I Said It's Not
I had known of its existence, but this was the first time I had ever examined one up close.
They said it was molded after the inside of a woman's vagina, yet the raw, unapologetic craftsmanship of it drew a laugh right out of me. From the entrance alone it seemed to announce, Here I am—look at me, and my hand drifted toward it of its own accord.
Made of silicone, it was soft and yielding yet somehow still firm in places; compared to real skin, it left a lot to be desired. Artificial skin was hardly common, so I supposed I ought to praise them for managing even this much.
"Tsk."
Having seen the real thing only recently, I kept finding myself disappointed.
I swallowed a breath and slipped a finger inside. The squeeze was there, but the resistance felt oddly vague.
I stripped off my pants and wrapped my hand around the cock standing stiff and ready. When I drizzled lube over the tip, the cold made it twitch on its own. Cold at first, yet the more I worked it with my hand the warmer it grew, until the sensation started to feel decent enough.
A wet, squelching sound rose.
Once everything was coated, only one thing remained to do.
I smeared the leftover lube from my fingers into the onahole, not deep, but scooping and scraping as if wiping the whole interior clean. The inside was quite bumpy; I could rake my fingers along those walls without trouble.
"Hss."
Preparations finished. I swallowed another breath and brought the onahole into place.
No special posture was required. Being able to hold it in one hand meant I could thrust freely—that was the real advantage.
Unlike when I had used my fingers, there was real resistance now. Even if it did not go in smoothly, it would never scream or thrash and refuse me. And no matter how roughly I drove into it, there was no one to hurt.
When I sank deep inside with a solid thud, a heavy settling sensation stole my breath for a moment.
Without the lube, it probably would not have gone in at all. Instinct told me that much.
"Whoa…"
A sigh of pure wonder slipped out.
Compared to the real thing it still fell short in places, but taken on its own merits it was not bad at all.
Tight, resistant, and every movement dragged those bumpy ridges across me in a fierce rush of stimulation.
That alone was enough to understand why onaholes existed.
It was as if they offered a different kind of stimulation from the real thing—close, yet deliberately distinct.
People said men were dull, but that was not entirely true. Caught between the living, slick, clenching flesh of the real thing and the hard, knobby pressure of a fake, a man would still go into heat and come on his own. That was simply how the male animal worked.
Considering that male libido was stronger than a woman's to begin with, the way it just spilled over whenever it pleased was almost troublesome.
It had not even been that long, yet I already felt as though the male body was devouring me.
I worried the pace might be too fast, yet the thought that I would never get another chance once we switched back kept me from stopping.
Squelch. Schlick, squelch.
The lewd sounds echoed through the bathroom, invading even my ears.
Schlick, squelch.
The wet noises grew hotter by the second. My hips locked rigid; my hand moved faster.
I remembered the last time I had come clumsily and been left even more frustrated. The determination that it would never happen again made me hurry on pure instinct.
Was this the third time? I was starting to get the hang of it.
I slammed all the way to the wall at the end of the hole and still wanted more, so I clenched my fist tight. These large hands had no trouble gripping the thick cylinder and holding on.
I gritted my teeth and held out. Then, the moment I truly reached the edge, I bore down from deep inside.
"Kh—!"
A violent shudder.
Everything that had been building inside came pouring out at once. Different from piss—thick, somehow clotted, forced out in a rush.
While that sensation lasted I could barely move. Sweat beaded on my skin as I kept my hand still. My fingers trembled.
Huff, huff. Breathing hard, I slowly pulled free.
I had filled it so full that some of it finally leaked out between the lips of the hole. Not a huge amount, yet the sight of that sticky mess coating the female-shaped entrance brought that other time flooding back and made me throb again.
Having just come, I did not think I could go another round, but the hardness itself seemed ready to last a while longer.
"Damn, that was something…"
I stuck my middle and ring fingers in and stirred. Being an object, the tightness never changed, yet a residual heat lingered—proof that a living body had been thrusting in and out only moments before.
Now I had two things to wash, but the satisfaction was high.
The pleasure a male body received was brief, yet I felt firsthand how good that single moment itself could be.
Crazy bastard. Buying it and immediately jerking off?
The way he moved was completely different. Until just recently he had been a woman; now his behavior made that hard to believe.
People said little sisters were not really girls, but this felt like a separate issue entirely. Even if the body had been pent-up with lust, I would not have expected him to dive in this hard. Maybe I had been wrong all along.
My head throbbed. Anxious feet tapped out a restless rhythm against the floor.
I rose on those tapping feet and planted myself in front of the bathroom door.
Water ran for a bit, then came the sound of someone shaking off, and the door opened.
"Hey, have some decency…"
"What?"
He stepped out bare, not even wearing underwear, and my words died in my throat.
He seemed to have wiped off roughly with a towel, but the exposed lower half left my mouth working uselessly.
"Put some clothes on."
"I didn't bring anything to change into. …But why are you embarrassed? It's your body."
"It's not that I'm embarrassed—it's that your behavior is ridiculous. It feels like you're showing me yourself naked. Aren't you the one who should be embarrassed?"
