If You Clicked This, You're Hong Ji-hyeon Too

"Haah... haah..."

Hong Ji-hyeon, twenty-four and a university student, was once again parked in front of his computer, working his unimpressive cock with one hand.

Depending on the source, the average Korean man's penis ran somewhere between thirteen and fourteen centimeters. Ji-hyeon's measured 15.4. By all rights he could have called that above average and been satisfied. He was not satisfied in the slightest.

"Haah... fuck, that's huge..."

Because the cocks on the screen — theirs, no, Theirs — were magnificent on an entirely different scale. Not one of those dark cocks came in under twenty centimeters, and they hung in heavy, endless clusters. Watching Black porn like that, Hong Ji-hyeon sank into a pleasure that was his alone.

His addiction was an old one. The way it had started, though, was a little strange.

It began with crossdressing porn he had stumbled onto by accident. Curiosity sent him hunting for more — crossdressers, shemales, transgender women — a long shuffle of duds and jackpots. And then, at some point, he understood something about himself. In those videos, he was not putting himself in the one doing the fucking. He was putting himself in the one getting fucked.

Once he had faced that and accepted it, he took to waxing every hair off his body now ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and then, or striking a sultry pose in front of a mirror or his phone camera. He had a thin frame with no muscle on it, and every so often he managed a photo he was actually pleased with.

He was easing into the crossdressing fetish like that when another realization landed. His cock was average. Maybe a little better than average.

The moment he thought it, dissatisfaction bloomed. I want a man superior to me to treat me like a woman.

Overwhelming height. Overwhelmingly broad shoulders. An overwhelming wall of muscle. And a superior, massive cock. Those became the conditions for a man inside Hong Ji-hyeon's head — and because the ideal he wanted was so unreal, so rare, he gave up on ever acting the crossdressing fetish out for real. He was never going to meet a man that overwhelming. And even if he did, the man would not be gay, or bi.

Ji-hyeon could drown in fantasy and still be quick to fold the moment reality pushed back. So all he did was hide away every night, watch Black porn, and masturbate to the dream.

"Haah...!"

From a small cock that could not begin to compare with those revered Black men's, semen spurted out thin and weak. An orgasm that looked even more pathetic to his own eyes. Perversely, Hong Ji-hyeon was glad of it.

I'll just be satisfied with this. I'll get a girlfriend and live like a normal person. A fetish is a fantasy, and a fantasy is only make-believe.

That was what he told himself.

Time passed. His first year of university ended. His military service ended. His second year ended. Around the time the modest muscle he had managed to put on in the army melted off him for lack of exercise, he turned twenty-four and became a junior.

A dull major — the Programming department, which he had entered for no better reason than that his grades had sorted him there. Today was the first day of the semester, and all he wanted was to sit through orientation and get back to his studio so he could look at muscular Black men and their massive cocks. But the ordinary life he had been living broke, as of today.

"Hello."

The man in the next seat offered it in a cavernous voice, the pronunciation slipping just a little at the edges. Even from a distance the shoulders were overwhelmingly broad, the body under the thick hoodie so powerfully muscled it showed through the fabric. Curly black hair hid his eyes, but the face beneath was handsome as something carved, the skin dark. The height, Ji-hyeon was certain, would be overwhelming too.

He was Marcus Duval, one of the international transfer students the department group chat had announced would be joining starting this year.

"Hello."

He had been greeted, so Hong Ji-hyeon greeted him back.

Whoa.

That single gasp was the entire contents of his head. Well, of course it was. A fetish. A fantasy. Make-believe. Not even one percent of him had ever imagined the thing would show up in real life. His thoughts had simply stopped.

Those stalled thoughts began, very ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slowly, to move again, and once they were moving they locked onto something that actually mattered. Some elderly professor's self-introduction and course overview? No. None of that crap was important.

How do I get close to him?

He just wanted to be beside him. First, he wanted to look at this creature out of a fantasy from up close. While he turned that one question over and over, orientation ended.

Fuck!

No convenient brilliant plan was about to pop into his head. Which left Hong Ji-hyeon exactly one option.

"Um, excuse me?"

Just open his mouth.

"Uh... uh..."

In English he absolutely did not have.

"I speak... Korean."

Marcus said it slowly, the Korean oddly blurred, but understandable.

"Ah... right."

Hong Ji-hyeon swallowed his embarrassment where it sat.

"This is your first time at Ido University, right? Would you like to get a meal together?"

What am I doing right now?

