27 - [Side Story] Lee Jiyoung (1)
"Did you finish your homework?"
I asked as I opened my book.
"Yep, of course I did."
Ji-sung answered in his usual bright voice.
This boy had been my student at school until last year. He'd originally been admitted on a track-and-field scholarship, but for some reason he'd had a change of heart and started studying late in the game—and with his naturally sharp mind, his grades climbed at an astonishing pace. Still, there was simply no time left before the college entrance exam, and when I convinced him that one more year of study would surely earn him a better score, Ji-sung and his parents decided to retake it. And so now I was giving him private tutoring at his house. Three times a week I visited, overseeing not just my own subject, English, but his studies across the board. It was illegal, of course, but raising two children on my husband's meager earnings and a teacher's salary was no easy feat. Especially with our son heading off to college next year—just thinking about the tuition already gave me a headache.
Our son Yoon-seok had always been good at his studies, the pride of both my husband and me. He was a prodigy who ranked among the very best in the entire country, and we had pinned all our hopes on him. But now that he was in his final year of high school, I found myself worrying that I had ruined him. His small, girlish looks were something he'd been born with and couldn't help, but his personality, too, was so weak and timid that I wondered whether he could ever make his way in the world. The bigger my worry grew, the more I nagged, and the more I nagged, the more the boy shrank into himself. Every day I resolved to stop, yet the moment I looked at him, the nagging came out all over again.
Ji-sung was everything our son was not. My school was an all-boys' school, and at times that raw energy of theirs was more than a female teacher could handle. They were hard enough to control, and some of their words and gestures bordered on sexual harassment—the kind that, coming from an adult, would have landed them at a police station without a second thought. More than once or twice I had forced myself to ignore the hands with unmistakable intent that brushed against my backside while I stood at the lectern, or in the hallway, or whenever I passed through a crowd of jostling students.
Ji-sung was bright, healthy, and full of life. He was a leader in the school as a whole, and in particular the class president of the third-year class I had been homeroom teacher for. I had never once had an easier time managing a class than back then. I genuinely cherished and loved this student. I believed he was certain to become someone great. There had even been moments when I thought, if only he were my son—though guilt toward Yoon-seok made me erase the thought at once.
Lately, though, the boy's behavior had grown a little strange. About a month into our tutoring sessions, Ji-sung had begun treating me not as his teacher but as a woman. He complimented my looks and my clothes, and stared at me openly. Even when I scolded him, he simply laughed it off. My authority as a teacher—and as an elder twice his age—seemed to be slipping away by the day. I thought him insolent, and yet on tutoring days I somehow caught myself putting extra care into my outfit and makeup, wanting to hear his compliments, and the absurdity of it would draw a wry laugh out of me.
Today, too, I had come with more care put into my makeup than usual. The hair I always threw up carelessly had been dyed a deep brown at the salon over the weekend, with a light perm on top. That morning I'd put on a white buttoned blouse and slightly fitted gray slacks and studied myself in the mirror. Full breasts, a nipped-in waist, a firm, round backside. Not bad for a woman in her forties, I'd thought, feeling quietly pleased with myself—then felt a stab of shame at my own silliness at my age. But this wasn't the filthy lust I had no business feeling toward my own student, I told myself. It was just a bit of playful fun, nothing more.
All day at school, the boys' eyes had been fixed not on my face but on my chest. Their gazes had been unpleasant—but stepping into this room, I found myself anticipating Ji-sung's eyes, waiting for whatever he might say.
"Wow, Teacher, you look gorgeous today. Got a date with your husband or something?"
"Quiet, you. A date at my age, please. Get your book out."
Even as I pretended to brush him off, his enthusiastic reaction left me satisfied. Ji-sung was wearing a white short-sleeved T-shirt and black shorts. Just the comfortable clothes anyone might wear around the house, yet they looked entirely different on him than they would have on my potbellied husband or my slight, frail son. The broad shoulders and solid chest that came through even the fabric, the neck and arms left bare, the muscles clinging to his calves, his clean-cut features and easy laugh, down to his glossy bronze skin. And the scent that always filled the room when he came in and closed the door—the smell of a young man brimming with energy—left me feeling faintly intoxicated.
