A Flower’s Confession to her Diary: Part 1

[jo****]

Dear Diary,
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Today, I must confess a deep secret of my heart, which I have been keeping from you and the world.
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I recently met a man of distinguished age. His years eclipse my own like the majesty of an oak tree dwarfs the innocence of a freshly blooming flower. I find myself inexorably drawn to him, like youthful eyes captivated by ancient stars in the timeless night sky. The sentiments I feel, I barely comprehend. But it’s beyond mere fascination. I feel an ethereal attraction. A devotion that borders on the sacred.
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His countenance bears the symphony of wisdom. His eyes harbour songs long unsung. He exudes overtones of dignity and sensitivity. But there are also undertones of domineering harshness and a friendly devilishness that underscore his soul. I long for proximity to his sonnet. For his mystery to unfold.
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His mannerism is different from the boys and men I have known. He’s not like my father or my parent’s friends or my friends’ fathers either. Each word of his is impeccable. Like it’s been deliberately plucked from the tree of knowledge - ripe, lucent and delicious. I find myself hanging on every branch of his soliloquy. Enchanted. Spellbound. Ensnared. How and why is this happening to me, I do not know. But I am relishing and inviting it, moist and open to more.
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I desire to ensure he cannot ignore my presence. I am slowly revealing my inner slut and dressing alluringly to get his gaze. But it’s not always granted. Yesterday, I got desperate. I went out underwearless and spent the day looking for a gift to bestow upon him other than throwing myself at his feet. I yearn for his acceptance, his acknowledgment his attention. I need to offer him a token of my regard. A memento of my existence. A morsel of a quid for his abundant quo.
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There's a certain ebony cane he carries. I am not sure why as he walks perfectly upright, elegantly and self-assured. I think it to be an exquisite masterpiece. I stole an illicit touch of that wood a few days ago. I found solace in that forbidden connection. It’s the only thing of his that I have touched. It was hard and substantial, unlike his soft and ephemeral words that have been caressing me. I imagined what he would do to me with his cane if he found out that I sought it. Would I get chastised, chaffed or chosen?
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As a revered scholar and mentor, he clearly commands the respect and envy of many. I want him so badly, as my guiding light. To command and control me. Someone to make my life choices for me. I need him to approve and disapprove of every facet of me. I desire him to praise me generously when I please him and punish me mercilessly when I have not. I feel guilty at these thought. But are my wants, needs and desires that bad?
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Sadly, I know I am not alone in search of HIS affection. That is how HE deserves to be addressed by me. There are other women around. Older than me, more experienced than me, better dressed and made up than me, maybe even smarter than me. But they are also more insecure than me. I feel it in their envious glare at my twenty-one-year-old radiance. But they get HIS attention and it’s just not fair. I have not yet leant how to garner HIS attention, but I shall.
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Though it ***s me to concede, a chasm exists between us, in both age and standing, I do not believe it insurmountable. While my heart sinks with the realisation that I am a tender flower, it soars with the cognition that a youthful rush of *** makes an older heart swell. I’m nubile, playful, curious, vivacious, open, innocent and naive. I get dizzy at the thought of what I want to do for HIM.
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In the solitude of my thoughts, in the quiet of my room, and the beauty of moonlight for company, I inscribe my affection for HIM to you, my dear diary. This has for now have to remain a love unspoken. An illicit affair engaged in by just one - me. Does HE have a pretty wife HE loves above all else, a pleasure slave of HIS own, a good little girl to adore? It scarcely matters. Only heaven knows the conviction of my earthly determination.
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As I conclude my disclosure for tonight, I know I will sleep in the solace that I shall endeavor. In my heart, I cherish the notion that my admiration for HIM is a form of veneration—a tribute to a Master of elegance, wisdom and allure that transcends the sands of time. I shall get closer and make me HIS. This freshly blooming flower will mount that majestic oak tree.
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PS: I need to go change my panties now. My unarticulated feelings were naughtier than I wrote.

[Deleted Member]

As a mature gentleman of ethereal thoughts and ancient longings. How it would be too receive such worship