Seduced by a Famous Redditor [MF] (long, sad)

*Author’s note: This is a post from a throwaway account made during a specific time for a specific reason. If, for some reason you’re tempted to gild it, please consider donating to a charity like the [American Cancer Society](https://www.cancer.org/) instead.*

**What Happened**

Call me Icarus.

I’ve tried to write this a few times, but I don’t know how to do it without coming across like an unlikable mix of pretentious and self-loathing. I’m sure I did it this time, too. Sorry.

I should be clear that I’m nothing special. I have a comfortably above-average cock. None of my partners have ever complained about it, but there’s nothing in here (or anywhere, let’s face it) about how women are overcome with lust at the sight of my massive lovemeat. I have a lean, tall body, but I’m not a bag of muscles. I don’t have striking blue eyes. My hair is fine and brown. There’s symmetry to my face, but I’ll never be mistaken for a model.

She, on the other hand, was forged in a mold that would make both Michelangelo and Larry Flynt weep with jealousy. I won’t give any details that would give her away but I will say, confidently, that what you see in her posts pales in comparison to the rest of who she is. Let that sink in.

Yeah.

I won’t ever forget the first time I saw her face. It was (is) breathtaking. You know… face pics are a crapshoot. We’ve all seen a great body and a face and gone, “Oh.” I’m certain she’s caused accidents with her beauty alone. And (I swear this is true. If you believe nothing else you read, believe this.) she has stars in her eyes. I don’t mean light reflects in them. She has stars in her eyes. I’ve spent plenty of time gazing at them, wondering where that sparkle comes from.

I should also mention she’s brilliant. Like no bullshit brilliant. Without question the most intelligent person I’ve ever met, and I’m proud to say I’ve known some smart people, *and* I’m smart enough myself to recognize brilliance when I see it.

But I didn’t know any of this at the time. What I did know was that there was something about her posts that made them stand out…

See, I never wanted to be a guy that commented on gonewild posts. The desperation… the fedora-tipping… just not my thing. I love naked women as much as the next guy, but I had no interest in being another instantly forgotten voice in a sea of forgotten voices.

Except… occasionally, there was a post that stood out. That made me feel like the poster was sharing a little more than just nudity. And to them, I wanted to say, “Hey, I see you. I see what you’re sharing.” I had no illusions—or even desire—of getting a response. I just felt that when you do share like that, you want someone to notice. So I made a throwaway account just to let those posters know that someone had noticed.

Needless to say, she was one of those rare posters that I felt was secretly sharing more of herself in her posts, and so I’d comment and say, “Hey, I see you.”

Once in a while, I’d get an offhand thanks as a reply. You know those comments. Someone says something, the poster replies, and then the poor dude replies back, hoping to start a conversation, hoping it will lead to more, and their comment just hangs there, unanswered and withering, dying of thirst. I never replied to a thanks. I took occasional casual politeness for what it was, and never gave it a second thought. My purpose was to let posters know someone had noticed what they were sharing, and that was that.

One morning, in my inbox, there was a message. From her. Titled “You.” Asking to see a picture of me. Telling me what she imagined I looked like. (It was *not* a flattering comparison, much to my dismay. Thankfully, I’m more attractive than the creeper she imagined I was.)

She liked my smirk, and told me that she played out a whole scenario in her head from it. I asked her what it was, and she told me I had to tell her what *my* scenario was before I got to hear hers. (This turned out to be untrue. She has the attention span of a poorly-trained, and some might say dumb, puppy. I’m still waiting for her story, but she had already moved on to the next thing that distracted her.) And so I told her my version of what might happen if we caught each other’s eyes after she saw me smirking, and she asked what happened next.

That’s what happened. No smooth lines or awesome seduction techniques. It never even occurred to me that she might be attracted to me. We just had a conversation. I talked freely with her, and she with me. I would write her tomes about everything under the sun, and she’d reply to as much as she felt like. We talked about everything. Everything. There was no pussyfooting around boundaries. There was never a need. She got 100% of me, and gave me 100% of herself. The conversations flowed naturally, right from the start.

I think, looking back on things, it was my genuine interest in her interests that piqued her imagination. What she does for a living is cool as fuck, and I was incredibly excited to hear about it. I didn’t ask for any reason except because it was cool.

It’s funny, because she doesn’t talk about it as much as I wish she would. I think she’s used to being patronized, and has a hard time believing anyone could be interested, but I am, and I’d honestly pay money just to attend a lecture if she ever gave one. She’s so passionate about it (as she is everything) and things just come to life as she talks about them.