"…I didn't know you'd be standing guard right outside. Why are you doing that? You're making it awkward."
Put that way, I had nothing to say.
I squeezed my eyes shut and took a step back. Quietly I went to the sofa and lay down; a moment later I heard him hurry inside.
He vanished into my room, rummaged through the drawers, changed, and ambled back out.
"Song Hamin."
"What."
"So? Didn't you have something to say?"
"…I was just going to tell you to keep it moderate."
"Keep what moderate?"
"Your jerking off."
I did not even have the energy to get angry; I just tossed the words out.
A sigh rose on its own, but what else could I do?
"I keep getting horny—what am I supposed to do? I'm not some damn rabbit, but every morning it's like this. It's exhausting."
"That doesn't mean you have to jerk off every morning. Just think, 'Oh, healthy body,' and move on."
"Healthy my ass. It builds up until it feels like I have to release it or something."
Watching Song Haneul answer so bluntly, I thought, He's fully become a man.
Hormones should not have taken over that fast. Maybe he was just the type who got swept up by instinct easily.
"Then at least leave me alone a little."
"Why, so you can jerk off?"
"…Just leave me alone when I'm washing."
"Didn't we agree we'd just look at each other while washing?"
"There's nothing good about looking anyway."
"Then just say the word and wash."
Huh? He was giving in that easily?
No—he had done it himself, so he could no longer keep bossing me around about everything.
Whatever the reason, I had gotten what I wanted. The constant feeling of eyes on me while I washed had been uncomfortable; easing that was enough for now.
"Okay."
I turned on the TV I almost never watched and stared blankly at it.
I flipped through the movie channels for the first time in ages, checking if anything interesting was on, then drifted back to variety shows.
Not that any of it was fun.
It was the moment I remembered all over again why I had stopped watching TV in the first place.
I thought about playing a game, but I had been losing interest lately; the money I had spent on it already felt wasted.
Maybe I should just sell it.
"Move your feet."
"Ah, why. There's floor."
"It's hard."
He suddenly decided he was going to sit at my feet and started shoving his way in with his hips; it was annoying.
I lifted my legs just enough; that seemed to satisfy him. He settled into the gap. When I lowered my legs again he no longer seemed to care and simply rested them on his own knees.
Maybe legs really were more comfortable raised a little higher than flat on the floor.
We sat in silence, each fiddling with our phones.
Neither of us bothered hunting for conversation. We spent the time texting friends or looking for something amusing.
By the time friends stopped answering and the videos grew tiresome, Song Haneul was still parked at my feet.
"You said you were writing a portfolio—aren't you working on it?"
"I need to think a bit more. And right now it's kind of awkward. I don't know if our bodies will switch back or not, so finishing something and submitting it feels hard. Can't I just review things until then?"
"Well, it's yours. Do whatever you want."
"Let me ask the opposite—what will you do if we haven't switched back by the time you re-enroll? Just so you know, I have no intention of going in your place."
I hesitated a moment, but if the body stayed like this I would have to give up.
"Applications are in January. If it's still like this I'll just drop it and aim for next year."
"Suit yourself."
The simple fact that our bodies had switched was enough to tangle our entire lives.
Plans laid out for our goals were delayed and thrown off course—that was no exaggeration.
A single year of difference could shift the flow and make the job market harder, among other problems.
Still, some things you simply had to let go.
It was not a situation I could force, either.
"What about your job search getting delayed? If the gap years pile up, won't that actually hurt you?"
I had my problems, but so did he.
He had dropped out of college halfway and was now a high-school graduate—how exactly did he plan to get hired?
"Writers compete with their work, so it's fine."
"That confident, are we? Ow!"
The moment I let out a snicker he pinched my toe.
"You've got a real talent for getting under people's skin."
"That actually hurts. Seriously. You don't know your own strength, do you?"
"I pinched it so it would hurt—why would I hold back?"
Was he serious?
I had thought he simply did not realize how much stronger he had become.
Or maybe he was putting his full strength into it because he still remembered when he was weak?
"I thought my toe was going to come off."
"I thought my ears were going to come off. You okay screaming like that?"
"What did I do?"
I paused and put a hand to my throat.
I had gotten used to producing a woman's voice, but raising it like that was another matter entirely.
How exactly had I screamed?
Ah—ah. I cleared my throat softly and recalled the sound that had come out on reflex.
"You went 'Kyak!'"
"It was 'Ahk,' okay?"
"It was 'Kyak' to my ears."
"Your ears must be broken."
Honestly. Unbelievable.
A girl who would hear any scream as a 'kyak.'
"Then scream again and prove it."
"Ah, cut it out."
"Euh, hzmrl."
"I said stop."
"Hzmlrg."
He had just accused me of getting under people's skin, yet he was taking it even further?
"Uh-huh, uh-huh. At, at!"
"Oh, was that just a 'kyak'? Song Hamin's fully become a girl."
The sly laugh that followed sent a chill down my spine.
"I said it's not. Are you crazy?"
Even as I recoiled in disgust, Song Haneul looked ready to keep going.