The Photo I Took Myself
The underwear lines showing through thin fabric made for an incredibly lewd accent.
Few things drew the eye quite like a good body poured into clothes that clung just right.
If only that body weren’t mine.
I was grateful the weather had turned chilly. A quick glance inside my outer layer showed the contours jutting through the thin cloth underneath. The excitement still hadn’t faded. Every brush of fabric against my hypersensitive skin left my swollen nipples showing no sign of settling.
If I’d only been wearing a T-shirt…
The sight would have been so blatant that I didn’t want to think what might have happened if any of the men walking past had gotten a proper look. The lower half was no better. Even in thick, baggy pants the curve of my ass stood out far too sharply. On top of that, the crotch of those pants was still damp from earlier; I hadn’t dried them properly. The color didn’t show, but…
Anyone who touched it would know right away.
A light brush of my fingertip brought a slick, wet sensation. Even after I pulled my hand away the awareness lingered, a feeling so sharp it seemed I would sense it without contact at all.
…Why is it so hot?
I muttered under my breath and shoved both hands into my pockets, afraid I might check again if I left them free. I started walking. Wind slid past. Air seeped through the thin layers, and even that tiny stimulus made my body flinch in response.
“…….”
I bit my lip. Only now did the reality of walking outside in this state truly hit me. People passed by as if nothing were wrong. Yet I felt the glances that brushed across me—eyes that swept once over my body and moved on.
Did they see…?
My heart skipped a beat late. I kept my head down and walked faster without meaning to. My body tightened further. The sensation of cloth sliding against skin grew sharper with every step.
Stop thinking about it…
I scolded myself, yet each stride only made me more conscious of the gazes, the movement, and the state I was in.
“…Just get there already.”
I muttered and ducked my head lower still. My steps quickened. Almost without thinking I veered toward the quieter side streets, leaving the main road for the narrower alleys. The path was familiar, yet it felt strangely alien.
…Why am I going this way?
I knew perfectly well it wasn’t the route home. Still my feet refused to stop. The words I’d heard earlier wouldn’t leave my head.
— Take one photo outside for me.
I let out a short breath. I could ignore it even now. Just go home and it would be over. Even as I told myself that, my steps were already carrying me the other way. I turned into a nearly empty alley as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
…I didn’t need to come this far.
I muttered the thought inside, but I was already deep enough. I stopped in a recessed corner where almost no one ever walked. A quick scan of the surroundings confirmed it—empty. The moment I knew I was alone the tension didn’t ease; it clamped down harder. A chill ran down my back while the heat inside me climbed higher.
“…God, what the hell am I doing?”
I whispered and clenched my fists. This was clearly wrong—coming here, refusing to stop. Yet strangely the urge to go home felt weaker than the clear, insistent thought of what I had to do right here. I pulled out my phone. My hands trembled faintly. I didn’t even understand what I was doing, yet I couldn’t stop.
Just one shot and then leave…
The excuse rose like a shield. Only once. Nothing more. Drawing that line somehow made it feel almost acceptable. I switched on the camera and stared at myself on the screen—flushed cheeks, clothes already half-disheveled. When I eased the outer layer open, the sweat-damp fabric clung to my chest, pink nipples and areolae standing out with unnatural clarity. My breathing grew shorter. My finger hovered over the shutter. All I had to do was press.
…Should I quit while I still can?
I asked myself one last time. But the answer already seemed decided; my hand never stopped. Force gathered in my fingertip. It trembled, barely. The thought that I should stop collided with the raw need to press. Between those two impulses—
Click—
The sound rang out louder than I expected. I froze, breath locked, and scanned the alley. Empty. Only after confirming that did I finally exhale.
“…Hah…”
My legs went a little weak. I’d done it. I’d actually taken it. I checked the photo.
…This should be enough.
My mind insisted it was. No need to go further. Yet my hand wouldn’t move. I couldn’t even swipe the screen; I just kept staring. Somewhere a sense of incompleteness lingered. Choi Deok-hun’s face flashed through my thoughts—that particular look of his, the expression that appeared the instant something failed to please him.
“…No.”
I muttered. This was only to finish it cleanly. So he wouldn’t call me back for more. To end it in one go right here. The moment I framed it that way, the act somehow felt justified. I drew a slow breath. My hand rose again. It paused. I could stop now. This was already enough. Yet I couldn’t. Just a little more. Only one more time. My fingertips slowly gathered the hem of my top. My heart hammered. This was wrong. If anyone saw— The mere thought choked me. Still I didn’t let go. I tightened my grip instead.
…Just finish it and leave.
