The Kind of Man She Wanted
What kind of man did Yeonju like?
It struck me then that I had never once seriously asked myself that question. I had always assumed that because she simply loved to go out and have a good time, she just fell in with whatever party boys happened to be around. But looking back, every man Yeonju had ever been with shared the same unmistakable quality.
The delinquent upperclassman who'd taken her in middle school. Minyong, the boyfriend she'd dated all through high school. The guys she'd picked up at clubs after that. Seungmin, too. Every last one of them knew how to put himself together — how to look the part. I had written them all off as nothing but thugs, but Yeonju had been drawn to that kind of man. She had walked right into their arms.
I really had been an idiot. I had never even bothered to wonder what kind of guy she fell for. I had just sat there beside her, stubbornly convinced that if I waited long enough, she would become mine all on her own. If I had tried earlier to become the kind of man she wanted, she might already have been my girl. We might never have needed separate rooms at all.
Either way, Yeonju was coming back to Korea. And when she did, I was going to confess — properly, without hesitation — and steal her heart. Even if she didn't come back, I would fly to Canada and win her over myself. For that moment, I needed to become the man she wanted. The kind of man who looked the part.
I started paying attention to things I had never given a damn about. Styling. I ditched the neat, unchanging haircut I had worn for years. I stopped wearing only the clothes my mother bought me and started digging through online shops myself. At first I didn't know a thing — I would just buy whatever complete outfit was hanging on a mannequin. Gradually I learned to pick pieces separately and put a look together on my own.
Senior year of college. While everyone else was grinding through job applications and interviews, I was getting my first real taste of vanity — and I liked it. By the final semester, the cute underclassmen who had never given me a second glance started drifting toward me. The effect was obvious.
I started taking club dancing seriously. I built my body at the gym. Time passed, and before I knew it, graduation had arrived.
Luckily, a professor recommended me into a major company's game development team. It wasn't what I had wanted, but he insisted that cutting my teeth in that field would pay off when I moved into other kinds of app development, and he pushed hard enough that I took the job.
I spent another chaotic year as a fresh graduate thrown into the working world, but I never let my self-maintenance slide. No matter how busy I got, I hit the clubs once or twice a month so my dancing wouldn't go rusty, and I kept up the workouts without fail.
Then the year Yeonju was due to come home finally arrived. I had found my footing at the company by then, but I had also realized that game development wasn't what I actually wanted to do. I decided to quit — and fortunately, they had thought well enough of me that instead of letting me walk, they transferred me to the business division.
Everything was falling into place. All that remained was for Yeonju to come home so I could confess in style and make her mine. After that, it would be perfect.
A few months before her return, some of my high school friends reached out. We decided to get together for the first time in years.
A few days later I showed up at the appointed place — and sitting there among them was Minyong, the one who'd immigrated to Canada. Looking around, I realized the rest of the guys each had a girl on his arm that Minyong had fucked and discarded. Then again, I had briefly dated Ji-eun myself after Minyong was done with her, so I supposed I belonged at that table as much as anyone.
Maybe it was just the time apart, but my friends' faces looked different. Back in high school we had thought we were already fully grown. Age had a way of proving otherwise — they had all changed, little by little.
Once the drinks started flowing, someone brought up women, and from there the conversation drifted naturally to the girls we had dated back in school.
"Oh, right. I saw Yeonju last year. She'd gotten insanely gorgeous. I almost couldn't believe it was the same Yeonju I used to fuck."
Minyong was the one who brought her up. And not only that — he said he had actually met her, in person, in Canada.
"You met Yeonju? How?"
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, almost a reflex.
"Last summer I went to this beach I used to hit all the time, and I ran into her by chance. Didn't recognize her at first, but the longer I looked, the more I knew it was her. She'd always been sexy as hell, but by then she'd turned into something else — way more magnetic, you know? Her tits were still sitting up nice and full, and her waist had gotten slimmer, so her hips looked ridiculous. And she wasn't alone. There was this other woman with her — a little smaller in the chest, but tall and built like a wet dream. Both of them in bikinis that barely covered their tits and their pussies. I was hard just looking at them."
Every guy at the table locked onto Minyong's story at once.
