The Weight of Forbidden Desires
The bizarre events with my aunt, which I thought would haunt me every waking moment, strangely vanished into thin air with Do Harim and my sister by my side. I suppose it’s because those two were such a chaotic mess that they drained all my energy. It was like having my soul sucked out—or perhaps, more accurately, like having my cock sucked.
“So, Harim-Harimi, you said you’re in the Japanese Literature department?”
“Yeah. Japanese Lit.”
“Wow, then will you be my guide when I go on a trip to Japan later?”
“Um… of course.”
“What’s with the hesitation?”
We debated where to eat and eventually settled on a barbecue joint. Naturally, it was the kind where I had to do all the grilling. I listened to their incessant chatter while handing pieces of perfectly cooked meat to Do Harim.
If my sister was just being lazy and dumping the work on me, this girl genuinely didn't know how to grill meat. In short, she was a brat. A total brat.
“Are you going to the orientation?”
I asked while putting more meat on the grill. Do Harim glanced up at me, her eyes narrowing as she dipped her meat in salt.
“I don’t know. I don’t even know when it is.”
“You’re not going?”
“Honestly, I’m not really into that. The networking, the... crap-working. That kind of stuff.”
My sister chimed in, picking at the meat with her chopsticks.
“No, you should go. It’s fun.”
“I’m telling you, I’m a total I (introvert), unnie. I don’t think I’ll be able to say a word.”
“With a face like yours, the guys will just talk to you on their own.”
“Ugh, it’s just... I don’t know. And they’re all going to be so young. I don’t even like guys.”
“You have this aura that makes you hard to approach, so if you don’t do it then, you might not have anyone talk to you for the whole year.”
A 24-year-old freshman. That part is fine, but a Jirai-kei style shut-in with major loner tendencies? Even to me, that’s a cause for concern.
She’d been holed up at home until she was 24, so I doubted she’d adapt well. What if she gets taken advantage of by some guy?
She’s the perfect target for bad guys, isn't she? She looks fragile, delicate. Gloomy. Even her face looks depressed. ...Wait, what the hell am I thinking? Shibal. I ravished my aunt like a beast just a few days ago, and these are the thoughts running through my head?
Is this hypocrisy? Or is my brain so fried that I can’t even tell the difference anymore?
I don’t know.
Do Harim’s eyes looked droopy because of her signature makeup. Regardless, she had a face that looked like it could be easily "devoured." And I don't mean that in a sexual way—I mean it’s the kind of face that looks like it would easily have its heart stolen.
“Honestly, I’m worried about Do Harim. There won’t be any bad guys in the Japanese Lit department, right?”
“What are you saying?”
Just then, my sister snatched the piece of meat I was about to eat. I watched as she handed it to Do Harim. It was infuriating.
“Eat up, Harim. Unnie doesn’t need to eat. Just watching you eat makes me full, seriously.”
“Thank you.”
“That was the one I was going to eat, you ssib-saekki (bastard).”
Do Harim looked at me with wide eyes and let out a giggle.
Those droopy eyes again. Is that kind of makeup really pretty? I look and look, but I just don’t get it. I’ve seen it in manga a few times. Jirai-kei stuff. Hmm. Suddenly, my appetite vanished.
“Shibal.”
“Why are you swearing all of a sudden?”
“I burned my tongue.”
“Retard.”
Anyway, after we finished eating while listening to them talk, we stepped out of the restaurant so my sister could hit the restroom.
The air had turned chilly as evening approached.
Do Harim rummaged through her cute handbag and pulled something out, bringing it to her lips. I realized it was an electronic cigarette.
“Are you really not worried? About going to college?”
I leaned against the wall and looked down at her. Do Harim, who had opened her phone to check Twitter, exhaled a cloud of smoke and let out a “Hrmmm.”
“It’s a little... it feels weird. The vibe.”
“What’s weird about it?”
“I don’t know, just the fact that I’m going at 24.”
“Well, it’s not *that* weird. There were plenty of guys who were 24 or 25 when I was attending.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, plenty. Mostly guys who hadn’t gone to the military yet.”
“Hrmmmm.”
She stared blankly at her Twitter feed, scrolling with her finger. Then, she gave me a sidelong glance.
“…Should I go? To the orientation?”
“Go if you want to.”
“But it feels like it’ll be awkward. But they say it’s the flower of college life.”
“Ugh, you idiot. You clearly want to go. Has the group chat been made yet?”
“Two days ago, I think.”
“Ah, you’re screwed. Your profile picture and background look like you have a mental illness. You’re already in big trouble.”
“What?”
