Coffee and Confessions on the Rooftop
My legs are still shaky as I walk down the hallway after leaving the rooftop garden treatment room. The ache in my thighs feels like post-workout muscle soreness. No wonder, after all that awkward hip-shaking on the chair. My dick hangs half-flaccid outside the opening in my patient uniform. With a tip condom covering it, it's draped over my thigh, and the magic circle on my balls has stabilized to a deep purple.
Althea walks beside me, her cardigan draped over her shoulders. The woman who was kneeling earlier, making rings with her fingers, now looks every bit the prim nurse again. As we pass the vending machines in the hallway, she stops in front of the drink machine. Canned coffee, sports drinks, juices—they're all lined up.
I left my wallet in my room.
"Thirsty? Let me get you a canned coffee."
Althea calls out to me as I pause at the machine. I must have had a parched look on my face without realizing it.
"Coffee? I'd be grateful if you did."
A smile spreads across Althea's lips. Her droopy eyelids sag further, her cheeks lifting just a bit.
"Want to drink it in the rooftop garden? We can get some fresh air."
"The rooftop?"
"Yes. There's a rooftop garden on the fifth floor. Walking paths, benches. Patients go up there sometimes when the weather's nice."
I haven't breathed outside air since I was admitted. I miss the cold February wind. But there's one problem. My gaze drops to my dick sticking out of the patient uniform's opening.
"I have to tuck this away to go out..."
My voice trails off small.
"What if a drone takes a picture?"
Drones are everywhere these days. Media or individuals— one camera from the sky and it's over. A photo of a woman with her dick out of her patient pants, drinking canned coffee on the hospital rooftop? If it spreads online, ends up in some futanari-hating community? My face gets recognized, my personal info leaks, and I'm nationwide hate fodder.
"Don't worry."
Althea waves her hand dismissively.
"The rooftop has a mana perception jamming device installed."
"Perception jamming?"
"Yes. It distorts visual information with mana. Whether it's the naked eye, cameras, or drones, anyone on the rooftop just looks like a 'human silhouette.' No details like faces, body shapes, or clothing are recognizable."
Althea points to the rooftop garden notice posted on the wall next to the vending machine.
[5F Rooftop Garden: Mana Perception Jamming Device Active. External Filming Prohibited Area.]
"Even if someone takes a photo, it's just a blurry human outline. Impossible to identify."
Hearing the explanation and checking the sign eases my mind. I pull two canned coffees from the machine. Althea picks café latte; I go for Americano. We ride the elevator to the fifth floor. At the end of the fifth-floor hallway is a sign reading [Rooftop Garden →], and in front of the steel door stands a female orc guard. She's over 190 cm tall, with green skin and two small tusks jutting from her lower jaw. Her muscular arms strain the sleeves of her black guard uniform. She looks down at us with an expressionless face.
Althea flashes her ID badge, and the orc guard nods, opening the steel door. She gives me a once-over. She must have seen the patient uniform and my dick hanging out, but her expression doesn't change. Probably sees it every day.
Passing through the steel door, we climb the stairs to the rooftop door. When I open it—
The wind hits my face. February's cold air fills my lungs. Unlike the pheromone-laden, warm hospital air, this is crisp and cool. The rooftop garden is wider than I expected. Wooden decking covers the concrete floor, low shrubs and planters line both sides. Three benches are spaced out on the deck. A tall safety fence surrounds the edge, and atop it shimmers a translucent barrier-like film. That must be the perception jamming barrier. Its surface ripples faintly, refracting light.
No one's here—just us. The city outskirts stretch beyond the fence. Apartment complexes in the distance, low mountains layered behind. February sky, high and clear. The sun's dipping toward the west, building shadows lengthening.
My dick reacts to the cold air. The part sticking out of the patient uniform shrinks like it's huddling. What was half-erect goes fully soft, dangling limp between my thighs. I think this is the first time I've seen it deflated since admission. The hospital's full of pheromones, so it's always at least half-hard.
"Sit here."
