On days precisely like today, I am accustomed to passing my time alongside a sex partner. A relationship forged strictly for the sake of sex, entirely distinct from romance. Y, an exceptionally intriguing companion, had undergone a fair amount of plastic surgery in the past, but having recently received another surgical procedure, she was currently in recovery and remained unavailable to meet. She frequently proposed that we at least share a meal together, but the question of how on earth one could enjoy delectable cuisine alongside a friend whose face was wrapped round and round in bandages invariably surfaced in my mind first. Anticipating that consuming food would be virtually unfeasible and that the vast majority of our time would be spent upon the bed, I resolved to encounter a disparate friend until her recovery was absolute.
M, an alternate partner of mine, is an intensely affectionate woman. She possesses a social and tender character capable of rendering practically anyone comfortable within a mere ten seconds. Upon our initial encounter, I was thoroughly captivated by her, yet advancing into a romantic relationship was untenable. Instead, regarding sex, we seemed to match each other to an exceptional degree. Much like myself, she is an intensely candid individual, which rendered passing the time highly amusing as we conversed about various tales from my past and erotic episodes. She took great pleasure in recounting to me a narrative concerning the heaviest man she had ever encountered. In return, I was accustomed to inquiring about several curiosities harbored within me—for instance, "Why is it that certain women refuse to engage in oral pleasure despite favoring it, while other women despise it yet refrain from making their distaste conspicuous?" Since romantic partners scarcely articulate their innermost thoughts directly, I was capable of receiving highly direct responses regarding my curiosities from my partners. Through those dialogues, it felt as though I acquired a substantial understanding of feminine psychology.
Though I hold zero interest in how frequently they encounter alternate men, when contemplating the rationale behind why they maintain a relationship with me and relish it, it appeared to stem from a mutual curiosity. The partners I encounter never fell short in terms of physical appearance. They are slender, and they are young. The companion who frequently undergoes plastic surgery numbers the oldest among them, yet she remains in her late twenties. Despite everything, the reason our connection persisted was likely due to the fact that conversing was highly entertaining, and our physical compatibility matched flawlessly.
Y was invariably accustomed to showering me with praise. What she intensely favored was observing from an extreme proximity. She took immense pleasure in watching from right before her eyes just how grand it could become, witnessing the peak moment of climax right in front of her. Possessing exceptionally large eyes and a character whose words and thoughts are remarkably pure, I would find myself bursting into laughter entirely unawares while spending time alongside her. Within the hours shared with her, a species of pure amusement resided. Aside from that, she is a woman holding a multitude of eccentricities due to her sheer clumsiness in all matters—presenting an image that would make anyone think, "She is utterly unsuited for domestic life"—yet we consistently pass highly entertaining hours. It seemed to constitute an exceptionally joyful moment for the both of us.
Conversely, M was far more intelligent, two years younger still, and intensely prone to jealousy. Because I shared a fairly candid narrative regarding how I pass my days, she was well-apprised of my circumstances; yet she would invariably manifest jealousy whenever the volume of ejaculation was meager. Though I failed to comprehend why she would exhibit jealousy over such a matter when she was not even my significant other, part of me wondered whether she secretly desired for me to draw closer to her. One peculiar trait she possesses is that she is an exceptionally filial daughter. She frequently purchases gifts for her parents and travels a considerable distance from Seoul to visit them. Consequently, whenever she journeys down to see her parents over the weekend, encountering her becomes impossible. Inevitably, the days available to see her were restricted almost entirely to the weekdays. Perhaps due to that very reason, she intensely desired to monopolize my weekdays.
There was an instance when we agreed to meet on a Monday, but owing to unexpected circumstances, the meeting fell through, resulting in me enduring her scoldings for several days thereafter. Urgent affairs had surfaced, and my physical condition had been far from optimal. Yet when she reached out multiple times insisting we meet, I gathered my strength and carved out the time. Though I lacked vitality and could not sustain it for a long duration, encountering her after a long interval revealed her shining brilliantly, identical to an evergreen tree as always.
The final partner, yet another Y, is the youngest among the three. Despite being of the tenderest age, she is a splendid companion who leaves a strong impression of being industrious, diligent, and steadfast as she labors earnestly throughout the entire day. She is exceptionally gaunt, frequently mentioning that she barely surpasses forty kilograms. The hours spent alongside her possess a peculiar species of consistency. She invariably cleanses herself first, and the moment I emerge from the bath, she stands waiting, completely divested of her garments and perfectly erect. Refusing to conceal her chest or genitalia out of bashfulness, she simply stands tall and waits. Upon beholding that sight, I would naturally lose all rationality. That physique, stretching long and slender both upward and downward, systematically banished my reason, rendering me entirely oblivious to how old I was or who I fundamentally was.