Reading through our conversations, she dropped the first hint about a month in, and, of course, I was oblivious to it. It took a few comments about meeting before I considered the possibility that she wasn’t just being flirty. Or… maybe she was. There wasn’t any reason for her to be serious. But I flirted back, making it clear that I would meet her if she wanted. Her reply?

> I was mostly being flirty, but why not?

We made plans to meet in a neutral city. Was this dumb? Probably. I didn’t really have a backup plan for what to do if there wasn’t chemistry. But we had talked enough that I wasn’t worried. Even if we didn’t click, we conversed well. The worst-case scenario was hanging out in a new city exploring with a friend. I didn’t waste any thoughts on the best case. There were so many bridges to cross to get there that it felt unlikely.

What happened next was, instead, something I couldn’t have made up in my wildest dreams.

**What Happened Next**

I picked her up at the airport with a plan to surprise her and see her first. Diabolically, she pulled the same plan off better, and surprised me. I made sure to be the one to see her first and surprise her every other time. She hated it. I loved it.

She was dressed in a flowing skirt and oversized sunglasses that hid her eyes but not her smile. That smile was like a ray of sunshine straight through my heart. As we walked back to the car, she moved like she was one with the sunshine and the warm breeze. With no warning, she stopped what she was saying, turned to me, leaned in, and kissed me.

She was a fantastic kisser. Aggressive, tender, accepting, and playful. And I loved that she had initiated it. There was an impetuous girl still hiding underneath her womanly worldness. I put my arm around her, cupping the small of her back, and pulled her close to me. Our tongues danced as she melted into me. We simply let go of any apprehension, relaxed, and merged together. Our kiss ended naturally and she pulled away, breaking into a radiant smile.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just thought we should get it out of the way now.”

I asked what she thought we should get out of the way, and the edges of her lips crept upward into a mischievous smirk I’d come to know and adore.

“Knowing,” she told me.

Now, listen… I had a plan just in case bridges *were* crossed. We were both tired from flying in, the plan was to take a nice, platonic nap, get up, have a flirty dinner, and then come home and get naked. That was the plan.

I told her the plan as we drove back to our place and she readily agreed. I suspected she would, given how much she had told me she liked sleeping. As we laid on the bed, she noticed.

I had scrolled through her history once we started talking. Obviously to masturbate to pictures of her I hadn’t seen, but also to learn more about her. And she had mentioned there was a cologne she liked, but the manufacturer had changed the formula and it wasn’t the same. That was enough information. I found some of the original formula she liked, and I was wearing it.

She nuzzled closer.

I nuzzled closer.

Then we were kissing, and it was like a dam had burst open. We melted together again, this time with an urgency to feel each other’s body pressed hard against us. I don’t remember how our clothes came off. I don’t remember when. Later, picking them up, we laughed at the story their random landings spots told. But the truth is I don’t remember. I don’t remember ever pausing our kissing long enough to remove clothing.

Her hips moved with a mind of their own, and I took this as a signal to start enjoying the rest of her. Suffice it to say she has the smoothest skin I’ve ever felt. And the way she squirmed when I took her nipples in my mouth and forcefully flicked them with my tongue is burned in my memory.

Still, I worked my way down. Licking her skin. Tasting her and teasing her with the tip of my tongue. She tensed up as I approached her pussy.

You may have seen it. But I can tell you pictures don’t do it justice. Every one is unique, of course, but hers filled all my senses. It is majestic.

I could hear her start to say something, and I interrupted her. I told her I knew, and not to worry.

She had never orgasmed from oral sex before. We’d talked about it. She didn’t want me to feel pressured or disappointed if I couldn’t get her off. She knew I knew and she still tried to warn me. That’s who she is. Her heart shines through even in the most intense situations.

20 minutes later, she was bucking and grinding against my face as she grunted loudly in orgasm. She’s not a screamer. Her orgasms are deep and primal. They’re impossibly sexy. Slowly, as I savored her, licked her, probed her, and explored her, she came to realize I had been telling the truth: I love going down on a woman. Her taste was intoxicating. The more she flowed across my tongue, the more I wanted to taste her. I wasn’t shy about working my tongue inside her to drink directly from the tap.

And the more passionately I ate her, the wetter she got. I could feel her hips slowly relax. Feel her hands move to her nipples to play with them. At some point, she understood I was doing it because I love doing it, and that was all she needed to relax and enjoy herself. And that was all that was needed for her to lose control. My face was already drenched, but she ground herself against me, teaching me where her sensitive spots were, and I savaged them with the lust of an eager partner.