I muttered the excuse. Only once. Drawing that line again blurred the hesitation. Slowly, as if refusing any further delay, I lifted the fabric and caught the edge between my teeth to hold it. Cold air washed straight over bare skin. On a body already raw and sensitive, the chill against my swollen nipples made my breath hitch in short, shaky bursts.
…This much is enough.
I tried to convince myself, but my eyes stayed fixed downward. My hand dropped to the waistband of my pants and stopped. If I let go now it would be over. I could walk away as though nothing had happened. Yet the strength in my fingers refused to leave. Little by little, very slowly, I pushed the fabric down until the most private place was fully exposed. I’d washed earlier, yet glistening threads of wetness still stretched between the folds. My breath stuttered; my whole body flinched. The direct touch of open air felt far sharper than before.
…I’m insane.
I cursed myself silently. Still I didn’t stop. I raised the phone again. The image on the screen looked like a stranger—far more explicit, far more shameless than the first shot.
Click—
The short sound carried farther than it should have in the quiet alley. My heart slammed against my ribs. I looked around. Still empty. Only then did I manage to breathe again. I should delete the photos and leave right now. That was the correct choice. Yet my feet stayed planted. Instead my thumb slowly opened Choi Deok-hun’s contact.
If I send this…
I already knew the result. It would become another piece of leverage, binding me even deeper. I knew it perfectly well. And still I didn’t stop.
“…Hah…”
A short exhale, then I hit send. I scrambled to fix my clothes. My hands wouldn’t obey properly; I didn’t even check whether everything was covered before I fled the spot. Only after putting real distance between myself and the alley did I dare look at the phone again. A message had arrived.
Just a short line. Yet somehow it didn’t feel light at all. Was this… approval? Something in my chest shifted, a faint, seeping sensation.
…Maybe… it’s not so bad…
The thought rose unbidden; I shook my head hard.
“No.”
I spat the word under my breath. Whatever I was feeling right now, I must not accept it.
The moment I opened the front door, warm air completely different from the cold outside wrapped around me. The peaceful atmosphere of home, as if nothing at all had happened, felt strangely alien.
“I’m home.”
I tried to sound normal, but my voice came out a little flat. Father, watching television in the living room, glanced over.
“You’re back. Cold out there?”
At his words I tugged my outer clothes tighter, even though they were already thick. I zipped them all the way to my throat and pulled the sleeves down over the backs of my hands until no skin showed.
“Yeah. A bit chilly.”
I answered briefly and looked away. If our eyes met I felt certain he would see exactly what state I was in. It wasn’t the cold. The fact that I wore nothing underneath these clothes hit me harder the instant I stepped inside. Even the slightest movement made the fabric slide against bare skin with unbearable clarity; every tiny shift kept demanding my attention.
“Did you eat?”
Father’s question continued, but I only gave a small nod in reply. I didn’t want a long conversation. Right now the only urgent thing was to escape this shared space and reach a room that was mine alone.
“I already ate.”
I cut the answer short and turned before any more questions could follow. I knew my steps looked awkward, yet I forced myself to walk down the hallway as if nothing were wrong and slipped into my room. The second the door closed, the tension locked in my shoulders finally dropped. A short sigh escaped on its own.
“…Hah…”
The room was quiet. I had returned to the familiar space of home, yet my heart refused to settle. Instead the sensations from moments ago rose even clearer, and the heat still lingering inside my body began to demand notice again. I gave my head a sharp shake and went straight to the drawer. The first thing I needed to do was simple: fix this state.
I opened the drawer. The everyday underwear I usually grabbed without thinking lay neatly arranged. My hand moved toward them automatically—familiar, comfortable, things I could choose without meaning. Until now that had always been enough. I picked one up, then stopped with it still in my grip.
…This is plenty.
The thought rose as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It had always been this; there was no reason to choose anything else. Today I could just wear the usual. Even as I told myself that, my hand wouldn’t move. My gaze drifted slowly sideways, toward the back of the drawer, the place I almost never reached into, the things I kept out of easy sight. I stared without speaking. A vague impulse held my eyes. I set down what I was holding. The motion felt more natural than it should have, as if I had intended it from the start. Slowly I reached in and drew out what waited there. The texture against my fingertips was different—thinner, more delicate.
…Why did I pick this?
The question came late. I couldn’t make sense of it myself. There was no reason to choose this. Yet my fingers wouldn’t let go. I stood there for a long moment looking down at what I held. Everything that had happened earlier, every sensation that followed, felt somehow connected to this moment.
“…Hah…”
I let out a short breath, then began pulling the underwear on with trembling hands.