Forever Yours, Your Biggest Fan Pt. 01

I watched the Porsche 911 race into the driveway, narrowly dodging the mailbox before slamming to a stop. Two elegant legs in stockings swung out. Two shoes worth more than the city's median income hit the polished stones. Covered by an oversized fur coat and ditto sunglasses, a strikingly beautiful woman pitter-pattered on high heels towards the door.

Genevieve, my wife. Under the alias Genny from the Cellblock, she was arguably the most-listened true crime podcaster in the state. The argument being that the two people ranked above her exaggerated too much to be true crime.

She walked in, hung up her coat and nonchalantly kicked off her shoes, making my bank account cringe. Genny wore a shimmering, golden dress, hugging her gym-fit figure. Drop-dead gorgeous. She'd probably been flashing skin for another exclusive interview. But that's a story for another day.

A curt nod, then she stalked upstairs to her rooms.

Our marriage was a marketing ploy, a hollow box painted to look like paradise from the outside. We kissed for the camera, rehearsed stories, acted like a power couple. We'd never even seen each other naked. Just once, I'd seen her in a bikini, because the paparazzi needed a beach photo. She'd had an 'accidental' nipple slip as well.

The only time I'd seen my wife's nipple was in a tabloid. Ain't that some shit.

Another car entered the driveway, an old and battered white van. Out hopped a miserable-looking young man, bringing my dinner. I had half an hour to eat it, alone, before I went live.

"No, dude, Tay! Watch out! Behind you! NO! They unalived Taylor oh my goddddd. No, no, they're coming for me. Fork! I'm about to die. Chat, tell me I'm not about to die!" I rambled in my exaggerated streamer voice, mashing buttons on my controller. Sweat trickled down my forehead, my temple vein pulsed.

Acting was intense business.

I dropped two bullets in a zombie's cranium, reloaded, spun, and blasted another one's leg off before ritually executing him. Sprinting to the next room, I ran into more zombies. I backed up, but without Taylor, they swarmed me from all sides. I was done. Rotten teeth devoured my head, my avatar dropping down in shameful defeat.

"That was it, folks. Thanks for tuning in, like and subscribe. Tomorrow I'll bring more company, because Taylor is OBVIOUSLY A LOUSY TEAMMATE," I yelled, waving goodbye to my camera. I heard Tay sniggering through my headphones.

"You good?" he asked after I stopped the stream.

"Yeah. Sure. See ya next time, buddy. Just send the invoice to my manager."

I logged out, took off my headphones, and sagged in my chair. My public persona drained me more and more every day. Was it all worth it? Only 600 viewers today, far below my peaks. Would I be happier if I got a minimum-wage job walking dogs?

Would my 'wife' give me any comfort if I opened up? I doubted it.

In the corner of the room stood a bag of fan mail. Our manager, Albert "call me Buck", visited once a week to bring everything that had been delivered to his office. Even the bag seemed diminutive compared to what it had once been.

I retreated to my bedroom, taking the bag with me. Inside were heartwarming notes, thanking me for all the entertainment, encouragement, and positivity I brought into their lives. I was their inspiration, a hero they aspired to become like.

Yeah. I was a vessel for anyone to project their own ideals and values onto.

Inside a big envelope, I found a hand drawn portrait of myself. Pretty damn good, to be honest. Underneath the drawing was a photo, amateurishly printed in greyscale on regular paper. A girl with long, frizzy hair. Blonde, pale, with dark eyes, I guessed from the shading.

Naked like the day she was born.

Despite her nudity, she looked angelically innocent. I turned the photo to find a letter, in large, elegant handwriting.

~~~

Dear Milo,

I'm well aware that you are out of my reach, and you will never gaze upon my drawings or letters. It will not deter me from sending them, as I maintain a kernel of hope that, one day, I might put a smile on your handsome face.

The drawing is inspired by a photo of you on holiday, sitting on a terrace, enjoying the good life that you work so hard for. Except, you looked stressed to me. Sad, even. I tried to make you look truly, deeply happy in the drawing.

Most likely, I am fantasizing, clutching at straws to convince myself there is a gap in your life that I, in my wildest dreams, hope to fill.

As always, I have included a selfie. I finally found the courage to show my face and body in the same frame. It makes me happy knowing I hide nothing from you.

May all your dreams come true, Milo. That is my biggest wish.

Forever yours, your biggest fan,

Gwen.

~~~

I cried.

Clearly, this girl was unhinged at best. At worst, a stalker, a stan, a catfish looking to extort me. I had to burn the envelope and forget it.

