Sathe

Author's note Recently, I've started writing a tale centered around celebrity culture and, of course, ABDL. While it might take a bit for the ABDL part to appear in earnest, it is, for all intents and purposes, an ABDL tale. Also I should mention that the story is highly psychological with characters who think and act in ways that society might deem morally questionable, if not outright reprehensible. So consider yourself warned. It is not my intention to offend anyone (or at least no one in particular) only to give voice to a story that for a while has languished in my mind. Thus far I've only written the first few sub-chapters of the first chapter and since there will likely be a total of 9 chapters, it's going to be a long ride. And, of course, criticism (of any kind) is always appreciated. Chapter 1.1 He was obsessed with her. Always had been. Always would be. There were no two ways about it. For hours he would sit at his computer and watch her interviews on YouTube, and fantasize about how wonderful it might be to finally meet her. It was not like he was a bad person perse. Okay, he was a tad socially awkward, and probably a bit of a loner, but he was not ugly. Far from it. He was 18 years old, slender and actually quite handsome, if a bit juvenile in appearance. But he didn’t have any friends and, of course, he’d never had a girlfriend. His parents were dead, you see, and since he didn’t have aunts or siblings, he’d been brought up in an orphanage. But he made it quite far since then. He’d finished high school with good marks and hoped to one day start up college. For now, he held a freelance job making webpages for various businesses, which in turn meant he spent most of his days at home. The money’s wasn’t great, but it was enough for him to get his own apartment, not large by any standard, but not uncomfortable. He couldn't remember the exact day she had entered his life, the woman that he worshiped. He only knew that it happened when he was still a child, though she, at the time, was barely a year older than him. But there was something about her. Whether it was her big brown eyes, her dark hair, petite figure or general demeanor he did not know. He just knew he couldn’t get her out of his mind. At night he would dream about her. He’d be somewhere in one of those great cities – New York maybe – and suddenly he would see her out the corner of his eyes. Sometimes she would be sitting at a café sipping coffee and talking with her girlfriends. At other times, she would come out of a shop or a nightclub dressed in the most elegant fashion. And always, at one point, she would look up at him and smile gently as if she understood everything. Gradually, over time, his obsession intensified. He wasn’t crazy though. A part of him knew that this wasn’t healthy, yet he couldn’t help himself. He began to imagine what life would be like if he were to meet her, maybe even be-friend her. But he also knew that such a scenario was highly unlikely. He’d lived in the same little city all his life and she was far off in New York, if not traveling the world making movies. It was like she was some Olympian goddess existing up there on the mountain top, while he was a petty peasant toiling in the trenches. It wasn’t that he hated his life. He had come a long way. Yet, none of that seemed to matter as he stared at her face, smiling sweetly at him from the computer screen at 3 in the morning. Every day he would go for a walk. He loved to get out into nature. To be among the trees, even now in the heart of winter, brought solace. The fallen levees, the wet earth, the smell of freshness seemed only to heighten his senses. He remembered a poem he’d read in high school about not loving man less, but nature more. He supposed she was the only exception. How he wished she could be beside him and they could walk these pathless woods together. He’d look at the naked trees, the fallen levees and wonder what she was doing right now. Probably something amazing. Yet he wasn’t sure what he wanted. A part of him wanted to be with her – in her world – to sit at the same cafes and drink and talk for an hour, and another part of him wanted her to be here with him, for the two of them to live a quiet life of bliss and harmony. Curiously he didn’t have any sexual fantasies. It wasn’t like that. Sure, she was beautiful. In fact, she was probably the most beautiful women who’d ever existed, and yes, sometimes he did imagine hugging her and being hugged in return. But that was as far as has imagination went. He wasn’t sure why. Certainly, he’d had sexual fancies about other girls in the past and on more than one occasion he'd almost had sex. Yet he'd always hesitated, always stopped before the finish line. The closest he ever got was lying in bed with a girl who was halfway naked, only to find that he couldn't go through with it. Flustered, he apologized profusely as he put his clothes back on, his face reddened with shame. She kept saying, "It's all right, it's all right" patting him on the back, as she hugged him, his head hanging over her shoulder, his face stained with tears and snot. "It's all right. It's all right" she went on comforting him like a mother would comfort a small child. He never saw her again. Still when it came the celebrity whom he worshiped, to think of her in terms of sexuality just felt strangely inappropriate. It was like imagining having sex with a god or something. For her to be naked and for him to see that naked body, would’ve been not only naughty, but forbidden. Not that it was ever going to happen, he thought, outside of maybe some fake AI generated pastie. But he never went anywhere near that rabbit hole. A man had to maintain a certain measure of self-respect after all. Still, his obsession had intensified as