쇼윈도 부부

Kim Hyun Mi. When I say a woman is beautiful, I don’t mean she is attractive; I mean she is as if tailor-made to my picky preferences. The particular hair type I love, the precise eyes I love, the nuanced body I love, the feminine voice I love, the specific smell I love, all of it hits the spot. Nothing is unfortunate, not a touch off, not too much or too little, and she’s what I have in mind when I use the word beautiful. Kim Hyun Mi is the most beautiful Korean woman I’ve known personally, maybe more than any non-Korean woman I’ve known and called beautiful. Maybe she is the all-time top.

Kim Hyun Mi was married.

But she kinda wasn’t. According to her, anyway.

She had told everybody at the academy we taught at together that she was married, and legally, she was. I thought to myself, too bad, because if she wasn’t married, I would marry her. That was how I felt about her even before we had so much as said “Annyeonghaseyo.” Besides being beautiful, we became close work friends. When we were alone in the break room together, she offered me her number, and my cock inflated faster and harder than I knew what to do with. She eyed my pitched britches and blushed, then returned to work. Yeah, I’m telling a real story here, so we couldn’t follow erotica logic and fuck right there in a workplace filled with people… but believe me, I would have.

Because she asked me to, I visited her at her midnight academy to help her tutor her private students, and so we quickly became friends outside of work, too. She wasn’t paying me to help her tutor, so she insisted on feeding me before those late classes. Then we started meeting for lunch and coffee, and from there she asked me what I’d like to see in Korea during my time there. She insisted on taking me around and showing me her region. We hiked hill trails, saw a couple of movies, and visited local attractions and festivals. We chatted a lot, and really it was the level and duration of dating where you’d expect sex by then… but I thought she was married, and she hadn’t made any clear moves. So it sat in this kind of sexless love limbo, which I didn’t mind, surprisingly. Not surprisingly, I was jacking off to thoughts of her constantly.

Korea has two romantic holidays. On Valentine’s Day, women give men gifts and candy and confess to their crushes. On White Day, the roles reverse; men get the balls to write cards, buy flowers, and all that. Well, White Day came, and I didn’t do anything for her. That was partly because I was unfamiliar with the tradition, but also because I wasn’t sure how she’d take it.

She was pissed.

I asked her, a little ticked off myself, to clarify what we were. She explained that, well, no, actually, she and her husband were not “married-married,” in her reckoning of it. According to her, they had separated. He lived in another city, and they only met for holidays and stuff related to their little girl. They agreed not to tell anybody, she said, and didn’t legally divorce, but they were not in love, not attached, and had not been dependent on one another for the last few years. She said that wasn’t so unusual in her country. She said they’re called “show window booboo.” She asked me not to tell anybody.

I took that to mean she wanted me to think that she was available, even if she wasn’t cleanly available. So we started “real dating,” seeing each other all the time in town. She brought her little girl along, and we went out of town on weekends to act more visibly couple-like: holding hands in public, kissing.

We were going back to hotels and my apartment, and finally, for fucking God’s sake, we started fucking. I have to stop, start, stop as I write this because remembering her naked and on my cock causes me to look off into the distance and enter a daze. The memories are so vivid, it’s like I’m there with her again. I couldn’t stop running my hands and mouth all over her. I groped, caressed, licked, nommed, and consumed everything down to her toes and back up again. She was flawless, and I had to consciously calm myself down repeatedly.

Her tits fit perfectly in my hands, as did her waist. I reached under her arms and gave her tits a gentle but firm squeeze, her nipples pinched out between my fingers as I fucked her from behind. She moved intuitively. She took initiative. She was wet and creamy. She writhed, and her hair fell over her face. Her mouth fell open. I nibbled her bottom lip. She gyrated her hips, rubbing her clit into me. I remember all these things in a flurry of hot fuck. And we were like this again and again. My hands on her shoulders as she bounced in my lap. Her hands wrapping around my arms and getting a grasp of their muscular diameter. My fingers probing into her pussy and stirring around as she clenched up. Her tongue in my ear. Her mouth sucking my neck. Just heaven, day after day, night after night.

I would not have minded at all if I got her pregnant and she wanted to keep it. I said I would marry her, right? I could marry her. I mean, why not? I was already rocking some stepdad aura with her little girl, and I had no reason not to envision myself down that road.

I had no idea it would come apart as fast as it did.

Step one: She introduced me to her friend, then her cousin, then her mom and dad. She actually had me visiting, hanging out with, and slipping into family gatherings like I had known them forever.

Step two: She tried denying that they were scandalized by the whole running-around-with-a-foreign-white-guy-while-still-technically-married thing. Yes, they tore into her. Yes, she was pulling her hair out.

Step three: Her husband was bombarded with pleas from her family to come back and get her. Take her back. Repair their marriage. If not for themselves, then for their little girl.

He didn’t want to. She didn’t want to. But Korean society is odd enough. Family dynamics are different. Adults are pressured into making life decisions by their parents, siblings, cousins, and friends.

I was out with Kim Hyun Mi when her phone kept going off. She ignored it, but her mood was startling. She was a woman tortured. I put two and two together.

“That’s your husband.”

She was red, snot coming out of her nose, clinging to me, pulling at my shirt, and rubbing her tears all over it.

“I can’t think. My husband came into town this morning. I told everyone I won’t meet him, but my family told me they will never speak to me again if I don’t give him another chance.”

I had thought about what I’d do if it came to this, so I told her my idea.

“Just make them happy. Meet him.”

“You want me to meet him?” she asked. “You won’t be hurt if I do?”

“Hyun Mi. Make everyone happy. You can talk to him face-to-face. Then, if you two agree to a real divorce, you and I can do what we want to do.”

She calmed down, her demeanor vastly improved.

“Really?”

I nodded.

“Yes. It’s fine.”

We fucked there in my apartment. Then she left to go meet her husband, full of my sperm. He was waiting at a fancy restaurant. She told me it was “our restaurant,” where he had first proposed to her.

And that was the last time we were intimate. She did try to restore her marriage. I left her alone so she could. Later, a few years later, I learned from her that it didn’t work like her family had hoped, and she got an actual divorce.

But I had moved on.