Gwen had struck a chord, though. Did she see through me? Or was she just a broken clock?

It didn't help my sanity that she was ridiculously beautiful.

I should've called an escort agency, spent a night fucking in an expensive hotel suite, then put my mask back in place for tomorrow. Man the fuck up. Instead, I looked up her socials and sent a message from an incognito account.

"Gwen? It's Milo. I got your drawing and letter. Both were beautiful. Thanks."

"FGJHFKJGHSIOUGHSDIUGJHODISGJOIJ," I got in response. Then, fifteen minutes of radio silence. Finally, a long, rambling message.

"Sorry. I vomited from excitement. Sorry, too much info. This can't be real? My hands tremble. My phone fell three times already and now the screen is broken. Doesn't matter. It can't be you? AAAAAAAH? I'm dying? Can't breathe. What's happening!!!"

Unhinged, or a really, really good catfish.

"It's okay, take deep breaths. We're just two adults talking."

"No, uhm, not okay, no breaths, I'm, like, having a SANTA IS REAL thing going on here. Fuck. AAAAH. Can't faint. The ambulance people will think I've lost my marbles. Have I lost them? Am I hallucinating? Is this carbon-thingy poisoning?"

I was starting to feel bad about myself, wondering if I'd broken her mind. To my relief, her next message was slightly more normal.

"Sorry. Tell me how to behave. I can do it for you. I'm just overwhelmed."

"Talk to me like you did in the letter, please. I had a difficult moment, and you really touched me," I offered, hoping to bring some peace to her mind, stop her from spinning out of control again.

"Which one of my letters? Wait, this isn't safe, don't share personal things without verifying who I am. Give me a message to write for you."

Uhm, sure.

"I finally found the courage to show my face and body in the same frame,"I wrote. Then I cursed myself. This girl was having a meltdown, and reminding her I saw her naked wasn't gonna help. It took a long time until she replied, sending a photo back.

"Dying of embarrassment," she wrote. Attached was a photo of a paper. She'd scribbled the sentence on it, with multiple corrections and the word 'show' missing. Nowhere close to the elegant writing on her letter. Underneath the sentence was her driver's license.

Gwendolyn Miller-Price, 21 years old, platinum blonde with big, deep blue eyes. The kind of beauty that inspires artists.

"Gwen, you should also be careful with personal info," I replied.

"Nothing in my life is worth protecting, except this fleeting moment shared with you. I shan't sully it with secrecy," she wrote, the eloquence of her letter resurfacing.

"You have a way with words, and your drawing was exceptional as well," I said.Mustn't tell her I find her attractive."I did look very happy in it. Thank you."

"Tortured souls produce captivating artists. You are my inspiration," she said. "Please tell me if I'm too weird. I mean, I'm weird, but I don't want to scare you off. I'm sorry for being obsessive. Sorry for the nudes, too. Part of me hoped you'd find me attractive."

"You are attractive," I let slip.

"My mind and body are at your service," Gwen replied. "Whenever, however you desire me. Enabling your happiness is my ultimate craving."

I was an absolute piece of shit for this.

"I'd like to see you naked again."

"TYGSHDUIGSDUHGL."

That was all she wrote. Fifteen minutes became half an hour.

"I'm sorry," I wrote back. "I tried to take advantage. It was wrong. Regretfully, the real me is nothing like the hero I am in your mind."

I woke up in the middle of the night, with a dry mouth and a woozy head. I reached for water on my nightstand, but only managed to knock over a bottle of whisky. Empty, for better or worse. Doddering to the bathroom, I let the cold water stream across my face, sobering me up.

Ten notifications on my phone.

~~~

Dear Milo,

You cannot begin to understand the rush of emotions your words unleash upon my frail body. Alas, while I have frequently pleasured myself to fantasies of exposing myself for you, I was physically unable when the opportunity arose.

I will spare you a graphical description. Suffice to say my state was not pretty.

Now that the ship has sailed, I am left to drown in self-hatred. Still, I present myself to you, and will lull myself to sleep pretending you have spent your seed over me.

Ready to serve,

Gwen.

~~~

Following that were 9 photos. Gwen, naked and kneeling. On all fours with her tongue out. In lingerie, with a leash dangling around her neck. Squeezing her tits together, sticking out her butt, giving the most erotic expressions to the camera.

My cock was bursting out of my boxers.

"Still awake?" I texted back.

