Give It to Me Later
Women hold hands with each other. They pull each other into hugs. When it comes to expressing closeness, nothing quite matches physical touch—so the gestures come out naturally.
Men, on the other hand, spent their entire school lives recoiling from one another's contact. No hand-holding, no embraces—just a careful effort never to close the prescribed distance between them.
At first I wondered if it was simply because the genders were different. But little by little, I started to understand.
Women figure it's fine between women. Men don't.
I'd thought that if you were drawn to someone, gender wouldn't matter—anything would be okay. But for men, that kind of standard simply doesn't exist.
"Crazy bitch."
And right now, calling myself crazy wasn't entirely wrong.
Because what I was saying was that I was going to jerk off looking at myself. It might have been completely absurd. Getting turned on by the body in the mirror is no easy thing.
It takes a serious case of narcissism to pull that off.
But right now, for some reason, it felt possible.
More than the feeling of looking at myself, it felt like looking at someone else.
The thing jutting out between my legs—something that hadn't originally been there—wanted it desperately. I'd gotten hard but hadn't managed any release, and the craving only grew stronger by the minute.
I found myself wondering if masturbating without anything to look at was really this difficult, even as my eyes drifted toward the body right in front of me.
The face being my face was the problem—but if I could just cover that, I figured I could manage somehow.
Song Hamin hadn't done a proper job of it, but at least she'd shown me how, so it shouldn't be impossible.
"It's not like I'm asking you to do anything extra. Why are you being like this?"
I couldn't hold out. I was going insane.
I could feel my head going weird in real time.
It was burning now. I'd been gripping it so long it had gone numb and tingly.
"You're out of your mind… Just look in the mirror and do it."
"How am I supposed to do it looking at your face?!"
"And looking at your own body while you jerk off makes sense?"
Seeing the look of pure disgust on Song Hamin's face as she sat on the floor across from the toilet made me flinch.
I had nothing to say for myself, but I'd asked her to cover her face, so I figured that made it okay.
I didn't really know. All I knew was that I wanted release as soon as humanly possible—even a second sooner.
I'd thought I could handle sexual desire just fine. I'd never dreamed in my life that it could be this overwhelming.
"When this was my body, I never once wanted to do anything like this. It's because of you…! Your body is making me weird like this…"
"Ha, fine. Go ahead. Look all you want, jerk off, and get out."
After the endless back-and-forth, Song Hamin finally seemed to give up and abandoned the argument.
She yanked her clothes up, and the breasts that had been hidden beneath the loose fabric spilled into view. Even knowing it was my body, the way they rode up with the fabric and then dropped with a heavy jolt was almost violent.
So this is why people stared. This is what that felt like.
There's a difference between guessing from a mirror and seeing breasts through someone else's eyes.
I'd seen them a few times since swapping bodies with Song Hamin, but every time I registered them, they felt different.
"Hey, can you cover your face?"
"Your demands are fucking ridiculous."
"I'll pay you more."
The way she grumbled and gave in was absurd, but I was the one who needed this right now.
I had plenty of allowance money—I'd been stuck at home so long it had piled up.
I just never expected I'd end up spending it on something like this.
"This feels weird. Like I'm selling my body."
"You're showing my body to me. What's the problem?"
"I mean my senses feel weird. Don't you feel anything while you're jerking off?"
A man's body, solid with muscle. A man's cock that got hard whether I wanted it to or not.
That instinctive sensation of hunting for something—it depended entirely on what I could see.
"Just… can we talk after I finish once?"
"Go ahead, then."
Shit, I muttered under my breath, and she heard it.
In a household where you almost never heard swearing at home, the shock of it hit a little hard.
It's not like I wanted to be doing this either.
She might feel wronged, but so did I.
If we hadn't swapped bodies, I wouldn't be in the bathroom jerking off—I'd just be living day to day. Did Song Hamin have any idea how exhausting it was to suddenly find yourself having to masturbate as a man?
She didn't, which is why she was acting like this. If she knew, she couldn't make that face.
"…Seriously, don't look at me weird."
"How much weirder can I look? Is covering it like this enough?"
Having given up, Song Hamin didn't want to drag it out any further. She pulled the lifted shirt all the way up over her face.
It was a ridiculous sight, but once the face was covered and only the body was visible, it stopped mattering.
I knew it was my body, but it felt less like looking at my own reflection and more like looking at someone else's. Just the fact of the body swap was enough to throw my perception off-kilter.
That was clearly "me," and yet the fact that the current me was sitting right here somehow made everything misaligned.
My head grew more and more confused.
I'd written all kinds of stories aspiring to be a broadcast writer, but this was a first—and I was just as lost as anyone.
Even so, my body was responding. Seeing myself get hard looking at a woman's body made me wonder if the problem was Song Hamin's body.
Song Hamin getting hard looking at Song Haneul's body.
Thinking of it that way—wasn't I suffering like this because of Song Hamin?