Her white fingers quickly closed Twitter and opened KakaoTalk. Do Harim’s profile was a disaster, even by my standards. Her profile picture was a close-up of her hugging a cat doll, and her background was some ridiculous square character from Roblox, or whatever game kids play these days.
“What’s with the background? I can never get used to it when I see it.”
“Oh this? I saved it from a meme. It’s hilarious.”
She had decorated it with every possible sticker, and her profile music was some Japanese song—Ringo or something. She’d changed her profile picture over 181 times. That was the number recorded in the history. And her status message was ‘—misfit03—’. This crazy girl.
“People in your department are looking at your profile and thinking, ‘What is this freak?’ They’re probably sharing it with their friends.”
“What are you talking about? It’s super cute.”
“*Sigh*, anyway, just try going. You have a low tolerance for alcohol, so don’t drink too much.”
“What is this? Are you worried about me?”
“Yeah. Because you’re such a brat.”
“Woo-ooh-ooh. Woo-ooh-ooh.”
She made a weird sound, intentionally mocking me. That was typical Do Harim.
“Oh, right. By the way, I’m back on that game. Overwatch. Why don’t you turn on Discord these days?”
Do Harim asked as she puffed on her vape.
“My sister took over my room, so I have to move my computer.”
“Seol-unnie?”
“Yeah. She’s a total psycho.”
Do Harim giggled as if it were funny. That’s when it happened.
“Hey, I’m the victim here. That brat’s room smells like absolute shit.”
My sister emerged from the restaurant and draped her arm over Do Harim’s shoulder. She leaned in and sniffed the top of Do Harim’s head.
“Ah!”
Do Harim cried out, but that psycho Lee Seol kept sniffing her hair, even clicking her front teeth against it as if she were biting her. She’s seriously insane. What is so fun about that? I let out an intentional sigh and asked.
“So, is there anything else you want to do?”
—
It turns out there was more to do than I thought.
I didn’t know Do Harim had so many places she wanted to go. We hit up a cafe, a PC bang, and every other place imaginable before finally heading home.
It was already past 9 PM.
Living close by was definitely a plus. Being able to meet nearby and part ways nearby. I wondered if her father helped her with the rent for her place. She was the definition of a loner who was hard to even catch a glimpse of, but seeing her after so long was surprisingly fun. It was a complicated feeling. I was drained, but I also had fun.
“Wow. I’m seriously sleepy as hell.”
Of course, my sister didn’t look like it at all.
For the record, Lee Seol took a critical hit at the PC bang. While we were playing Overwatch, she just sat there wearing the headset, watching a drama.
“I’m just going to wash up immediately.”
“Right now?”
“The PC bang smells so weird. It smells like an old man. The same smell you have.”
“Why are you being a bitch all of a sudden?”
“Get lost. Retard.”
I seriously doubt that this person is the same one who was cooing in front of Do Harim earlier. My sister threw off her outer layer as if it were suffocating her. Then she started pulling off her top, only to let out a pained, “Augh!” She’d gotten it stuck while trying to take it off.
What a mess.
“Wow. You’re a disaster.”
Oh. My inner thoughts had slipped out.
“Ah, shibal. This clothes...”
“What are you doing?”
“Hey, hey, hey. My head, my head is stuck. Help me.”
“Help you with what?”
“No, the buttons, undo the buttons.”
She had been flailing around and ended up wrapping the shirt around her head and arms. Watching her struggle was actually pretty funny.
“Hurry up and do it. Don’t just stand there laughing, you gae-saekki (son of a bitch).”
“If you swear like that, I lose all desire to help you.”
“Just hurry up...”
I stepped toward my sister. The smell of the PC bang hit me instantly. And mixed in with it was the pungent scent of her perfume.
“Don’t let it touch my face, don’t let it touch my face.”
I tried to lift the clothing caught on her arms, but it was difficult because the fabric was so tight. Especially since I had to avoid touching her face.
So, without realizing it, I stopped my hands and lowered my gaze.
Her white side, the skin falling beneath it... in other words, skin that was slightly glistening from sweat.
...Ah, right. That’s why it gets stuck when she takes it off.
“Ah, what are you doing?”
My sister shouted from inside the shirt.
I quickly pulled myself together.
“Just take it off properly. Stop being a mess.”
“Seriously.”
It was a typical phenomenon that happened when she tried to take off her clothes without letting them touch her face before removing her makeup. In short, it was the karma of laziness. In the end, she had no choice but to let it touch her face.
“Ugh, shibal, you’re seriously useless.”
“You’re the one who gained weight, don’t blame me.”