When she caught her breath, I climbed on top of her. She spread her legs instinctually. I’ll never forget the way she did it. Whether she’s walking in the sunlight or deeply aroused, there’s a sensuality to the way she moves that can’t be forgotten once experienced. My every instinct screamed to plunge into her. To take her as our obvious chemistry demanded. But I hesitated. Her eyes were still not quite back. Her mouth was still open. I could feel her heart pound against my chest. I asked her if she was sure she was OK.

“Did you just ask for consent?” she laughed.

I should pause here to talk about her laugh. Her true laugh. It’s deep and mirthful, and when she really laughs—when she’s feeling free of all the yokes of responsibility—the stars in her eyes sparkle, and her face lights up with glee. It’s when that same impetuous girl inside her comes out to delight in the feeling of being truly free. Free of responsibility. Free of fear of judgment. Just free.

I don’t mind that she laughed at me. If anything, it just confirmed again that I told her the truth about being a dork. It also brought her back. The stars in her eyes sparkled, and she reached down to grab me and place me at her entrance.

I could feel her body heat searing the tip of my cock, and I could feel her wetness instantly coating me, inviting me in. That was the moment I truly came to understand what irresistible meant. If you had put a gun to my head and told me to pull myself away, I would be a dead man. There was nothing in existence that could have stopped me from entering her.

There are no words to describe how incredible her pussy felt. Her heat swallowed me like a flame creeping up a piece of paper, and I was lost. She grunted as I forced my way inside her, because even after her orgasm, she was impossibly tight. I was so aroused and swollen that I could feel every bump and curve inside of her. She would only open wide enough to let me slide forward, and then clench back down again. I’ve always visualized her like one of those finger trap toys I used to play with as a kid.

She sensually fought me for every inch that I took, but between her sopping wetness and the way she ground her hips to work me in deeper, it was clear she wanted me.

Finally, I bottomed out, and my jaw opened in a silent groan of pure ecstasy. I sought her eyes with my own and found them watching my expressions. I didn’t feel embarrassed. I felt connected. I could feel my lust blaze at the backs of my eyeballs, and I watched hers widen in response.

We fucked.

I pistoned into her without care. The room was filled with the wet sounds of her pussy greedily fucking me back… of my ragged breathing and of her grunts of pleasure.

Time and space no longer existed. I don’t believe our powers of speech existed. We were one. One tangle of limbs. Hips grinding and tongues dancing as we relished how we could make the other feel.

Since I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t really warn her. Of course, I didn’t really need to. She always was able to intuit my hints. I pulled back enough to look her in the eyes again. But she just looked at me intently, her own eyes demanding that I not hold back, since I hadn’t up to that point.

So I didn’t. I fucked her harder, felt that panic as my body edged and edged towards the cliff, and then the overload of bliss as I emptied myself deep inside her. I crushed her hips to get as deep as possible. Nothing else mattered. Only getting as deep inside her as I physically could, because if I got just a little deeper, then she’d know and understand the depth of the intensity of the connection I was feeling in that moment.

Somewhere I could hear myself crying out. I could hear her grunt in her own orgasm as she rippled and milked me. But those sounds were from other people in another universe. In that moment, she was my universe.

I collapsed on top of her, half a heartbeat away from death, and clung to her like a drowning man finding a life preserver in the ocean. Our chests heaved against each other as we tried to catch our breath.

I slowly came back to reality and lifted myself off of her, making eye contact again. Her eyes still sparkled. Not with glee this time, but contentment. I knew she had felt at least some of the same connection. I smiled inwardly, because I knew what I was about to do. The satisfaction I got from seeing her eyes widen could be bottled up and sold as a replacement for anti-depressants.

“Oh my GOD,” she said in disbelief. “You’re still hard?!”

I smirked the smirk that had originally caught her eye and told her she had just discovered my secret. Lust blazed across her face like a forest fire, and rather than speaking, she put her arms around me and spread her legs wide, inviting me to resume that same intense moment we’d just fallen out of.

And we fucking fucked.

We eventually made it to dinner.

“My cum is still all over your face!” she pointed out.

I told her I knew, and I grinned. And she grinned, too.

The rest of our time together was like that. She was still apprehensive about me going down on her, but right about the time I chose going down on her over something I had told her I was really excited to do in our city was the time I think I won her over and she realized I wasn’t full of shit and I loved going down on her.

Each time we saw each other after that was some variation of the same thing. They flow through my memory like a series of vignettes.

