Diary of an Amish Seductress Ch. 01

Dear Diary,

Much has occurred since the last time I wrote. For a while I believed that I may never be able to write again, so distressed was I by the events about which I will shortly tell you. You know already that I have been betrothed to marry Josiah, and that our wedding was to be today. But, dearest diary, woe is me! Let me take you to the moment, the moment that I am certain has ended my young life.

This afternoon, I donned my wedding garb, and went through all the motions every Amish bride must take on her wedding day. I do not think that I have ever been happier than I was in the moments that I spent preparing to join my dearest Josiah upon the altar. The wedding was proceeding perfectly, the day was warm and beautiful, and I looked the perfect Amish bride with my petite frame clothed all in white. I thought to myself that there could not possibly be a luckier man in our whole community than Josiah. I had been taught since I was a girl that the act of marriage and subsequently consummation was not an act that was meant to be enjoyable; it was an act who's only purpose was to produce children. But despite this fact I couldn't help but let my mind wander to what would happen after we were wed... What was it like? What did a man feel like, look like? I felt a warm sensation in my core at these thoughts, causing me to squeeze my thighs together. I rubbed them against each other slightly, feeling the friction from the rough fabric of my gown...

My eyes fluttered shut and I bit my lip softly, an act that startled me back into the moment and I drove those shameful thoughts from my mind. By now it was time for me to process up the aisle, and as I did so, arm in arm with my father, I saw through the haze of nerves and excitement that something was not quite right. The community was not looking at me with pride or happiness but rather pity and sadness. Confused, I turned to the altar, to Josiah. Imagine the depth of my bewilderment then, when, looking to the altar, to the man that was to be my husband, I saw instead no one. There was no one at the end of the aisle but the minister, a graver than usual expression upon his face.

"My dear..." he began.

I couldn't let him finish. I knew what it was that he would say. Immediately my eyes welled with tears. I broke down, right there on the altar, the site that was supposed to be the source of my ultimate happiness. My father attempted to console me, and after I was able to regain a small sense of composure I was escorted back to my room. Mother took me to bed and helped me to undress from my gown, so meticulously sown and now so useless. I changed into my nightclothes and laid upon my bed, where I have remained for many hours, alternating between bouts of sleeping and sobbing. It is to save my sanity that I pick up my pen to recall the sad events of this day. I fear now that it is too late for me. I am doomed to the life of an old maid, an object of pity and an example to young girls of what to avoid...

The week that followed my heartbreak were spent mostly in solitude, and my mother and father respected my need to be alone. But life for the rest of the community must proceed, even though it felt as if mine had ended. And so, after a generous amount of wallowing in sadness I was called down by my mother.

"Annabelle dear" she said softly. "I know times for you are hard, but that does not mean that you are free of responsibility. Your father and I have crops to sell at the market in town today and we will need your help. Get yourself dressed, we leave within the hour."

I knew that my mother, despite being as strict an Amish mother as ever there was, would not have requested my help at such a time unless she was sure she needed it, and so I dutifully dressed for a day of work at the town market. The market is about a 20 minute carriage ride from our community, where we Amish and other local farmers sell our various crops of fruits and vegetables to people that travel from the neighboring towns and cities where fresh produce such as ours cannot be grown. We arrived, unloaded our goods, and soon the people followed. They pulled up in shiny cars and stepped out in trendy modern attire. The work helped to take my mind off my woes as I became more focused on convincing our customers that I had not recently emerged from a weeks long session of crying alone in my room. Still, I couldn't help but notice all the couples that came to the market together, holding hands, laughing, walking arm in arm. I knew that these were things I would never be allowed to do, and envied the beautiful modern women who were able to parade around with their handsome husbands.

As I observed more closely I became lost in thoughts of fantasy, of dressing like one of these women in tight fitting pants and sleeveless shirts. I saw myself getting swept off my feet by a tall stranger, his muscles toned and tight against the fabric of his shirt. We stood with our bodies pressed tight together, his powerful arms pulling me into him. I felt a stir in my skirts as I saw his eyes, looking deep into mine, and his lips drawing closer and closer. I closed my eyes and tilted my face up to receive him, mouth slightly open in anticipation. I felt his warmth as his lips and mine drew ever closer, I yearned for his kiss, and then suddenly he cupped my face in his hand and-

"Excuse me!" Exclaimed the young blond woman standing in front of me.

"Yes ma'am, I'm sorry, what can I do for you?" I said sheepishly, embarrassed to have been entertaining such thoughts.

The woman giggled, "It must be a long day, hm?"

"Yes ma'am, I apologize".

"I hear you there," she responded, chuckling. "That one over there won't stop nagging on me to get home." She gestured to a tall, well groomed man I assumed to be her husband. "But I say what's the point of sitting home? It's such a gorgeous day!"

I agreed with her, and she went on making small talk as she looked over our selection. As she did, I couldn't help but notice her body, the way her black leggings perfectly hugged her firm bottom, the way her shirt hung just low enough to offer a glimpse of her impressive bosom, the way her golden hair framed her face...

It was then Diary that I had an idea. I am shaking now as I write it down, the concept is so sinful and yet so exciting. If now it is too late to have a husband selected for me, the only option left would then be to select one for myself... And were I to look like these women at the market... I could practically have my pick.