Obsessed

For months Vanessa had pined about her forbidden love. She had anguished about its secrecy, the unrequited nature of her passion. She was as desperate to keep it hidden as she was for me to find it. Well, she said it best herself...

I type each letter considering the horrific possibility of its discovery. Such an occurrence, I have decided, is more terrifying than certain death. Although, I hesitate to ask whether I would write otherwise. It is the awful truth that possesses me. If it were any less sinister I could not drive myself to write it.

I feel a similar compulsion to share this tale now, but at that time I didn't really understand. It was not hard to believe that she was telling the truth. Her writing was indeed obsessive and very personal. Some portions were depraved, filled with self-loathing, others graphic. I share snips of them here in confidence, only to demonstrate the situation. I consider it purity in some sense...

Oh, Magnus. Why do you do this to me? What possesses you to believe love so fierce can exist? What gives you the right to believe such things, then deprive yourself completely? How do you expect me to live knowing such love is so close, then watch it die this slow death? What gives you the right to enforce this prison upon yourself? I do love you, Magnus, you fucker. I am the embodiment of desire that consumes you. If only I could prove it to you with words. Perhaps this is impossible. Perhaps I must somehow prove my body exists for your gratification. It is capable in any way you can imagine. I know you would never let it near you, but it is oh, so capable. How thick my tears well, dribbling off of my cheek. These are drops of your semen, Magnus, and they patter to my crotch and further drench my wrinkled fingers. I can only assume this is how you want it, Magnus. It is so.

Perhaps I share too much, but including her words here cannot bring me guilt, which will make more sense later. I did find a few of these entries disturbing. If she wanted to start a relationship, this was an interesting way of going about it. Apparently, she had decided it was hopeless. Then, as I continued reading, my research revealed more...

Oh, Magnus, a flood of desire crept up my spine as your eyes caught mine today. What ecstasy can a fraction of a second provide. You are a potent drug, my sweet. Oh so little a dose fulfills me. I am only now, after several hours, buckling under the weight of withdrawal. Oh, please write to me, Magnus. Please tell me how the same moment torments you. Tell me in the way only you know how. How many infinities must I wait, Magnus.

I remembered that. Shit, I had actually written about that. I might have even posted that evening as if responding to her request. I checked. I did post that evening...

A flash of wonder
brings the sea,
marooned so still
and then restored.
A blink asunder,
torn from thee.
How is free will
a thing abhorred.

I was reciprocating without even realizing it. Of course, this was actually a personal lamentation not intended for anyone's eyes much less Vanessa's. This became increasingly clear over the next few entries. To her it was a random glimmer of hope among the usual despair. I felt awful, mystified, intrigued. Then things got a bit darker.

At a certain point, her writing pushed against the limits of reality. Our relationship grew as we exchanged glances in class, then began leaving each other short, saucy notes. These events had never taken place. I was suddenly taking part in a drama I had never experienced, nor could have imagined. By now I was reading at a frenzied pace. Some of it was depraved, shocking. Finally, our restraint broke in a firestorm of lust in the library stacks. Her account included an encounter like the actual one in the library, with some liberties...

There were butterflies in my stomach as I felt his presence. I hadn't seen him, but could hear the pages flipping. I knew it was him. No one else was ever in that room. That was why he liked it. I slipped in unnoticed and walked to the rear corner. I lifted my skirt and pulled my panties down around my ankles, placing them in my purse. My body temperature was already rising. I knew what I had to do. This time I relaxed. I took my time, slowly edging my way toward him down the aisle, holding the open book in front of me. He was stoic, deadpan, almost angry even. He concentrated, and shifted his weight to look slightly to the side. He could still see me. He may have seen me smile. Suddenly, WHAM. He slammed his book closed. I thought he would leave, but he didn't. He pulled another from his bag and began reading, adjusted himself, and began flipping pages. I was a predator, moving closer. My heart was pounding against my chest like a pile driver. I imagined his impossible heart, his compassion. No man who wrote those things could possibly do me harm. If they did, this life was not worth living anyway. I shuffled closer. If they were lies, I decided, I was ready to die. Right there in that empty room. Closer. Minutes. Closer. He was watching me. My short blue skirt and tall stockings...striped shirt. He knew I read all about his desires, fantasies. He knew I was there for him, a tangible product of his imagination. I became her, the woman he adored. I was his desire incarnate, and I was begging him. So close. Only a few feet. He was perfectly still now. My body was sex. This was it. It was time. I reached so high and lowered my torso. Oh, God, my pussy was drenched. Such awful, terrible truth. He must know, again. He must. My head was resting against a History of the Battleship Leviathan. I placed both hands on a shelf above me and uttered something indecipherable. I was in a trance, incapable of lucid thought. This time, ten seconds. More was indulgence. I wanted him. 2...3... Oh, I needed him. 4...5... I hardly noticed his firm hands cup both of my tender breasts. I shuddered and bit my lip as his cock suddenly thrust into my shimmering lips, sinking deep into my flooded inferno. I could feel the angry shame fill his body as he pulled back and repeated his initial gesture. He tried to push deeper. I wanted to feel his cock explode inside me. The thought consumed me. He began thrusting and I enveloped him like a tight, warm blanket. The books rattled as he pounded like a machine. I held back my screech as he attacked the insatiable animal in front of him. I pushed the books through the shelf and grasped the other side of the ledge as his aggression intensified. I hoped no one could hear. Ooo, I was not expecting this. The gentleman who's rose pedal glided over the shoulder of his lovers was pummeling my gaping hole rotten with his turgid cock. I pushed back with every thrust and ground my forehead against the cold metal. My body became rigid and I felt the orgasm approaching well in advance. I waited for him, feeling the relentless friction surrounding his cock. Finally I felt the warm liquid splash deep inside me and by body shuddered in waves of ecstasy shaking the rows of books on either side. We paused in a delirious trance, my breasts and arms having warmed the cool shelf. Several moments passed and then he withdrew as I remained paralyzed. He zipped his pants, picked up his bag, and pulled me against him, enveloping my lips with his own. He held my hand as we walked out of the library.

None of this had actually happened. In her fantasy she reported that I had found her blog, but she didn't know I had, so she kept quiet about it as our "real" relationship developed. The passion moved from the library to her dorm room and finally into breakfast the next day.

Subsequently, I learned that we had skinny dipped in the rec center pool, passed many naughty notes to each other in class, and performed extended bouts of lovemaking in every conceivable position and location imaginable.

I was amazed to find that she had studied my blog ruthlessly. She played on every mention of my slightest whim. My agreeable sentiment toward double lattes ends up in the Starbucks bathroom with her wiping my froth from the side of her lips for one last taste before washing up for class. She found my love for Pink Floyd particularly agreeable. Her longest entry choreographed an evening of indulgence to be performed to "The Dark Side of the Moon." Coordinating our ipods, the third roar begins when she places her foot between my legs in the cafeteria.

Our imaginary relationship was moving along ferociously.

Now, any guy would be absolutely flattered by this. She was obsessing with the person she had grown to know from my blog. She knew enough about me to attempt to reinvent herself as my ultimate fantasy, and this seemed to thrill her.

She also saw posts about my commitment, and this somehow motivated her, like she knew I was a difficult nut to crack or something, I don't know. It was like some twisted test. I can't say what she was thinking, what, precisely was true, and what was not, but the text was unquestionably enticing.

About my commitment...I am neither gay, nor crippled in any way. Like most guys, I love women. I am unavailable for other reasons. Suffice it to say, reasons that made a relationship with Vanessa impossible. I do have to wonder if she would have even thought twice about me otherwise.