Chapter 21. Good, right?
Good, right? A yawn escapes me. I perch on the ledge at the entrance to the rental apartment, fiddling with my phone. The morning air chills my throat. It's been forever since I moved this early. The sun still hangs low. In the flower bed inside the complex, a single cherry tree has half-bloomed. Too white to call pink, but tinged just enough at the edges. The automatic door at the building entrance slides open. Woochan steps out first, Ayoung half a pace behind. My eyes go straight to her. She's wearing the dress I bought her. The fabric clings to her waistline before loosening at the hips. A thin cardigan drapes over it, fluttering up past her knees with every breeze. Makeup on—she looks like a different person from her usual bare face. Good call buying that. The weary beauty hidden under fatigue shines clear in the morning sun. Ripe and mature—that's the word for a woman like her.
Woochan glances around. His eyes searching for me sweep the entrance. But Ayoung's gaze locks on the parked car first.
"Uh... Jinho's car is here..."
She takes a step toward me, then remembers Woochan's beside her and stops awkwardly.
"Mom, you know Jinho's car?"
"Oh... yeah, I saw it once before."
"Really?"
Woochan tilts his head but doesn't pry. Ayoung tugs at the cuff of her cardigan with her fingertips, dropping her eyes to the ground. Her flustered fidgeting is amusing—I want to watch longer—but it's time to go, so I raise a hand.
"Over here."
Woochan hears and runs over. Ayoung follows half a beat later, cradling the lunchbox in both hands. Woochan stops dead in front of the car.
"...Whoa."
His mouth hangs open as his gaze climbs from the hood to the roof.
"Cool car."
"These are common at school."
"Looking's different from riding in one."
He's gaping like an idiot, eyes roving the body. About to press his nose to the side window. I open the driver's door and pull the passenger seatback lever. The seat tips forward, opening space in the back.
"Back seat."
"Wanted shotgun."
"You gonna cram your mom in the tiny rear?"
"...Fine."
He grumbles but folds himself in. His knees bump the front seatback—he has to twist his legs awkwardly. Still, no complaints; he just looks around, touching the ceiling. I reset the passenger seat and glance at Ayoung. She's standing at the door, peering inside. Her eyes linger on the leather seats. Heat flushes up her neck, skin turning red. Remembering last time's car sex, huh?
"Get in."
"...Okay."
She lowers herself carefully, legs primly together, hands clasped around her bundle.
"What's that?"
"Oh."
Ayoung's cheeks pink up.
"Mom made kimbap super early 'cause we're going flower-viewing," Woochan chimes in from the back, teasing.
"Ah... no, I... since we're all going together."
She hugs the lunchbox tighter and clams up.
"I've never had homemade from a mom—looking forward to it."
I toss it out casually. They both know I have no parents; silence falls awkwardly. I smirk at their reactions and joke,
"Bought lunches? Tons."
The tension breaks. I turn the key—exhaust rumbles through the chassis. Woochan sighs "Ooh..." from behind. We exit the complex onto the main road. Ayoung sits ramrod straight, lunchbox in lap. Her pale neck glows white in the sunlight.
"Hungry—can I have one?"
"Uh... sure."
She opens the lid, sets it beside me. Neatly sliced kimbap packed tight.
"Feed me while I drive."
Ayoung freezes. She glances at the rearview—Woochan's glued to the window, gawking at passing buildings. She picks up a roll, brings it to my mouth. Her fingers tremble faintly. I take it, letting my tongue brush her fingertip. Her shoulder jerks at the touch. She pulls back, head down, ears burning. Her free hand fiddles with the licked finger.
I grin.
"Tasty."
"G... good."
Barely audible. Cherry blossoms appear as the lake comes into view, spilling over both sides. Branches arch over the road like a tunnel. Petals brush the windshield with the wind, piling under the wipers. I park; a family from the next car over stares. More glances before the engine quiets.
"Th... this the luxury disembark?"
"Shut up with that poser crap."
I shut down Woochan's hype and pop the trunk. Folding tent, two chairs, small cooler.
"Tent?"
"Might as well relax."
Lakefront tent spots reserved ahead. Woochan hovers to help—total hindrance.
"Don't touch. Just stand there's helping."
I extend the poles, clip the fabric taut. Grandpa dragged me camping as a kid—hated it, but handy now. Chicks' eyes change when you pitch fast. Stakes down—under five minutes.
"...You're good."
Ayoung mutters. Her arms-crossed gaze lingers on my forearms, flicks away when our eyes meet. Inside blocks sun but open all around. Mesh windows frame lake and trees. Petals stick to mesh in the breeze, then drift off.
"Nice."
Woochan kicks off shoes, settles in. Chairs out front; he digs into lunch. Still good cold—sticky rice. Ayoung watches us eat, then takes one late. Belly full, back warm—Woochan crashes on the tent floor first, snoring. Ayoung gazes at petals scattering over the lake from her chair. Eyes distant, lost in thought.
"How's it, auntie?"
"...Huh? What."
"The flowers."
She smiles faintly at the lake.
"...Nice."
That's it. No time for this raising a boy alone, scraping by. I stand.
"Bathroom break."