I am inclined to refrain from sharing personal narratives with her. I never once inquired regarding the tattoos whose traces remained after being etched and subsequently erased upon her flesh. We merely passed the time unearthing what each of us favored. Befitting her early twenties, she harbored a multitude of anxieties characteristic of women of that era, and I found that visage of hers to be immensely adorable. While striving to navigate society with earnest effort, she concurrently desired to appear far more attractive to men. She would occasionally pose inquiries such as this:
"They say that among the women in their twenties walking about Gangnam on weekends, if you don't get asked for your number, you aren't even a woman... yet no man ever asks for mine."
However, she is a striking beauty possessing a slender physique that women view as ideal, rendering it impossible for her to lack allure. I could roughly conjecture that if men refrained from inquiring after her contact information, it was likely due to a slightly sharp impression created by the subtle upward tilt of the corners of her eyes. Yet from my perspective, the absence of men asking for her number felt somewhat preferable. If possible, I desired to immerse myself entirely and relish this time. I had no wish for charming men to render this woman’s mind unsettled.
Both for those women and for myself, it felt as though we had become entangled through a highly unique destiny. I could not help but wonder whether we had systematically become the missing puzzle pieces for one another. The first Y was a pure individual, one who discovered immense amusement in her connection with me. I, too, had no desire to forfeit the joyful hours where laughter burst forth due to her purity. Through encountering the second companion, M, there is a singular truth I came to realize. Though she is an exceptionally intelligent and methodical individual, she harbored a submissive inclination. Consequently, she seemed to long for someone capable of soothing or stimulating that specific disposition, even if not excessively so. I suspect that the diverse, candid narratives from my past shared during our extensive conversations served to stimulate her hidden desires.
Lastly, what species of person was I to the youngest Y? Perhaps I manifested as an intriguing adult figure. In truth, I am far from certain. I remain oblivious as to what specific aspect induced her to maintain this species of relationship with me. I do not know her, just as she does not truly know me.
While it may far from constitute the idealized sex life, traversing a highly diverse array of experiences has granted me a singular realization. From my perspective, it applies identically to women and men alike: individuals are incapable of being completely candid with their girlfriends or boyfriends, and they fail to entirely demand their raw desires. That failure likely constitutes a blend of the shame of being rejected, terror, and sheer awkwardness. Conversely, within a partner relationship, this specific dimension was far more comfortable. Y, in her late twenties, desired for us to masturbate while facing one another from an extreme proximity. Though I had never executed such an act in my entire existence, I could fully comprehend precisely why she desired it.
M wished for me to lick various regions of her anatomy. It appeared to be a desire she had never once articulated prior to our connection. Because she craved it, she would systematically locate and fondle the regions I was bound to favor, even without me demanding it.
In the case of the young Y, I suspect the erased tattoo constituted a source of dread. I am inclined to refrain from proactively unearthing narratives that could inflict a wound. Consequently, after witnessing her instinctively assume a posture to conceal the erased tattoo, I made it a point to never converse about themes she refrained from initiating first. Instead, conversing about the diverse, joyful affairs she occupies herself with recently caused the hours to slip away with immense celerity. The energy of the early twenties was thoroughly luminous and beautiful.
These concealed desires were possessed individually by past partners encountered years prior as well. N, whom I met several years ago, was a petite individual possessing skin as remarkably soft as an infant's. Lounging upon the bed, she was accustomed to recounting her fetishes, stating that she dreamed of being tormented. She would articulate a desire for her boyfriend to play with a vibrator tucked inside her panties in a public space, as though engaging in a mischievous prank. In those moments, she would grasp my hand and guide it inside her own center.
Every single one of those women possessed a sex life they explicitly desired. The same holds true for men, but if two individuals systematically lock together like puzzle pieces, it transforms into an intensely joyful epoch for both. Through rendering them blissful, it feels as though I, too, managed to locate happiness across those hours. At the very least during that specific stretch of time, we played in that manner—stark naked, harboring a sentiment akin to traveling to our own solitary island, entirely marooned from the world.