“What kind of bullshit is that? I’m not the type to gain weight.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Fine, I’m telling Mom. That you’re beating your meat like crazy.”
“Shibal.”
When I made a disgusted face, my sister gave me a wicked smile. A face that said, *pfft*.
“Stop that, seriously. Isn’t that childish? It’s just so tiresome.”
“Nope. Not childish at all. Not tiresome at all. So get lost now.”
“Why should I get lost? We’re in the living room.”
“I said get lost. I need to wash up.”
Just then, my sister brazenly stripped off her pants like a molting snake, walked to the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and went inside. Then I heard the sound of water. The sound of the sink running. That bitch is a real piece of work. I stood there blankly, looking at the clothes she’d left on the floor, and shouted toward the bathroom.
“Hey, put them in the laundry basket! They smell like barbecue!”
Only the sound of water answered me; there was no reply. Mom had told her countless times to put them in the washing machine or the hamper, but she never listened. How is she ever going to get married? Was her last relationship a year ago? I think the guy was pretty decent.
I remember they broke up because of my sister’s shitty personality.
I picked up my sister’s clothes.
Compared to the thin top, the wide-legged jeans were heavy.
...But what did she mean by ‘beating my meat like crazy’? As I walked toward the laundry room on the balcony with her clothes in my hands, I felt spiteful and couldn't stop thinking about what she’d said. It wasn’t because of anyone else, but because of *her*, that I couldn't even masturbate in peace lately. Damn it. Wasn’t the only time I’d released tension recently when I fucked my aunt?
“…….”
Ah, damn it.
I felt like I was going to get an erection.
Of course, it was absolutely not because of my sister’s clothes, but because I’d remembered what happened with my aunt. Especially when she clung to me, saying she was going crazy for me. She was just my professional aunt, my aunt with a good marriage... but she acted like a female who had tasted that kind of pleasure for the first time in her life...
Is that why people watch NTR (Netorare) content? Because they want to see the side of someone that isn't shown to them, but is easily shown to some golden-tanned, big-cocked punk?
But shibal, when I think about it, isn’t what I’m doing right now that exact fictional situation? Holy shit. What have I done? I actually did something I’d only ever seen in manga. And then, the next day, and the day after that, the only thing I think about is, ‘Can I fuck her again?’
‘Wow.’
Was I always this ugly?
I stopped in my tracks. My expression didn't show much, but my emotions were incredibly vivid right now.
And the sensation in my hands was also extremely vivid.
Denim pants engraved with strange English and drawings. The rough, characteristic texture of the "vintage" fabric felt bumpy against my palms. It was my sister’s. ...My sister. Hmm. ...Would my sister also change like my aunt did when she has sex? Like a woman? Like a real woman?
My mom’s daughter, who doesn't even have a feminine bone in her body, moaning and writhing under a man? I can’t really imagine it... Ah, but if I *could* imagine it...
Isn’t that even more dangerous?
Huh?
‘Shibal.’
With a heart that was pounding for some reason, I looked down at the clothes in my hands. For the record, the pounding was because of what happened with my aunt, and definitely not because of my sister. Absolutely not.
“…….”
I want to smell the pants. I don’t know why, but that impulse rose up strongly for a moment. Ah, of course. The reason is just to check how much the smell of the barbecue had soaked in... just to check once. Because of that. Solely for that reason.
It’s just for that. There’s no other reason.
A mix of the PC bang smell and the barbecue smell, with the lingering scent of perfume deeply embedded in it. In the end, that was my impression after I’d already smelled it.
“*Sseup*, haaa...”
The feeling of smelling my sister’s clothes, and the pants at that... the feeling is... truly bizarre. A fact I realized today.
Ah.
My head is spinning.
The reason is... ah.
Hmm.
I immediately shoved the pants I’d been burying my nose into into the laundry basket next to the washing machine. The fact that the part I was smelling was the very center of the pants is truly, truly a fact I can never, ever tell anyone. I mean, the fact that it was the dead center where a faint musky scent was rising—I can never tell anyone that. I shoved the rest of the clothes in and immediately pulled my phone out of my pocket.
I opened KakaoTalk.
The recipient was my aunt.
🐱 (Cat knocking on door emoji)
A long message that clearly showed signs of deliberation.
I held my head for a moment before sending a reply.
I think I was the one in the wrong that day.
I sincerely apologize.
I’ll see you tomorrow... I’m sorry.
I’m such a pathetic bastard. The worst kind of animal.
That thought hit me with intense force.
I’ll sincerely apologize to my aunt tomorrow.
I was definitely not this kind of beast.