My Journey Into A Loving Female Led Relationship: Chapter 24

My name is John, though I go by rgjohn, and I’ve written a few erotic books and some content for Literotica. When Emma read my work, she suggested I write about loving, female-led relationships—a genre she’s passionate about. It’s been a while since I’ve written, but a fan recently reignited my interest by asking me to turn his detailed journal into a story. Initially skeptical, I found myself captivated by his account of a Female-Led Relationship (FLR), a concept I hadn’t explored before. With a mix of curiosity and research, I’ve decided to craft a multi-part story spanning over 20 chapters. If you are just starting, you should begin your journey back at chapter 1.

For those reading this story, I neglected to mention that I used my personal journal to write this story for my wonderful wife. In the beginning she didn’t know that I had kept a journal, not only about our FLR, but years before when I was much younger and struggling with shyness and awkwardness. Anna happened to find it when looking for something in my office. I wasn’t trying to hide it, I just didn’t think it was important. I was wrong.

I was working to file legal documents for Anna when she walked into her office. I realized that she had a binder in her hand. I wasn’t sure what it was until she spoke.

“Jason, what’s this?” she said, holding up the rather thick journal type notebook.

Suddenly I realized what it was... it was the journal with which I would write this story. I had kept it since we started on our journey, but had never mentioned it to Anna. It wasn’t that I was keeping it from her, it was it was just something I did for my own peace of mind. I had kept a journal since I was a teenager. Years ago, at fourteen, I was a gangly boy, shy and unsure, my journal helped me work through my issues. I wasn’t popular with girls, not because I was unattractive, but because I was too hesitant to approach them. Acne speckled my skin, and my thin frame only made me more self-conscious. Writing was my escape, my way of processing everything I couldn’t say out loud. I chronicled my frustrations, my fascinations, my times of depression, much of it boring to anyone by me.

“Uh... that’s a personal journal I have been keeping about my feelings,” I said, now nervous that I hadn’t told her about it.…