Unanimous (4)
After that, I met Ha-young three more times.
On the day of our second meeting, we ate at a famous ramen place we'd booked in advance, then headed to a coin karaoke booth.
In the hour we spent there, we sang exactly five songs. The rest of the time, we did nothing but kiss.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that Ha-young, who looked so demure and adorable, had been hiding such a lewd nature underneath.
When we had sex in her studio apartment, well—it was her place, so that was one thing. But a coin karaoke booth was a different story entirely.
We were in the middle of a long, deep kiss, gazing at each other with shy expressions, when it happened.
Out of nowhere, Ha-young took my hand. Then, without a word, she gently placed it on her sternum, just above her chest.
The message was clear enough: stop settling for just kissing and touch my breasts too.
I read her intent and obediently began kneading her chest—there in room number five of the coin karaoke's two-person booths.
To be fair, Hye-jeong and I had gotten up to plenty of dirty business in coin karaoke booths ourselves. We'd even had sex in one once.
And yet here I was with Ha-young, merely kissing her and fondling her breasts, and it felt somehow filthier than all of that. Maybe it was because she looked so prim and proper on the surface—so guarded, so well-brought-up.
That day I was wearing thin beige slacks. The precum that had leaked out thanks to Ha-young's provocative little maneuver had soaked clean through my underwear and into the fabric, leaving a stain visible from the outside.
Since I kept fussing over my crotch, Ha-young asked me, ever so casually:
"Oppa, is it uncomfortable? Want to come over to my place so I can help you relieve it?"
At the same time she was straining to pull off a sly, wicked expression, and the awkwardness showed all over her face. She was plainly trying to advertise herself to me—actually, I can say dirty things like this too, you know.
And so our second date, too, ended with sex in her studio apartment.
Just as she'd promised, Ha-young gently caressed my cock with her mouth and tongue.
"How is it? Does it feel good when I do this?"
Honestly, her oral skills were abysmal. But watching a girl who seemed so inexperienced trying so hard to be sexy was endlessly endearing and cute.
When I didn't moan, Ha-young pouted sulkily and said,
"I heard this is supposed to feel amazing."
"...And where exactly did you learn that?"
"Secret."
Looking down at her as she once again teased the tip of my glans with her clumsy little tongue, a deep satisfaction welled up inside me.
Ha-young had left home alone for Seoul at twenty and devoted herself faithfully to university life. Along the way she racked up one certification after another, and finally landed a job.
At the company she quickly established herself as a promising newcomer. She never shied away from overtime, steadily building her career.
Having spent the first half of her twenties on nothing but diligence, she was living a successful life—unlike me.
But time being finite, she'd naturally neglected sex.
So in the end, she must have installed the Tender app with the late-blooming ambition of cultivating her skills in bed. And that was how she met me.
For making up for a shortfall of sexual experience in a short span of time, an experienced thirty-one-year-old oppa was the perfect partner. That was probably why she invited me back to her studio apartment every single time we met.
I taught her a great many techniques. And someday, when she was sucking off any number of other men, she would put everything she'd learned from me to full use.
It was as if I'd become her private tutor for sex. That sense of accomplishment only sweetened the pleasure.
We met four times in total, which meant we'd completed four sessions of sex lessons.
Then, just as we were trying to schedule the fifth lesson, she sent me this Tender message.
With that message, she abruptly unmatched me. Not just for a while—from that point on, we would never meet again, never even be in contact.
Trying to fathom her reasons set off every stray thought in my head.
First, the surface excuse of being busy with work was quite likely a lie. So what had actually made her put on the brakes?
Was she afraid of continuing a relationship like this? Or had she simply concluded that this kind of arrangement didn't suit her style?
Maybe it was because I'd pushed things forward too fast. Yes—that was it. She'd decided she'd learned everything she needed to learn.
It surely wasn't because she'd resolved to go find another teacher. I hoped not, anyway.
I was disappointed. Apparently the sex lessons with her, five years my junior, had been fun. Still, I wasn't dying of regret over it.
Maybe if we'd gone through a fifth or sixth session, the lingering ache might have driven me to show up at her door.
That's right. Ha-young had severed our teacher-student relationship at exactly the right moment. Sensing that our bond was about to deepen, she'd cut it off without hesitation.
I envied that decisiveness of hers. The resolve to cut things off when they needed cutting off. I envied her for living a life so starkly different from mine, which had done nothing but drift wherever the current took it.
When brooding thoughts chase each other's tails, self-loathing is never far behind. I needed to find an escape route, and fast.
And that escape route was not my wife, who did nothing but wait for me to come home early.
Yu-mi (31)
HS (26)
nekosuki (24)
Lee Hyeona (30)
HaiE (25)
…(omitted)
At that point, the women I'd successfully matched with on Tender and was chatting with numbered a full thirty. Which meant I had thirty escape routes.
Among them, there was bound to be someone—someone who could give me enough fun that I wouldn't miss Ha-young's abrupt departure.
Her real name was Kim Ye-jin. Born in 2001. Hobbies: watching Japanese anime and cosplay.
She was, in every respect, the polar opposite of Ha-young.
Since her hobby was cosplay, I'd assumed the profile photo of her in menhera-style makeup and outfit was just something taken for an event.
But she showed up to our first date in much the same getup.
She listened to hip-hop and J-Pop, half of what came out of her mouth was profanity, she lived at odds with her parents, and she stayed busy running errands for the older gangster types who occasionally smuggled her cheap drugs... In short, she was the kind of girl who'd suit a boyfriend nothing like me.
Me, meanwhile, I was dressed in the utterly ordinary: a sweatshirt, a bomber jacket, and calm navy-blue jeans.
As we walked around together, our styles clashed so hard that the stares from passersby weighed on me considerably.
And so the day of my first date with Ye-jin became, I thought, a one-of-a-kind day—the kind that would never repeat.
Someone who could never fit with me. Which meant someone I'd never see again. Or so I believed.
We blew a full twenty thousand won at a claw machine in a nearby arcade and barely rescued a single Kuromi plush. Just as we were about to part ways, she said this to me:
"So, where should we meet next time?"
The second day, and the third, were the same. It was she, surprisingly, who was always the first to promise a next time.
She even initiated the physical contact first.
As we walked together through a fine drizzle too light to justify an umbrella, she linked her arm through mine, claiming she was shivering.
Then she went so far as to give me a keychain with some bizarre little character on it, saying she'd bought it because it reminded her of me.
It was fascinating, watching a girl who showed up in stiff menhera-style outfits every single time make her affection this obvious, this openly.
It wasn't until our fourth meeting that we held hands. On our fifth, we interlocked fingers.
Then, on the eighth meeting, we hugged for the first time. Holding Ye-jin's petite frame tight against my chest, I asked her:
"Why do you like me?"
And Ye-jin, stroking my back, answered:
"Because you're cute, oppa."
Over the course of two full months and twelve meetings, I hadn't managed to advance past a peck on the cheek—nowhere near a real kiss. I never dreamed that the ticklish, fluttering sweetness of a relationship's early days—the very thing I'd longed for with Ha-young—would come to me like this, through Ye-jin.
Believe me, I wanted to peel off that menhera lace two-piece of hers and bare her modest little breasts. I ached to rip apart her white stockings and slide myself into the gap.
Fortunately, I'd been venting those appetites elsewhere, which was the only reason I'd managed to hold out.
While seeing Ye-jin, I was also sleeping regularly with two fuck buddies.
One was a thirty-three-year-old married woman. The other was a towering Indonesian girl, all of 178 centimeters tall.