"I have insomnia on my best days, let alone after such an excitement. Do you still want me? May I serve you? Pretty please with my cherries on top?"

"You sound different. Is everything okay?"

"I'm just a girl, manifesting her dreams. I'm not a psychiatric patient. Unless it's your desire to literally drive me crazy, in which case I will make it my top priority to lose my mind for you. But, yes, I might have popped a pill to take the edge off."

"Listen, Gwen ... let's not be hasty. We'll talk when your pill wears off. Goodnight."

"Promise? We'll talk again? I'll be anxious again tomorrow, so just boss me around."

This was so wrong, even if she sounded casual when she wanted to. I actually liked her, crazy as she was. A heady blend of expert flattery and refreshing authenticity. I should try and take care of her, instead of chasing sexual gratification.

Men think with their dicks, though.

"Are you available?"

"Like, right now? I live with my parents and I have a boyfriend, but you can come over and do whatever you wish with me right in front of them. I'd take it with pride."

"Sorry. I shouldn't even have asked. Gwen... what doyouwant from all of this?"

"I want you to be happy. I want to be your biggest, bestest fan. That's enough ... Though, if a girl is allowed to dream big, I would also like to be your chained, live-in sex doll, and carry your babies."

"Okay, you're not reassuring me with that last part."

In response, she sent another picture. Naked, kneeling, looking up at the camera, and holding her breasts in both hands as if offering them up.

"Wouldn't I look hotter with big mommy milkers?"

My brain screamed at me to run away. Block her, without even saying goodbye to that enchanting face ... magnificent body ... without sticking my cock between those tits ... without watching her scramble to lick up every drop of my cum ...

I caught myself starting to masturbate. Fuck. I had never been much for self-control, but this was pathetic, even by my standards.

There was no obvious way to talk this through, to end it peacefully, as long as Gwen behaved like a nutcase. Simultaneously, I would be even more of a dick if I ghosted her. Reaching for the phone, I determined to at least end it for today.

She'd sent me another long message.

~~~

Dear Milo,

My sincerest apologies for terrifying you with my unchecked adoration. I will go to sleep now, like a good girl. I cannot describe how thrilling today has been for me. I hope I managed, at least, to distract you from your sadness.

You asked me what I want. I understand you wish to do me a material favor, to soothe your conscience for taking sexual advantage of, as you must see me, a barely legal, mentally unstable, gullible and nubile prey.

In exchange for my discretion and continued, devoted service, I humbly request a handwritten note, a signed article of merchandise, and a worn garment sprayed with your perfume.

Those are my terms. Regardless of whether you honor them, I pray you will continue to cruelly take advantage of my innocence and admiration for you.

Perpetually available as an oven for your buns,

Gwen.

~~~

I still wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or call the police. Perhaps it was simply a very odd sense of humor. I wouldn't figure it out in the middle of the night, with a splitting headache. I took a pill, another glass of water, and resolved to sleep without thinking about Gwen.

Well, when I was done masturbating, I would stop thinking about her.

I put a hand on her hip, the other on her cheek, fingers toying with loose strands of hair. Smiling, gazing deep into each other's eyes. Looking desperately in love.

"Genny, open your mouth a fraction. Milo, left leg two inches forward," the photographer instructed us. "Great. Sparks are flying. Now, a hand on the small of her back, act like you just heard the funniest joke in the world ... "

These shoots were endless. I took a beer from the fridge to calm down, while Buck brought Genny one of her sponsored vitamin waters. Probably tap water with sugar, in an elegantly designed bottle with a pretty label.

"You're doing a great job," Buck said. "Give it another year or two, building and diversifying your brands, and we can move onto a high-profile divorce. Unless y'all want to stay together?"

I shook my head.

"It's getting difficult to sneak around," Genny said. "Ricardo and I are going steady. He understands the financial reasons for keeping our relationship on the down-low, but I'm scared someone is gonna spot my car too often. We need a cover story."

"Consider it done," Buck answered. "What about you, Milo? Nothing to report?"

Was that a strange glint in his eyes? Or was I seeing ghosts?

"No, just the odd evening with a discreet escort," I said. "If there was even a seed of a relationship, you'd be the first to know."

I hadn't heard from Gwen in two days, despite sending her a box with the stuff she'd asked for, even shelling out for same-day delivery. It upset me more than I wanted to admit. What the fuck was wrong with me? Did I want a stalker?

No. I wanted to pick and choose when I got attention. I wanted a stalker with an on/off switch.