She nods. Coming back, two guys at the tent. Tank tops, flushed faces, beer cans. Day drinkers yapping at seated Ayoung. She shakes her head, bowed. One reaches for her armrest. I kick him from behind— he topples, can rolls on grass.
"Fuck off."
The other turns, sizes me up, eyes to my car in the lot. Clams up. Know when to pick targets, assholes. They slink off hunched. I tsk their backs, sit by Ayoung. Her hands clench and unclench on her lap.
"Th... thanks."
I look instead of answering. Cardigan-clad shoulders, dress-hugging waist, sun-kissed skin. Hard to believe she's the same woman from that first meeting—hair up, baggy tee.
"Where's Woochan?"
"Phone call—went for a walk."
"Yeah?"
I close the front mesh. Drop the sunshade—half-shadow inside. Grab her hand, pull into tent. Cover all windows—sun cuts, only filtered light remains. Breaths overlap in the tight space. Her face flushed. Eyes lift to mine, drop, lift again. I grip her shoulders, lay her down. Straddle—her breath hitches. Eyes widen slightly, but no push.
"Just us—shall we?"
"S... someone might see."
"All covered."
"Still... n... noise."
"Not saying no, huh."
She seals her lips. Gaze slides sideways, ears red.
"Gotta finish quick before Woochan's back."
I lean—her lips part, tongue eager. Slurp. Kiss holds as my hand slips inside cardigan. Cup breast over dress—thin fabric transmits heat to palm. Breath leaks from her nose.
"Mmph..."
Shoulder straps down—nipple hard already. Thumb circles; it stiffens. She bites lip, head turns.
"Hnn..."
Pinch between thumb and finger—back arches off floor.
"Nngh..."
Lips to neck. Lick up—breath roughens. Her hand grips my nape, pulls closer. Hand down. Skirt to waist, fingers trail inner thigh. Smooth skin quivers. Breath stops. Palm presses panty—fabric soaked.
"Hnnngh..."
Shift panty aside, stroke slit—juices coat fingers. Squelch. Index in—wet walls suck.
"Ngh... ngh..."
She presses hand to mouth. Curl finger, scrape inner wall—ass bounces up.
"Haah!"
Sound leaks out. Hands clamp mouth—moans seep through.
"They'll hear."
Face pales. But hips buck with each thrust. Mouth muffled, pussy pulls deeper. Pop, pop. Two fingers—wet slaps echo. Spread—strings to wrist. Panty off—thighs glisten. Arm over face, but heaving breasts betray. Pants down, cock out. She peeks—takes condom, sits up. Grips shaft, tongue on tip.
Slurp. Lick.
Warm tongue glides.
"Mmph..."
Lips seal tip, suck—thighs tense. Saliva drips shaft, slicks fingers. Slurrp. Off, rolls condom with lips to base. Slurp. Lies back, looks up. Skirt rucked, legs part. Inner thighs slick. Kneel between, tip to entrance. Breath holds. Slow push.
Squelch.
"Hnnngh...!"
Neck arches. Walls embrace, suck in. Rooted—hands claw arms. Sealed tent thickens air fast. Sweat beads forehead, trickles nose. Squelch, squelch. Slow thrusts, lean for nipple—salty sweat on tongue. Teeth graze—body jolts.
"Haang..."
Her arms hug head. Face in breasts, roll tongue, slam cock. Squelch, squelch, slap. Faster—tip hits cervix.
"Haah... th... there...!"
Slap, slap. Grind spot—thighs clamp sides. Bellies slap, sweat-slick skin sticks, peels. Juices drip root to floor. Hand over mouth—muffled cries leak on deep thrusts.
"Hnn... ngh... haah...!"
Lips off breast, rise. Teeth to neck, suck. Hot skin sears lips. Flesh yields—pussy clamps hard.
"Ngh...! Hnn...!"
Shoulder, upper chest—coverable spots. Teeth sink soft meat. Marks rise—back bows. Slapslapslap. Speed up—flesh smacks fill tent. Air sticky. Hands seal mouth—screams burst through. Hands drop, head lolls. Gives up—moans flood.
"Haaah...! Haah...!"
Climax builds fast. Walls pulse, grip. Thrust. Deep hold. Spurt, spurt. Condom fills hot. Back lifts. Hand falls—long wail from throat.
"Ah... aaaah..."
Arms wrap back. Face to shoulder, pants. Sweat-slick torsos slide with breaths. Pussy clings. Wait breaths settle, slow pull.
Squelch.
Walls cling reluctant.
"Nngh..."
Regretful sigh. Entrance holds tip—juices string, snap. Tent steamy. Filtered light—disheveled hair sticks forehead. Finger-sweep bangs aside.
"Not caring about noise now?"
"D... dunno."
"What if someone peeks."
She shakes head.
"Y... you're the one who made me like this."
Leans forehead to chest. Flower-viewing picnic, fucked by son's friend in tent, cuddles right after. Tie off full condom, aside. Rip new pack.
"Round two?"
Eyes shift. No words, no push. Skirt stays up, legs part slight. Roll on. Kneel—breath quickens. Thrust. Deep one-go—moan floods.
"Haaah...!"
Hands claw back. Slap, slap, slap. No pause. Pleasure's moans refill tent.
