The Confession of Park XX (Male, 38) — Part One
Father Kim’s confessional was in session again that day, as always.
Wearing his purple stole, Father Kim took his seat with a solemn expression.
Across the confessional, a middle-aged man entered, knelt, and crossed himself as he spoke.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
Father Kim’s gentle, unhurried voice came through the fine wire mesh.
“Since God has enlightened our hearts, place your trust in His mercy and confess your sins as they truly are.”
“Amen. It has been two months since my last confession. Father, I have broken the Sixth Commandment. I forced my wife into adultery. Because of me, my wife committed three acts of adultery she never wanted.”
“My son, confess your sins in greater detail. God is prepared to hear anything you must say.”
The middle-aged man beyond the mesh hesitated a moment, then let out a deep sigh and forced the words out.
“Well…”
His voice filled the confessional in a quiet murmur, and Father Kim closed his eyes in silence.
My wife was an ordinary housewife.
I fell for her at first sight as a college freshman and married her, so in that sense she was my first love.
Unlike plain old me, my wife was exceptionally beautiful. She’s a housewife in her late thirties now, but when she was younger, the street castings never stopped and attention followed her wherever she went.
Even so, she never once caused trouble over another man. Thankfully, she loved only me. To a man with neither looks nor talent to speak of, she was the reason I kept going.
The happy days continued after we married. We had a child, bought a new house—there was nothing to envy in our life.
But misfortune has a way of arriving without a sound.
Looking back now, it began with something utterly trivial.
As we got older and work wore me down, our marital intimacy naturally dwindled. We weren’t completely sexless, but the frequency dropped off sharply. In our prime we couldn’t get enough of each other every night; before long, going a whole month without it no longer felt strange.
Honestly, the problem was me. Even when my wife sent signals that she wanted to make love, I brushed them off without quite meaning to. At the time I couldn’t understand why I was doing it, and it left me frustrated. Friends all said people change that way as they age, but something in me still felt unsettled.
As I’ve said, my wife’s looks were on a celebrity level, and she took such good care of herself that she’d kept every bit of her pre-marriage beauty.
Then the incident happened.
That day I had made up my mind—we were going to have sex. We tried for a date-night mood, ate dinner at a fancy restaurant, and headed to a hotel I’d reserved. Under soft lighting we shared an expensive bottle of wine, and the atmosphere gradually thickened.
Looking at my wife with her face flushed from the alcohol, I found her so cute, and a long-forgotten flutter of excitement rose in me. On top of that she’d gone to the salon for the full treatment—makeup, hair, outfit—and she was breathtakingly beautiful.
We hurried through a shower and climbed into bed. That night I must have been unusually worked up, because I devoted myself to caressing every inch of her. From her toes to her forehead I licked, nipped, and sucked, greedily claiming every corner of her body the way you’d coat a dish you refuse to share.
“Ahh… honey… that feels so good…”
Her voice thick with arousal only excited me further. I climbed on top of her, ready for the real thing.
And then something I never saw coming happened.
The place that should have been hard was hanging limp, soft as a sea cucumber. I was genuinely panicked—even now the memory brings a cold sweat. My head was in a state of pure excitement, yet somehow this had happened, and I couldn’t begin to understand it. Worst of all, the most beautiful woman in the world was right in front of me, and I couldn’t get it up.
I couldn’t accept it. I coaxed and stroked myself by hand until I was half-hard and forced an attempt at penetration. It was useless. If I could only push into the wet entrance of my wife’s vagina, I would have tasted heaven—but my cock hung limp again with no sign of life.
Pitying me, my wife finally spoke in a soft voice.
“Honey, if it’s hard, we don’t have to. I’m really fine.”
I felt so sorry. Even in that situation she was only thinking of me—this kind woman, this beautiful body that loved only me. Erectile dysfunction in front of the woman I loved most in the world. In that moment I wanted to die.
After that night we returned to ordinary daily life. My wife showed no particular sign of distress and devoted herself to being a housewife, and I endured the grind of the office day after day.
But one thing had changed. From that day on, she no longer sent signals that she wanted sex. Of course she was doing it so I wouldn’t feel pressured, but the more carefully she behaved, the blacker my heart burned.
Then one day the real incident finally erupted.
There was a junior at work I was fond of. Oh Hyun-seok, twenty-eight years old. Good-looking in a likable way, sharp at his job, smooth with people—he was popular around the company. These days they call guys like that inssa. At first I didn’t know what that meant, but looking at him I began to understand.
One night after a company dinner, just the two of us were left. I’ve never lost a drinking contest to anyone, but that kid could hold his liquor too.