***
She sends me a message.

“Do you like this song?” she asks. I can feel the apprehension even through the text.

I listen to it and then tell her, “No, I love it!” I can feel her grin hundreds of miles away.

*There’s a shortcut to the highway out of town…*

***

We sit on the porch in silence, watching an evening thunderstorm blow through. Lightning flashes occasionally in the distance, though we’re too far away to hear much beyond low rumbles of thunder. *It’s an omen,* I think to myself. I’ve crossed into a world where I don’t belong, and I’m already planning to leave.

In the morning, she crawls into my bed and kisses me wordlessly. There’s an undercurrent of longing in her lips. There’s an undertow of desperation in mine. Before I even know what’s happening, I’m on top of her. She’s soaked. She’s always soaked. She takes me inside her so easily, but it still makes the world fall away from me. There’s only us and our connection, and I relentlessly drive into her with a deep need. I can hear her grunts on each stroke. I can feel her clench on me to try and make me lose control. I can hear the sounds of her wetness mixed in with the sound of our bodies moving together. It’s too much, and I empty myself into her. I can feel her react to it even as I mindlessly groan from the pleasure. My body has said what my words couldn’t. Does she understand what I just said? She holds me tight against her.

As my senses return, I move and hold her tight against me in return. Our foreheads touch and I tell her again that I’m sorry. She scoffs at first, but her face changes and I think maybe she does know after all. We cuddle and talk about how dumb I am.

I won’t be leaving after all.

***

“What do you want to make for dinner?” she asks.

“Well, I know this great salad, recipe” I say. I start to list the ingredients and she interrupts.

“Orrrrrrr… we could make nachos?” There’s hope in her voice.

Who says no to the kind of woman who suggests nachos?

***

It’s the afternoon. I’m rubbing oil deep into her ass. Butt massages are usually just a great time for foreplay, but she actually carries her stress there, so it’s a double whammy. She sighs with every movement of my hands. I can feel the tension leaving her. She’s fully clothed except for the parts I’m massaging. She tells me she wants me to fuck her. She’s been bratty and I’m not going to give her what she wants. I tell her I’m going down on her instead. She says she won’t let me.

But I place my hands on the smooth skin of her knees and she doesn’t fight me as I spread her legs open. There’s no denying the scent of her arousal. No pretending she had any willpower left. I love the sight of her wet pussy. I love the smell of her when she’s excited. I lean in to enjoy myself and she mutters, “I hate you.”

I pause my kissing of her innermost thigh to answer, “No, you don’t.”

Then my mouth is on her and she can’t do more than gasp, and her chance to answer is lost. I part her lips with my tongue and a flood gushes across it as my reward. I moan against her in appreciation and she begins to fuck my face.

She reaches up to remove her blouse and play with her nipples. I haven’t forgotten her brattiness, and I grab her hand and pin it against her body. She tries to use the other one, so I pin that one too. She loves it.

I can tell by her breathing, by her body writhing, that she’s close. So I just stop. I take my mouth off of her and just look at her. I don’t know if she can see herself dripping down my chin, but I can smell her all over my face and it’s intoxicating. She tries to free her hands. Then she tries to reach my face with her hips. I won’t let her do either one. Then, with no warning, I plunge my mouth back on her and attack her clit with my tongue.

In a few short minutes, her hips are bucking and she’s grunting in deep orgasm. I let her hands free so she can push me off when she gets too sensitive, but I don’t move far. I want her to feel my hot breath on her. I want to smell her. Her powers of speech return, but all she can say is, “That was…”

Yes. It was.

**What Happened After**

There was a period when I thought our time together was coming to an end. Her upward career trajectory continued unabated, and though she swore she didn’t want the responsibilities that come with success, both are unavoidable for someone like her. She just doesn’t know how to fail, and simply never could without completely changing who she is. Challenges are addicting for her, and between her intellect and acumen, they don’t stand much chance over the long term. That left little time for me. She also has throngs of adoring fans, many so desperate just for the idea of the opportunity to have sex with her that they fall over each other to fight for the slightest scrap of attention from her. I’ve seen her inbox. Just when you think there’s no new way left to offer a woman sex, someone will come up with a unique gambit, and we’ve giggled over them.

Her fans lavish her with praise, and maybe I’m guilty of the same thing here, despite my best attempts to be truthful. She may sound like a goddess, but I grant I never saw a goddess go, and she’s as human as the rest of us. She can get validation—without pesky things like reciprocation—at her whim. Who wouldn’t be intoxicated by that, hollow or not?