Althea points to a bench in the sunlight and sits first. The wooden bench creaks faintly under her weight. Her pastel pink braided hair flutters over her cardigan in the wind, the tips gleaming gold in the sun. I sit beside her, hand her the canned coffee, and pop open my Americano. The chick sound releases the coffee aroma. One sip—cold, bitter coffee slides down my throat. Delicious. I used to have it often at school, but after so long, it tastes even better. Honestly, canned coffee in February wind shouldn't be that good, but drinking it with this sense of freedom makes it special. It's the taste of the outside world.
Althea takes a sip of her café latte. Her lips wrap softly around the can.
"Feels good to be outside, right?"
"Yeah..."
I nod.
"No pheromones, so my head feels clear."
I regret it the moment I say it. It could sound like I mean Althea's pheromones are bad, so I hurriedly add,
"N-not that I dislike Nurse Althea! It's just, being cooped up indoors all the time felt stuffy—"
"It's fine. You're right."
Althea laughs.
"The fourth floor has high pheromone levels, so unadjusted patients sometimes get headaches. Coming out like this for a breather now and then is good."
The wind blows. Shrub leaves rustle, Althea's braid sways over her shoulder. I glimpse her tail swaying slowly with the breeze under her cardigan.
"How long have you worked at this hospital, Nurse?"
"Hmm... about seven years?"
Althea tilts her head, thinking.
"I came here around when the portals opened and futanari syndrome started spreading."
Seven years. In that time, Althea must have handled countless patients' dicks, licked Cowper's fluid, given back hugs, assisted with magic circles, even done final expulsions.
"So how many patients have you—"
I stop mid-sentence. Asking that would be rude.
"You can ask if you're curious."
Althea sets her can on her knee.
"No, it's nothing."
Silence falls. Wind and distant city noise fill the space. People in those apartments are probably living normal lives. Weekends—family meals, TV. That's how it was for me before admission. Weekends at cafés with Soo-bin doing homework, movies with Eun-seo. Memories before my dick sprouted make my nose tingle.
"Um... Nurse."
I cup the coffee can in both hands and speak up. Something's been bugging me.
"Doctor Han has a Korean name, but why is yours foreign?"
Han Seo-yeon. Clearly a succubus, but Korean name. Althea Bess sounds foreign no matter how you slice it.
"Oh, that?"
Althea sips her latte and smiles.
"Doctor Han is married."
"Married?"
"Yes. To a human man. She took her husband's surname and changed to a Korean name after marriage."
The cold, sharp woman who measured my dick with a tape in latex gloves is married? The one with red eyes who called out my survey lies with "That was foolish"—she's someone's wife?
"Really? Doctor Han?"
"Yes. She's quite caring at home."
Althea says with a playful glint.
"Scary at the hospital, though."
Caring at home. Mornings making breakfast for her husband, evenings on the sofa watching TV together? Combining this info with Han Seo-yeon's image feels unreal.
"Is it common for succubi to marry humans?"
"Not common. But it happens."
Althea leans back against the bench, looking up at the sky. Blue reflects in her purple eyes.
"It's been twenty years since the portals. Inter-species dating and marriages have increased."
"What was her original name? Doctor Han's."
"That's a secret. She doesn't tell."
Althea laughs.
"Succubus names are long. Hard for humans to pronounce."
"Althea Bess is shortened too?"
"Yes. Original's longer. Shortened it for work in Korea—patients struggled with the full one."
Althea takes another sip, turns to look at me. Her droopy eyes catch the sunset glow. Those purple eyes always watching me. But not the observing gaze from treatment—this is just someone enjoying wind and coffee.
"You could make up a Korean name, Althea."
"I thought about it. No real reason to, though."
"Does there need to be a reason?"
Althea pauses, gazes at her coffee can. Water droplets trickle between her fingers.
"Doctor Han changed hers for her husband's surname. I... don't have someone like that yet."
Someone like that. Someone close enough to change your name for. Does that mean no dating experience, or no marriage prospect? Loneliness faintly colors her words.
"Have you never dated, Nurse?"
Too personal? But Althea smiles and answers.
"Surprising for a succubus to say she's never dated?"
"N-no, not that—"
"It's true. Never have."
Althea says plainly. It feels odd—this woman, good personality, no rough edges. But I recall somewhere that for succubi, kisses are 'proof of love.' Creampies and fellatio are daily meals, but deep kisses only for lovers. Their standards might differ from humans'.
"I like novels. Romance ones."
