The Girl on the ‘Gram

A man fantasizes about having an intimate relationship with a young, beautiful Korean girl he discovered on Instagram.

Written by Gregory Patrick Travers

I fell in love with a girl on the ‘Gram. Though I have to admit, when I first saw that picture of her, standing out among the thousands of other thumbnails in my search feed, her legs outstretched on the gym mat in the split position and the tight, backless, neon lime leotard encasing her angelic Korean body, running up her calves, accenting every subtle curve on her thick, toned thighs and meeting in the center of her plump, round, peach of an ass that swallowed the sweat-resistant material up into the crack of her bum cheeks, love had very little do with it.

I felt my trouser snake waking up, growing slowly inside my jeans, pressing against my zipper, aching to be freed. I made a quick pace for the downstairs bathroom and closed the door quietly behind me. I unbuttoned and unzipped myself, the lights off, my eyes glued to the pale glow of my screen, focused on the smooth shape of her naked back; her spine, straight and narrow with the poise of a ballerina. The mocha color of her skin, like a coffee with generous cream. The small dimples under her shoulder blade.

That ass.

I stroked and stroked quicker, tightening my grip, paying close attention to the details of her face; soft, smooth Asian skin. Large, dark, puppy dog eyes. Hair as black as coal tied behind her head in a short, cute ponytail. Thin, shimmering lips.

I could taste the cherry flavor of her lip gloss in my imagination.

I could smell her perfume.

A wave of ecstasy washed over my entire body and I exploded with a goopy mess that shot down onto the bathroom tile. My knees quivering, I put my hand against the wall to hold myself up, took a deep breath, and shivered.

At work that day, I skimmed through her Instagram profile while eating my lunch in the work van. I kept lifting my head every few seconds to see if someone out on the street was watching me. There was an overwhelming feeling in me that I was doing something wrong. Something filthy. But there wasn’t any accompanying guilt. Just caution.

I continued to scroll through her photos. Most of them were of her at the gym, wrapped in different colored leotards or other form-fitting workout gear. Lines, curves, the soft shadows in every dip of her body. The cut of her tricep muscle. Her long, slender midriff. That ass; perky and just the right mix of jiggle and firm. I wanted to feel it, warm in my hands, squeezing it gently like fruit at the supermarket.

The pictures where she had worked up a bit of sweat were the most enticing. Dark strands of hair varying thickness stuck to the side of her face and the back of her glistening neck. A look of pain and exhaustion on her face; sensual, sexual, and enough to drive a man insane.

It made me weak. This woman was a goddess.

Her sixty-five thousand followers undoubtedly felt the same as I did. Each picture posted on her profile had a long string of fanatic comments. Not that I knew what was being said exactly, it was all in Korean. But I could imagine.

As much as those pictures got my blood pumping, the pictures that stole my heart were the selfies. They would show up once in a while between workout photos. Her face would be center frame, revealing the true crowning beauty of her persona. You could see the deepness of her eyes, the softness of her forehead, her gentle, feminine cheekbones, and that sweet smile carving out two small dimples at either side of her mouth. It was as if she was looking right at me, as if she knew I was across the ocean looking back at her. That she was just as hung up on me as I was on her.

I had fallen in love. I wanted to be with no one else for the rest of my life.

Back at the worksite, she was all I could think about. The sharp whizzing of the drills, the banging of hammers, all were drowned out to the music that played between my ears while she danced in circles around my head. Every half hour or so I found myself needing to pull out my phone and look at her one more time. I had never been a smoker, but I got it now. I understood the addiction. And every time I pulled up her picture, it cooled my soul, calmed my breath, and melted my heart. It was as if God had known how lonely I was and created this angel to save me from my pain and suffering. To show me the beauty of life and make me truly appreciate the gift of existence.

I brought my phone into the shower with me when I got home that evening. The hot water crashed against my back, rolling down my body onto the tub floor. Steam and vapor surrounded me. I held my phone in my hand, stroking myself with the other. Her eyes gazed lovingly at me on the screen. I stared just as deeply back at her. In that moment we had transcended all distance, all separation, all estrangement. We were together at last.

I closed my eyes and she stood in front of me, arms interlocked around my neck, tilting her head and closing her eyelashes as she slowly approached for a soft but passionate kiss.

A jolt of divine pleasure ran through my body, consuming me. My knees shook, my shoulders relaxed. Warm semen trickled down my knuckles. I opened my eyes and she disappeared.

I found it hard to settle down as I lied in bed that night. 4 am would be here before I knew it and I needed my sleep. But I was restless, consumed with a yearning, a desire, for her warm body to be next to mine, pressed close, her soft breath on my neck as she slept soundly beside me.

I picked up my phone from off the nightstand where it sat charging and brought up her Instagram page. She had just posted a picture of her out for something to eat. Out in the world pics didn’t show up too often on her page, but there were a few peppered in the mix. Sometimes she would be swimming in a hotel pool, sometimes she would be at a beach, or riding shotgun in an expensive sports car. In this particular photo, she was sitting on the patio of a restaurant, a plate of some Asian noodle cuisine in front of her, a side plate of clams and lemon slices beside that. She was making a cute ‘ugly face’, which only managed to make her look more beautiful to me. Her eyes were crossed and she was using the chopsticks in her hands as pretend bunny ears.

Not only was she incredibly sexy, but she was humble and had a sense of humor. She was the kind of girl that you could roll around under the sheets with, lost in heat, sweat, friction, and passion, inflicting immeasurable pleasures and beautiful pains, bodies intertwined, connected. And after a shared climax, the two of you could fall back on your respective pillows and spend hours just talking and laughing quietly in the dark.

For a moment she was lying there in the bed with me, leaning over me, her head resting in her hand, the other hand tracing designs across my chest. I’d say something clever about the intensity of our sex and she’d laugh softly.

“You’re funny,” she’d say before she pressed her lips gently on mine.

I started to laugh. I mean really laugh, right there in my bed. It must have been loud because my wife woke up and rolled over to ask me what was so funny.

The End.