I felt there was nothing that I give her that she can’t get on her own simply by existing. I had no doubt that she liked me, and maybe she even preferred to get what she needs from me, but as her life became ever more filled, necessity demanded she opt for convenience. And whatever else I am, I’m not convenient. I can’t compete with a flood of admiration, nor the instant availability of someone local. Not every ending is dramatic. Sometimes pieces that once fit a circumstance no longer fit another.

Then we saw each other again. She got out of her car, wearing sunglasses that framed her face perfectly and some kind of flowing dark blouse. She said she dressed “comfortable.” She was as magical as ever. We sat in an overrated Mexican restaurant and I unloaded innuendos at her over chips and salsa just to make her blush. I wanted her to know my lust burned as bright as ever.

And just like that, I knew that however logical my doubts were, they weren’t quite true. She told me she wasn’t done with me and looking at her standing under the last few rays of the summer sun, I believed her. And I intended to spend the rest of our time together showing her that.

One day, she just stopped talking to me. For someone like me, who’s prone to melodrama, it’s easy to conjure up scenarios in a hurricane of self-pity. Many months before, we had survived our most serious fight, one undeniably caused by my own cluelessness, because, she said, she didn’t want to imagine any days I wasn’t there to talk to. Then, months later and unrelated, I didn’t hear from her one day. The last thing she’d said to me was, “I’ll tell you [Friday]. 😊”And one day became two. And two became a week. And a week became two weeks. And two months. It was like walking into a glass door. After you didn’t see it coming, you wonder how you didn’t see it coming.

There’s no drama to it. Another promotion and another raise and her life gets more and more filled. She’s so good at her job that it becomes easy to define her self-worth through it. Everyone around her knows she’s exceptional, but she focuses on what might happen if she fails… even though she never has. The possibility stresses her out, and at the same time, drives her to excel. Her life now requires that she shift her focus. She will do the work she needs to do so that she doesn’t look like a failure in her own eyes, and that doesn’t leave room for me this time. There was a time when I’d be the reassuring voice in her life, telling her what she needed to hear, taking care of her, and helping her release her stress in unbridled expressions of carnality. But that time seems to have passed.

My wind chimes sing, and I think of her. Mostly, I wonder if she’ll remember me ten years from now.

And I wonder about the dynamics between men and women. Is it just better to use someone to make sure you’re not the one who winds up being used?

But.

I know the answer already.

There’s no pretending it doesn’t hurt to see her find time to talk to the sycophants who clamor for her next post while I wait for a Friday that will never come. What came instead was a message. She told me we had had a good run, but there were irreconcilable differences, and she was done sharing her private life with me. I replied I didn’t believe there were irreconcilable differences. That the only thing which had changed was how she saw me. That there was a time we would have talked. Reconnected. Listened and heard. That I remembered sitting in a garden with her, with the evening breeze blowing through her hair, and simply talking. Pure honesty. Pure connection.

My words fell on deaf ears. She no longer saw me as that person, so there was no point in reminding her how she once saw me as that person. And I knew that. I knew her well enough to know when she’d change her mind and when she wouldn’t. I just wanted her to know she was still special to me, and how sad I was to hear I was no longer special to her.

She ignored that and apologized for a personal insult she’d directed at me. And that was it. That’s the last thing she said to me. The last time I’ll ever hear from her. She’s faded away, like a gossamer dream on a misty morning that only recedes faster the harder you try to remember it. My wind chimes sing a memory of her, and I wonder just what changed? When did she start imagining days I wasn’t there to talk to, and why?

But… I know the answer already. I wasn’t used. She’s not that kind of person. We gave each other 100% of ourselves until one couldn’t anymore. That’s all there is to it. There’s no mystery to unravel, no chain of events to do differently so things don’t change. Those thoughts are just my sadness talking. We’re all just human, and we’re all just trying to do the best we can.

Even me.

Even her.

All I can tell you, who read this far, is that I think of Icarus often. The myth goes that he was reckless and paid the price for his foolhardiness. But, I wonder, what if he *knew* what he was doing? What if the moments when he was closer to the sun—closer than anyone had ever been—were worth having the wax that held his wings on melt? I think those moments *had* to be worth it. Because they were for me.

No matter what… it was always going to be a long way down. And everything that flies too close to the sun burns up eventually. I flew higher than I ever had a right to, but I also almost reached the sun that loves her so.

*…Cut a path across the blue skies…*

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/wnrxwo/seduced_by_a_famous_redditor_mf_long_sad