Even as I checked the problems Ji-sung had worked through, my attention was, in truth, on him. This ill-mannered student was admiring my face and my chest without even trying to hide it. Would Yoon-seok ever do that in front of a woman? Could he ever lay his desires bare without hiding them? I told myself it was rudeness toward women, but I couldn't help thinking that a boy like this would be the one to land a pretty girlfriend. And then, quite suddenly, I caught myself envying the young girl his age who would end up dating Ji-sung.
I gave him feedback on his homework, had him work through new problems, and the lesson went on. Ji-sung was diligent when it came to studying. He didn't have Yoon-seok's gift for it, and he would never reach the level our son had—but this boy had a dream, and so he gave his all to everything he did. I wanted to do anything I could to help this beloved student achieve that dream and become a fine man.
"Are you really going to keep doing this?"
As I was explaining something, I felt his gaze on my face and asked in an angry tone. In truth, I wasn't angry at all, but it seemed like the moment for a firm word if he was going to focus on his studies.
"You're too pretty. I can't help looking."
Ji-sung muttered sulkily.
"Pretty? What's pretty about it! I'm just an old ajumma."
"What? Who on earth would see you as an ajumma? I'd believe it if you told me you were in your twenties."
"Quiet."
I'd meant to be stern, but the laughter escaped me anyway.
"Are you wearing perfume? It smells really good."
"No, it's just shampoo."
I had, in fact, dabbed on a little.
"Doesn't seem like it... Let me get a whiff."
Suddenly Ji-sung's face was drawing close to my ear.
"Ji-sung, what are you doing?"
I flinched back in alarm and met his eyes. But for all my pulling away, his face was already right in front of mine. For a moment we simply stared at each other in silence. As always, his expression was not that of a student looking at his teacher. My heart was pounding. My face was probably flushed red. This wasn't right. I couldn't let a student throw me off balance like this. I should have been scolding this boy sternly, this boy who looked at me as if I were his woman.
It happened in an instant. Without a sliver of a chance to stop him, Ji-sung's face came closer and his lips touched mine. The shock whited out my mind. A kiss—with my own student. His lips didn't move; they simply rested still against mine. It brought back my dream-filled twentieth year, the first kiss with the senior I'd had a crush on. Ji-sung was exactly that age now. He even resembled him a little, maybe. I knew I had to come to my senses and push him away, but the touch of our joined lips was far too sweet.
As I raised my hands to shove him off, both of his hands caught my shoulders. Slowly kneading them, one hand drifted to the nape of my neck while the other slid to my waist. His hard chest pressed flush against my soft breasts, and his lips began to suck at my upper lip.
At some point we were both standing. I was held entirely in Ji-sung's arms. Where on earth had he learned this? His kiss was practiced. I could feel each other's heartbeats. His breathing was growing rougher, and so was mine. His cock, pressed against my lower belly, was already swollen hard. The throbbing power of a young man's body was so vivid against me that my reason had long since flown out the window.
His hands seized my backside hard. My husband was still in his forties, technically, but he'd long since stopped being a real man to me. I could barely remember the last time we'd had proper sex. Ji-sung's hand had only kneaded my ass once, and yet an electric jolt spread from between my legs through my whole body.
"Mmnh..."
A small moan slipped out through lips still joined with Ji-sung's. Seemingly fully confident now, he pulled my body harder against him and began kissing down my nape and shoulders. Those were my most sensitive spots. Every time his lips touched, a current spread through my whole body until I could barely think straight.
"Haah... Ji-sung... stop..."
I whispered it, afraid his parents might hear from outside. But even as I said it, I knew I had no conviction at all. My two hands were already wrapped around his body, stroking the firm planes of his back.