To me, this account reflects a purpose behind the keyboard. I posted several stories across the site in hopes that it will quench my lust, provide a diary of my escapades, and be therapeutic during a professionally stressful time. It has done all 3 in various ways, but my lust remains ultimately unquenchable. How come?

2 years ago, I began an adventure on Reddit. What started out as an innocent message to a now prolific erotic voice actress turned into a regular marathon of sexting, dissemination of life troubles, and the formation of a connection that was unexpectedly strong.

A woman in her 40's, married to an uncaring professional, finding a release for her pent up libido took me from being happy about conquering a professional challenge recently to spending my days staring at my phone, wondering why she hadn't yet responded. Like any man, I was hooked by tits...She did not hesitate to share pictures and voice notes detailing how she wanted to be fucked, and it was game-set-match. This went on for a few days before I cheekily made a remark to make me a gonewildaudio.

I had a burgeoning interest in writing, which this woman knew about. So instead of fulfilling my request, she encouraged me to write her some erotica so that she can turn it into a gonewildaudio. I was intrigued. It was summer break, and I had a few weeks to kill before my fall term began again. And this could be a substitute for daily journaling, which often felt like a chore anyways. Why not?

So I channeled those concerns and energy into detailing some sexual exploits, and crafting some stories. I took her life as inspiration. Unsatisfied wife, rekindled romances, cheating. You name those basic storylines, and I wrote them out. Initially she really enjoyed my writing but her infrequency in responses, as well as constant plugging of her work, turned me off her shtick. I felt like the connection I shared was being put on the back burner because she wanted to grow her own page. Who can blame her? That shit was blowing up like Diwali. Eventually, I realized I was relegating myself to the attention of a singular person on an app with a literal million users, and I found a different destination for my erotica- the several threads I posted on. My exploits gained a meager traction, and I recognized that all the skill I thought I had, could not entice the 10.1k that viewed my shit on a daily basis to send a like. I grew to be content with 5 likes. 10 likes, 6likes. 2 likes. I never took it personally. I rarely liked any post I come across, so why would others? I began interacting with a few favorites, chatting about their lives, any advice they may have. Sometimes it even went to sharing sexts and porn. But one woman in particular took what rumbling potential I had, and shot it up the charts.

She lived in a different continent. Time differences were greater than 9 hours. She claimed to have a fantastically high libido and I took it as an invitation to gauge just how high. Initially, my texts were inquisitive. Discussions about her marriage and how her husband fucked her well, but not often enough for her high sex drive. And eventually we got to the good parts. I shared details of my life, and she, her's. We both had a knack for writing out passionate fantasies and we discussed just how we'd fuck each other dry. The conversation kept heating up until I finally suggested sending her my patented move: a voice note. She agreed, noting how much of an aficionado she was for voices. In a semi-extraneous gruff ramble, I told her how much of a good slut she was for engaging with me on this fine afternoon. Oh. I was doing this during my evening walk. Moving between lines of people getting their steps in, I would whisper into my phone like I was a noise-conscious Ari Gold (Entourage). The message sat there for a good 5 mins, until she sent me back a reply.

"Wow...I did NOT expect your voice to sound like that."

It wasn't in text though. The woman sent me her sweet voice, whispering this into my ear with a European/Indian accent. The one I never realized was my most incriminating aphrodisiac. Without question, the games were now on.

Messaging each other about how turned on we were, how I couldn't wait to get home and send her pics of my cock in the shower, and how I couldn't wait to hear her moan. Over the next 20 mins, we must've send 40 different voice notes. And yes, by the time I got home, I was quietly listening to her wet pussy sounds in the background as she got herself off to my mumbles, groans, growls, and more. I hurried to the shower and joined her soon.

I never felt like more of a man in my life so far, than in that evening.

I have my own insecurities, which man doesn't? Whether about my weight, my cock, my intellect, my net worth, my job, etc. You name it, and I likely had an insecurity about it. But this woman made me feel like I was something of an undiscovered sex toy. Something to get her off unlike no one else before. Sure, she had other partners. But the way she got off to my voice, and eventually my cock, made me feel appreciated and vindicated for all the bullying I suffered growing up as a chubby boy.

She described my cock in a way no one had before. She found beauty and lust in the same features that made me write myself off. It was a powerful drug, her attraction to me. And the fact she was desi? That made it all the more legitimate. The same women who I felt were giving me dirty eyes all those years were now represented in this pint-sized sexual powerhouse who was pleading me to stop helping her cum after the 9th phone call of the night. She had a dinner to tend to. Friends to see. But when I said "where the fuck do you think you're going, bitch? Get to your room. Now.", she'd respond with a whimper, a moan, and a "yes, sir."

And off she went. Cumming over and over again to my instructions. Making me another one of her several "daddies" on this app. And sending me evidence of her tiny pussy leaking cum all over her sheets, like someone took a paintbrush of bodily fluids and flung it over the tarp that were her bedsheets. It was primal. It was intoxicating. And it was short-lived.

Life came up. And we went our separate ways. A year later, we reconnected from a different account of mine. But the chemistry was just not there. I was flip/floppy in my desires to continue seeing her in the capacity I was, and she eventually ended up deleting her account. I have no way to contact her, but I think about how she made me feel often.

It is no substitute for the love I felt with my IRL partners. But it certainly was almost as empowering. And wherever she may be, I hope she is happy. Because for a flash in the pan 2 years ago, almost to this day, Banu made me feel like a king.