Do men really get turned on by a woman's body no matter what, family or not?
I didn't know. Not right now.
"Ugh."
My arm started to ache. I could barely put any real force into it—I had to pour every bit of strength in my forearm just to keep moving.
Even completely drained, I poured sweat into chasing that climax that had somehow built all the way to the edge.
In a bathroom that had been empty of anything just moments ago, there was Song Hamin with her bra-clad breasts exposed.
Before I could register that it was Song Hamin, before I could register that it had been my body, the cock that had hardened on pure instinct grew even harder, swelling larger.
Slap, slap-slap.
I gripped it more fiercely and moved more violently than when Song Hamin had done it for me.
Slap-slap. Over and over, until the climax surged up.
That sensation I'd been chasing for hours without ever reaching the end—I could feel it rising.
Splat. A wet spurt.
"Huh?"
Slap. On that final hard pull, a helpless spray of white fluid shot out.
The cock twitched, expelling the sticky, viscous liquid inside. After a few more spurts, I felt it was over.
"Ah, fuck…"
And Song Hamin, still holding up her shirt, let out a curse.
The semen I'd shot had landed all over her raised arms and shirt, and she made no effort to hide her disgust.
Something felt strange.
"Sorry."
"Could you not shoot it somewhere else…? It's your body—shouldn't you be more careful?"
"…Yeah. Want to wash up?"
"I will. I don't want any more of it on me."
I wondered which "on me" she meant.
Song Hamin peeled the semen-stained clothes off in one go, as if she couldn't stand to pull them down over herself. She dropped them on the floor with a thud and flung the pants outside.
Like sorting what could still be worn from what couldn't.
Seeing her half-naked felt strange.
Embarrassed, she turned her back to me, and even though it was my body, it didn't feel like mine.
Strictly speaking, the current me was right here, so of course it would feel that way.
"Unhook it for me. I can't reach."
"How did you undo it before…?"
"I just rolled around on the bed until it came off somehow."
I fumbled awkwardly out of residual guilt, but the strange feeling wouldn't leave.
It wasn't the sense of having dirtied my own body. It wasn't being upset by Song Hamin's cursing.
It wasn't even guilt toward someone who'd felt disgust at being covered in her own body's fluids.
Selfishly, what I felt was emptiness.
I'd been sure the climax had built all the way to the peak—but it was nothing like I'd expected.
I'd thought a volcano was about to erupt, but instead it was like a crack had opened underneath and everything just leaked out in a dribble.
It felt unfinished, incomplete—and yet it was done, with nothing more coming out.
"Done?"
"Yeah."
She stripped off her underwear too and turned on the shower.
Maybe she knew I was too stubborn to leave—the way she started washing right in front of me pulled my gaze.
Maybe because the orgasm had been so half-hearted, the desire clung on, sticky and refusing to leave.
What had been about to go limp and droop hardened again, rising stiffly upward.
I no longer knew whether Song Hamin's body was the strange one, or my mind.
It had clearly been my body, and yet I was getting this turned on by it.
"I want to wash up and get out of here too."
"…Do whatever."
We washed in turn and left the bathroom.
It had been a limp, unsatisfying masturbation session with a weak orgasm, but the memory of it burned intensely.
Back in the room after washing up, I stared blankly and poked around on my laptop.
Getting aroused by your own body. I searched, and words like autosexuality and sexual fetishism lined up on the screen.
I stared blankly, chewing on my nails as I scrolled down.
Click, click. The mouse wheel rolled, and my eyes followed.
Treating yourself as a sexual object didn't seem common—but the word nested beneath it, incest, burned itself into my vision and wouldn't leave.
"I'm a fucking psycho. Seriously."
No matter how much the body was mine, knowing Song Hamin was inside it made this completely insane.
Even setting that aside—looking at a woman's body and jerking off just because I'd become a man was already crossing a line.
At this rate, I'd have no right to say anything no matter what Song Hamin did with my body. That didn't make sense.
"Hey, aren't you gonna give me the hundred thousand won?"
Song Hamin walked past, shaking out a wet towel, hair fully dried.
Standing in the doorway, staring at me, she glanced at my laptop screen and let out a small sigh.
"…Give it to me later."
"Hey—hey hey hey! It's not what it looks like!!"
I didn't even know what "it" wasn't, but I grabbed her arm without thinking.
"What isn't it?! What the hell are you searching for, you crazy bitch?!"
"I thought I was going weird so I was looking up the symptoms!"
"It's a mental illness, obviously."
"Isn't there some kind of disease that makes bodies swap?"
At my words, Song Hamin's face twisted slightly.
"What, did you find a clue about our body swap?"
"I don't know about that."
"Did you even search for it?"
"No."
"…Let go."
Having lost all right to speak, I shut my mouth.
Right now, I was the guilty one.
I'd hounded Song Hamin so relentlessly for taking my body, and here I was doing this—my words carried no weight at all.
I'd done something stupid. At the very least, I should have closed the door.