He had just spoken to an international student who stood out to anyone with eyes. All over the lecture hall, the other exchange students were already being approached by the outgoing Korean kids. He had assumed Marcus would be next in line. A one-on-one had seemed impossible.

"Okay."

Marcus said it while gathering up his bag. At that yes, Hong Ji-hyeon packed in a rush, as if something were chasing him, and the two of them left the building together.

Astonishingly, not a single person spoke to them before they were outside. That Ji-hyeon was already a certified loner was one thing. That nobody approached Marcus, a transfer student, was, from where Ji-hyeon stood, a surprise. It had to be the sheer size of him, he decided. The width of those shoulders, the muscled body, and — just as expected — a height of about 193 centimeters, some twenty centimeters over his own. The man's presence alone was enough to pour off intimidation.

The two of them strung a sparse conversation out of awkward English and awkward Korean. Marcus was the youngest of the three Duval brothers, and he had come to Korea because his older brothers were already here. He was twenty-four by Korean reckoning. The same age as Hong Ji-hyeon.

The same age, and a spec gap like that! This — this is exactly it!

He thought it while drooling in the privacy of his own mind. Set beside a frame that overwhelmed anyone you compared it to, Ji-hyeon's slight body looked even smaller. One hundred and seventy-one centimeters, and fifty kilograms. What little muscle he had gained had leaked out of him after his discharge like air from a balloon. He kept his hair in a bob and went around insisting it was a men's cut, but against a face of soft, rounded features it gave off a faintly feminine air.

That ambiguous border was exactly where Ji-hyeon had been aiming — a place where he could feel a kind of femininity.

Full-on crossdressing would be pushing it, but still...

When Marcus said he did not mind what they ate, Ji-hyeon recommended a snack-bar chain he figured the man had never tried. Marcus was still a man of few words, but he said he wanted to go, and the two of them headed for the place in the streets around campus.

There was, in truth, a sly little calculation behind the choice.

The restaurant is built in a squared-off U, with a partition wall down the middle. Go at this hour and we can take the two-person table in the corner, the one nobody looks at.

The scheme was to learn Marcus in peace, somewhere they would not stand out.

The moment they stepped inside, every eye in the room went to Marcus, as if that were only natural. Lunch hour was creeping up, and the place held a decent crowd. Marcus kept a blank face, long used to being looked at. To Ji-hyeon's relief, the corner two-top was still free, just as he had hoped. They sat, and Ji-hyeon, checking what Marcus wanted as he went, ordered a set for two: tteokbokki, the spicy simmered rice cakes, along with fried snacks and drinks.

Okay. Stay calm. This is a situation out of a dream, but it is real.

Marcus was right in front of him. Right in front of Hong Ji-hyeon's eyes sat a handsome, muscular Black man whose shoulders, even by a rough glance, were twice as broad as his own. Ji-hyeon did not want to fumble whatever this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was. At the very least, he thought, he wanted them to become close friends.

But what do I even talk about...?

That was the problem. He was in no position to walk up and lead with his Black fetish. The only reason a loner like him had managed to make any friends at university at all was that the social students had spoken to him first. Aside from a few close friends, Hong Ji-hyeon had almost never been the one to steer a conversation.

"That..."

It was Marcus who spoke first. He was pointing at Hong Ji-hyeon's bag.

A character keychain hung from it. Everyone carried little plush charms, so Ji-hyeon did too — but this one was, in fact, a cutified version of the hero from the yakuza action game he loved.

"Life of Dragon, right?"

Marcus had recognized it at once, and the name of the series came out of his mouth.

"Y-you know it?!"

"Yes. I like it too."

The topic he had been agonizing over was settled in a second. Hong Ji-hyeon threw himself into the game, earnestly mixing clumsy English with Korean that would be easy to follow. Astonishingly, Marcus was a fan of the very same series. Even after the food arrived, the two of them kept going, the game carrying the whole conversation.

"Um... Please take care of me."

"Ah! No — I'm the one who should be saying that!"

By the time the meal was winding down, they felt considerably more at ease with each other. Hong Ji-hyeon was happy: happy to have talked about something he loved, and happy that he had gotten closer to Marcus in an ordinary way. Afterward their classes did not match, so once they were back on the Ido University campus they parted midway across it.

Man, that was good. Everything just worked out.

Ah.

A moment later, he realized he had forgotten one thing.

We never... exchanged numbers.

That night. Marcus's apartment.

The voice on the other end of the line was his older brother's, and Marcus answered it with a bluntness that gave nothing away.