“Oh, how about one more somewhere?”
“I’m in, Manager. Where to?”
“Hmm… want to just come to my place?”
“Your place, sir?”
“Yeah. My wife cooks better than most restaurants. You’ll be shocked once you taste it.”
“Come on, it’s really late. Won’t your wife get mad?”
“Nonsense. She’s not like that. Stop worrying and let’s go.”
At the time I thought I was only dragging him home on a drunken whim, but looking back I think I also wanted, deep down, to show off my beautiful wife.
“Wow, she’s just as gorgeous as I’d heard, ma’am.”
“Oh, please. I’m just an old housewife.”
“No, I mean it—this might be out of line, but if I’d seen you on the street I’d have asked for your number.”
“My, just hearing that makes me feel good. Now I understand why my husband thinks so highly of you.”
“I’m not joking, though.”
My wife seemed a little giddy, maybe because it had been a while since she’d talked with a younger man. Looking closer, I noticed she’d even put on makeup she didn’t usually wear at home. What really stood out was the skirt—something she rarely wore even when going out.
She has long calves and slender ankles; on days she wore a miniskirt outside, the stares from men were so blatant you could feel them. That night she had on a house dress that fell to the knee, but the smooth calves showing beneath the hem were more than enough to draw Oh’s eyes. In fact, as he tipped his glass he kept sneaking glances under the table at her legs.
It didn’t make me angry. He was young and full of blood—it was only natural. If anything, sensing a young guy like him looking at my wife’s body stirred a faint excitement in me.
Watching her laugh and chatter with a younger man put me in a strange mood. Jealousy would have been the proper response, and yet some inexplicable, illicit feeling rose alongside it. That much is true.
We kept drinking and talking until well past midnight.
“It’s gotten so late. I should get going, Manager.”
“What? You’re heading home?”
“I should. Your wife must be tired too.”
“Don’t be like that. Have one more and just sleep here.”
“Oh, Manager, you’re going to get me in trouble with your wife. I should go—I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“We’ll go in together. And my wife isn’t the type to mind that kind of thing. Right, honey?”
I casually sounded her out. Just as I’d expected, her response was warm.
“Yes, I’m fine. It’s nice having a guest after so long. Please stay the night, Oh.”
“Well… then maybe I will?”
At that, Oh’s face lit up completely—like a college kid told he could sleep over at his girlfriend’s place. A strange rush of excitement surged through me, and I swallowed dryly without meaning to.
The drinking started up again and didn’t end until past two in the morning. I’d far exceeded my limit that night; I closed my eyes without even knowing when I’d fallen asleep, and when I opened them it was the small hours. I found I’d simply collapsed on the living-room floor.
Thirsty and intending to get a glass of cold water, I was about to sit up when I heard the sound.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
I turned my head slightly and saw a pale shape on the living-room floor across from me. It was Oh. And I immediately understood what the sound was.
He was lying on his side, his right hand busy below him, working back and forth. Just as I’d guessed—he still had his pants on, but he’d pulled his cock out through the open zipper and was masturbating.
The kid’s equipment was impressive. Length was one thing, but the girth was something else. Even as another man, you had to lower your eyes a little.
He was so absorbed that he didn’t seem to notice I’d woken. I kept watching him through half-lidded eyes—and then I spotted something odd. His gaze was locked, staring hard at something. More precisely, he was masturbating in a frenzy while looking at something.
I turned my head slightly toward where his eyes were fixed, and what I saw nearly stopped my breath.
What Oh was staring at with bloodshot eyes was none other than my wife.
She was lying on her side on the sofa with her back to us, her skirt rucked high so that her pale thighs were fully exposed. From her firm thighs down her smooth calves, past her narrow ankles to her dainty feet—Oh was sticky-eyed over her entire unprotected lower half, his right hand working steadily.
Tak. Tak. Tak. Tak.
Then, in her sleep, my wife shifted. Oh, who had been stroking himself in a trance, froze for a second. I thought she might have woken, but she hadn’t. Instead she drew one leg up toward her body as she turned, and the skirt rode even higher—until her panties were fully on display.
And of everything laid bare about her lower half, one thing seized my gaze: the panties she was wearing. To my shock, she had on mesh panties. Red mesh panties so sheer the curve of her ass showed clean through.
Some people might say a pair of mesh panties is nothing, but it wasn’t nothing to me. Until that moment I hadn’t even known she owned anything that sexy. More than that, I couldn’t easily understand why, of all nights, she was wearing them tonight.
Tak-tak-tak-tak.
After a stretch of silence, Oh started stroking again—faster this time.