"So what'd you do, fuck her brains out for old times' sake? Was she even better than before?"
One of them asked if Minyong had had her. I wanted to know the answer just as badly as they did.
"Nah. Couldn't. God, I wanted to — drag her off, yank that bikini to the side, and bury myself in her after all those years. But she had company. Came with some pretty famous Black celebrity."
The moment the word "Black" left his mouth, the table erupted. The guys started in without a shred of filter — that Yeonju had tasted Black cock now, that she would never be able to go back to an Asian guy, that a dick like ours wouldn't even register anymore.
"You guys don't know what the hell you're talking about. Yeonju is a top-tier ginjako — I ranked her there myself. The second she starts coming, her pussy clamps down on your cock like a rubber suction cup. That's why I passed the other girls around to you lot but kept Yeonju to myself. At first I figured her hole was huge and loose on the inside — just a slut you fuck once and throw away. But the more I pounded her, the more I lost my mind. Even popping Ji-eun's cherry didn't feel anything like that. With Yeonju, I had to cum five times every session before I was even close to satisfied."
Minyong laid out Yeonju's particulars like he was bragging, and the rest of them started talking over each other about how badly they wanted a turn with her pussy.
I didn't say much. I had had Yeonju myself. I understood exactly what he meant.
"Suyeon's still better though, right? Tall, face like an idol, and her tits were pretty big too. I was most jealous of you when you were fucking Suyeon."
"I'm a Ji-eun guy. Small and cute is exactly my type. Always wanted a taste, never got one. Come to think of it, Taemin — didn't you date Ji-eun?"
The second Ji-eun's name came up, every pair of eyes at the table swung toward me.
"Yeah. We went out for a bit, then broke up pretty quick."
I kept it vague. The past didn't interest me nearly as much as the Black guy Minyong had mentioned — the one who'd been with Yeonju.
Were they still together? And if they were, then what? What if she never came back because of him? She was due home soon — what if she showed up only to turn around and leave again? What if she filed me away as nothing more than a scrap of the past?
Every ugly possibility started crowding in. I had learned how to put myself together for her. I had built my body. I had gotten good at every kind of club dancing there was. But if the other man was a famous celebrity — and if they had been together long enough to have that kind of chemistry in bed — he was a genuine threat.
The guys kept talking about girls, oblivious to whatever was going on in my head, and the stories all followed the same pattern. Minyong would describe how he'd fucked someone, then how he'd set her up so one of the other guys could have a turn — and from that point on, that guy would start bragging about how he'd fucked her, as if it were some kind of trophy.
"You guys know what kind of woman tastes the best?"
Minyong tossed the question out, and everyone had a different answer. Most of them landed on the same thing — high school girls, college girls, anyone young. A few insisted that skilled bar girls were the peak.
"You're all wrong, you idiots. Young girls are tight, sure, but they've got no technique, so the sex itself is nothing special. Bar sluts have the skills, but most of them are loose as hell — you're just using them as a place to dump a load."
Minyong shook his head as he said it, and the others stared at him, puzzled.
"Then what kind of woman tastes the best, according to you?"
One of them asked. Minyong leaned back in his chair, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, and delivered his verdict.
The rest of us — myself included — just sat there with the same look on our faces. What the hell is he talking about?
"Anything tastes better when you steal it off someone else's plate. Think about it. That feeling of taking a woman who already has a husband or a boyfriend and making her yours. Once you know that taste, no other woman even comes close. Married women win. Every time."
The guys started nodding along. I could see the logic, at least to a point — but up until now, what had gotten me off was watching Yeonju have sex with other men. Whether that was a Netorare streak in me or simply the fact that I loved her and found every sexy version of her arousing, I couldn't quite tell the two apart.
"Taemin. You know when I first felt that?"
Minyong suddenly turned the question on me. Of course I didn't know. How the hell would I know when he'd started getting off on stealing other men's women? So why was he asking me?
"No. When?"
So Yeonju had already had a boyfriend when she started going out with Minyong?
"You and Yeonju. You two were like brother and sister, weren't you?"
I couldn't make sense of what he was getting at. And then Minyong told me something that hit me like a punch to the gut.