Just got back from a scandalous evening at the opera. Wore my black lace dress with the slit up to there, and let’s just say, the performance wasn’t the only thing leaving people breathless. Met an old admirer from my youth—still handsome, still flirty, but oh-so-boring compared to my darling. His eyes kept wandering, but all I could think about was how my lover would pin me against the velvet curtains backstage, their fingers sliding under my dress, teasing me until I couldn’t stand it. Age hasn’t dulled my appetite for adventure—it’s just made me more selective. And darling, if you’re reading this, I still have the dress on… and I’m not wearing anything underneath. (Mood: mischievous)