the months went along. In high school, it had lain dormant, obscured, as it was, by the necessities of life, exams and what not. But now that he was on his own, spending almost all hours of the day alone, save a few short trips to the nearby store to buy groceries, well, she was on his mind always. She was the first thing he thought of when he opened his eyes (likely because he’d dreamt about her) and the last thing he thought of before he fell asleep. One night, it got kind of bad. He wasn’t sure why, only that his condition seemed to worsen in moments of stress. There was a thunderstorm outside and as he looked out his little window, he could see lightning piercing the sky, as rain cascaded the empty sidewalks. He could hear the wind in the willows, hear its breath against the window, like some giant monster trying to gain entry. It was as if the entire world was closing in on him and he wasn’t sure what to do. He wondered what his neighbors might think of him if they knew that for the last four hours, he’d been watching clips on Youtube, constantly refreshing the page in case a new video popped up. It made him feel like Frankenstein’s monster, crawling along the hillside, mesmerized by the light of the lodges, yet unable to make contact. How had he become like this? Where had he gone wrong? He’d been so hopeful once. The nuns at the orphanage used to say that he was gifted, that he could do whatever he set his mind to. Even his comrades, despite often teasing him, had still seen him as kind of brilliant. Everyone had generally agreed that he had a great future ahead of him, that he’d grow up to become a famous musician or an author or maybe even an actor – just like her He remembered all of those night when he'd lain together with his friends in bed in the great dormitory and they'd talked about what they wanted to be when they grew up. When he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still hear the sound of tree branches hammering against the dormitory's windows, still hear the voices of the friends he once had chattering and giggling. Always he'd imagined that she would come to him, find him lying in that great hall and take him away to a better life. When everyone was asleep, she would walk the wooden floors, all dressed in white, like some ghostly specter who only came out night. But she never did and he never became what he'd hoped to be. Instead, here he was, laboring by computer light, late into the night, to finish yet another webpage for some soulless corporation who in turn viewed him as nothing more than means to an end. “It was all so disappointing” he thought to himself bitterly and the more he mused on this, the more he needed her. He tried to focus on the task at hand and yet YouTube kept calling him back. It was like it was talking to him, beckoning him to click on yet another video and then another until finally all pain went away and he was happy for a while. A crash of thunder brought him back to reality, or at least as close to it as he would ever be. “No, I have to get back to work” he thought, and he did. His presentation was due in just two days. Yet, barely had he finished thinking, before a comment popped up underneath one of her umpteenth YouTube videos. It said the following: “Hey weirdos. Tired of watching me talk and not being able to talk to me? Call me on 3469226 and let’s have a chat.” The author of the comment had her name, her exact name. No peripheral number, no x’s, just her name, plain as day. His heart skipped a beat. Could it be?! Hastily he copied the number into yet another tab, and then into a small document and then refreshed the initial page to see if maybe the author had listed any additional information. But the comment was gone as if it had never been. In fact, there were no comments beneath the video at all. This didn’t surprise him. After all, it was only a fan-made video of her, featuring highlights of her most famous interviews. Such videos usually never gained much traction. He knew that. Maybe in a couple of months someone would chip in talking about how beautiful she was or maybe it would be one of her detractors who sought only to bully her. Oh, how he hated those people. But what of this brief comment? Could it really be her? Or was it some kind of trick? Being well versed in the ways of the internet and computers in general, he was certainly no stranger to the scams of criminals. He could already imagine what would happen if he were to call the number, someone would install a virus on his phone or steal his browser history and then God knows where things might go from there. That information alone might be enough for them to blackmail him, rob him of what little money he had, on the peril that his neighbors might find out just what kind of guy he really was. No, he would not call the number. No matter how tempting it might be. He might be a tad obsessed, but he was not stupid. Right? Instead, he refreshed the page and saw, to his delight, that a new fan-made video had just been uploaded. And then another. And then another. Oh, how young the night was. In a way, it was oddly comforting to think that somewhere out there, in the great wide world, there were people just like him spending the night at their computers watching videos of her. It was like a select club or rather a masquerade, as everyone was blissfully anonymous. As night gave way to morning, the fantasies came, of a life lived alongside her filled with beauty and light. Impossible? No doubt. Crazy? Maybe. Yet comforting all the same. As the sun began to rise, he went to sleep imagining her sitting by the bedside like some nurse watching over a wounded soldier who had just returned from the war. And for a while, the world was still, and his life was all right.

Moved to proper forum