I woke up this morning feeling restless, like there's this pent-up energy buzzing under my skin. It's not just about sex, though God knows I crave that too. It's about feeling alive, wanted, like I still matter. I caught myself staring at the mirror earlier, tracing the lines on my face and wondering when I stopped being the woman men would fight over. My tits are still full, my ass still curves just right, but sometimes it feels like I'm fading into the background. Maybe that's why I dress the way I do, why I let my fantasies run wild—because in my head, I'm still that fiery redhead who could make a man lose his mind with just a look. Fuck, I miss that power.