will.

Thoughts from an insomniac:

It is half past midnight, and once again, sleep eludes me. My thoughts inevitably turn to my sexual fantasies.  Being seduced, dominated, having no other thoughts but those of pleasing the person I am with.  These thoughts don't disturb me as they once did.  I now realize that I am not the only person that has grown bored with the vanilla sex life.  Being seduced by a stranger in a dark alley, allowing myself to be taken and ravished by him...I used to panic that someone would somehow know what I was thinking. 

But being a writer, I had to swallow the fear that someone would find my inner thoughts.  I had to write them down, before they consumed me.  I had write about the dreams of being blindfolded, feeling someone's hands move up and down my body, gently, but with an ounce of strength that cries out whatever he touches, it now belongs to him.  I belong to him. 

I should struggle.  I should try to push his hands away from me.  I should shudder at the thought of his lips on my neck, my, breast, my nipple.  And I do shudder.  But not with fear or revulsion. Instead, I shudder with the deep knowledge welling in my heart that I want this. The desire floods my entire body, concentrating on that most secret of spots between my legs.

Then all thoughts fly away.  I am left with nothing but the craving that has ignited inside me.  But will he satisfy it? Oh God, I need him to satisfy it.  Every nerve ending in my body cries out for release as he moves his lips down my abdomen, resting just above my clit. 

I ache and moan, trying to move him closer to the core of my desire.  But he holds me still.  What strength I do have counts for nothing in his strong arms.  I whimper, the slightest of noises, urging him further south. My fists are digging into the bed sheets.  I will explode if he doesn't release me.  Please, God, let him grant me release...

Just some thoughts from an overactive, sleep-starved imagination.

So, first journal entry...what to write?

I am a natural redhead, so before you start filling my inbox with your so-called 'witty' come-ons about if the carpet matches the drapes, etc...just know that I have probably heard them all.  I grew up being called carrot top and once puberty hit, the ginger cat-calls started. 

I personally never understood why my red hair was such a big issue.  Yes, I have red hair.  What was the big deal?  Then I found out that redheads are a dying breed.  Very few of us naturals roam the earth at this point.  So now, I appreciate the fact that I have natural red hair.  I have never dyed it, and don't intend to until it starts going gray.  Which will be a long way off, hopefully!

Let me take the chance to dispel a few urban myths: Anything you have heard about redheads in general may not always be true! I have a temper, but the next redhead you meet might not.  It varies from person to person, so please remember that!