After the shoot, I drove the two of us home. A lonely, quiet ride, with Genevieve constantly on her phone, while I hummed along with the radio. My tunes were sad. She didn't notice.

Two o'clock at night. Awake. Numb.

A green light next to Gwen's name.

"Gwen, are you awake? What's been going on?"

Was I the stalker? A pervert? It wasn't my proudest moment, especially when my heart started racing at the sight of the 'typing' icon. Why did I long for the batshit crazy conversation of an obsessive fan?

"Milo!!! I knew you'd miss me!!!! Yes, I'm always awake, but it can't be good for you to be up right now. Do you need something? A hug? Poetic fanmail? Pictures?"

Her unbridled enthusiasm, the unapologetic love she showed ... it had me hooked. I wished I could get half as excited about anything.

"Did you like your presents?" I asked.

"They're amazing! I'm only wearing your t-shirt, and fucking my pussy raw with any phallic object in sight, while sniffing your perfume like glue!! I love you!"

"Gwen, that doesn't sound healthy."

"But! But! I've been eating all my veggies to stay healthy, and fit, for you," she replied. "Milo ... are you sad? How do I help?"

Yes. I was sad. I needed healing ... and Gwen cleared my head, filling it with her weirdness.

"Do you want to see me naked?" she wrote. "I could wreck my pussy some more, for your viewing pleasure. Outside in the cold, while the perverted old neighbor watches, if you wish."

A pained smile crossed my face. Poor, lovely Gwen. She deserved better than my sad ass.

"You don't have to objectify yourself for me," I answered.

"Ssfjsiofsjio what does a girl need to do for you to treat her like your whore?"

I didn't have a response, so I changed topics.

"Why didn't you message me today or yesterday? I'm surprised I had to text first."

"I didn't want to be a bother. Your package made me feel appreciated enough."

Chat, was I the obsessive weirdo? Did the tables turn while I looked the other way?

"I'm sad, yes," I changed the topic again. "What do you suggest? Pills aren't an option."

"Oh! I know a spot! I'll text you the location, I always go there when I'm depressed. Meet me there in half an hour."

"Gwen, it's the middle of the night, and we can't be seen together. I'm married."

"Dear Milo. Perhaps the middle of the night is a perfect time for you to stop being a pussy!! Be there or be square! Afterwards you can violate all my orifices without foreplay, until the break of dawn!"

And with that bombshell, Gwen went offline.

I probably should have done the same.

I parked my inconspicuous Mercedes on the edge of a small forest. Perched on the wooden entrance barrier sat a slender figure. Either my most enthusiastic fan, or someone about to rob my kidneys.

The figure ran at me, almost knocking me over, attempting to crush my bones with a violent hug, her face buried against my coat.

"You're real," she murmured.

I patted her head, uncertain. When she pulled away, I held her at arm's length, looking her over. In the middle of the night, with bed hair and zero makeup, she was still stunning. Blonde hair tied in a ponytail. Eyes to drown in. Perfectly proportioned body.

Testing the waters, I reached out and put a hand on her breast. It wasn't chivalric. What can I say? I was horny, looking for a power trip. If she swatted me away, I would have drawn my conclusions.

Instead, she closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and moaned.

"I didn't expect you to be so forward," Gwen whispered. "I'm yours. I mean it. But I think you should follow me to my spot first."

"Lead the way, then," I answered, testosterone coursing through my veins. Feeling again like the first time I'd gotten lucky.

She turned around, skipping into the forest, illuminating the path with the light of her phone while humming a happy song. We crossed a little wooden bridge, then went off into a clearing, next to a small pond. Gwen turned around, her face eerie in the phone's artificial lighting.

"Hush. Listen to the frogs."

I heard croaking, louder and louder. Gwen trembled with barely contained excitement. It was soothing indeed, standing in the darkness, surrounded by nature. I closed my eyes, pretending to meditate, or whatever treehuggers did.

Soft, cold lips pressed against mine. She grabbed my hand, guided it underneath her sweater, to her bare skin. I heard her fidget, taking off her bra with the other hand.

"Every night I dream of this," she gasped between passionate kisses. "Take me. Make me prove my devotion."

I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt passionate. Gwen infected me with it, made me lose myself. I needed her. I was in love.

My hands gripped her breasts, firm and round, pointing a tad sideways on her slender frame. Her nipples tensed under my touch, her breath halting as my thumbs roughly grazed them. Her angelic face was torn between smiling and yearning. My grip on her breasts tightened. I pinched her nipples, pulled them, wild with lust.