Althea adds with a smile. Her eyes crescent as she lifts the can.
"Vicarious satisfaction since I can't in real life."
She handles patients' dicks daily, wraps her breasts around backs, licks Cowper's fluid to check viscosity, takes creampies for final expulsion. Yet no kisses, satisfies with romance novels. The line between medical acts and love. Contradictory. But maybe that's what makes love precious?
"And you, Ji-ah?"
Althea asks.
"Me?"
"Have you dated?"
"...No."
I shake my head.
"Never had a boyfriend."
I wrote it on the survey. No sexual experience, hymen intact. She read it—why ask again? Double-checking?
"College must have guys around."
"Wasn't interested. Never really felt drawn... and after this, even less..."
My words fade. After the dick grew, my body only reacts to women. Smelling perfume on a friend's neck, getting hard in lecture hall—I shut my mouth at the memory.
"It's natural."
Althea says softly.
"Mana mutation affecting orientation is common. After treatment, some revert, some don't."
And if I don't revert? I don't voice it.
The sun dips lower, air growing chillier. The thin patient uniform lets every breeze through. Especially my exposed dick, shrunken and trembling. Althea looks my way. Seeing me hunch my shoulders, she slips off her cardigan and drapes it over mine.
"Cold?"
"I'm fine—"
Too late—the fabric settles, still warm with her body heat. Faint lavender scent, but the wind disperses the pheromones quick—not as intense as indoors.
Without the cardigan, Althea's just in her uniform top. Cleavage peeks between buttons, arms bare. She doesn't seem cold.
"Aren't you cold, Nurse?"
"Succubi run hot."
Althea tilts her can for the last sip.
"Some colleagues wear short sleeves in winter."
The orc guard wore thick clothes, but succubi sit on February rooftops in uniforms. I down the rest of my coffee, gaze at the distant apartments. Laundry flapping at someone's window—everyday life.
"What does Doctor Han's husband do?"
"Ordinary office worker, I heard."
Althea sets her empty can aside.
"His succubus wife handles patients' dicks daily at the hospital... he's okay with that?"
Regret hits immediately. Too blunt? Althea blinks in slight surprise, then laughs.
"You're surprisingly direct, Ji-ah."
"S-sorry, I—"
"No, good question."
She waves it off.
"Doctor Han's husband understands succubus culture—married knowing that. Accepts medical sexual contact separate from private relations."
"Still... sounds tough."
"Probably is."
Althea nods. Her purple eyes gaze afar.
"That's why inter-species marriages aren't common. Cultural differences."
Wind blows; her braid shifts from shoulder to back.
"But Doctor Han seems happily married. Her voice totally changes on lunch calls with him."
"Changes?"
"Yes. At the hospital, it's 'Don't move, patient.' On the phone, 'Honey~, what for dinner?' all smiley."
Imagining cold Han Seo-yeon cooing "honey" glitches my brain.
"Eek... can't picture it."
"Right? I was shocked at first too."
Althea laughs. Her cardigan warms me. The lavender that drove me mad indoors is softer outside—just cozy, comforting.
The sun sinks further, sky shifting from orange to pink.
"Time to head in. Gets colder after sunset."
Althea stands, offers her hand. Warm. She pulls me up. I try to return the cardigan.
"I'll take it inside. Wear it down the stairs."
I nod, keep it on as we descend. Althea follows. Passing the steel door into the fifth-floor hallway, hospital's warm air rushes in. Pheromones return. The sweet, heavy scent fills my lungs—the shrunken dick twitches in response. The magic circle on my balls shifts from purple to red.
Two minutes ago, clear-headed coffee chat on the rooftop. Now back indoors, erection starting. Reality.
Elevator to fourth floor. Pheromone density spikes in the hallway; my dick swells fast, pushing my thighs apart. I slip off the cardigan, hand it back. Althea drapes it on, looks down at me.
"Let's do the rooftop again when we have time, Ji-ah."
Her purple eyes hold sunset afterglow.
At Room 402, Althea opens the door.
"Dinner delivery to your room tonight too. Tomorrow's morning treatment at 10, so eat breakfast and prep."
"Yes."
The door closes. Alone in the room, I perch on the bed. My dick throbs erect as usual.