First Pleasure

Just because I'd never done it before didn't mean I didn't know how. Instinctively, I knew where to touch for pleasure to find me. I'd simply never been moved enough to try.

I slowly lowered the hand resting against my lips. Slid it between my tightly pressed thighs and licked my dry mouth. A strange sense of transgression washed over me, as if I were doing something I shouldn't. Ridiculous. Everyone did this. What was wrong with touching my own body?

The hesitation lasted only a moment. I pressed harder, grinding the heel of my hand against my sex through my clothes.

"Nngh…"

Somehow it still felt insufficient. When I'd been sitting on Cha Seon-tae, the weight of my body and the force of his had delivered a pressure far stronger than this; a hand alone had its limits.

Press. Grind. I put more strength into my hand, trying somehow to find release, and before I knew it my whole body was drenched in sweat. The air conditioner hummed at its usual comfortable setting, but the heat inside me was another matter entirely.

"Ah…"

The almost-there, not-quite state dragged on until I was squirming with frustration, twisting my body this way and that—and in the gap when my thighs parted slightly, my fingers sank deeper. In that instant something clicked. I tensed every muscle and set my hand moving frantically.

"Euh."

My underwear was growing unmistakably wet, and the pleasure was spreading in a slow, crawling heat. While I was still fumbling toward the method, a shiver ran through me without warning.

"Hnn!"

I curled tighter, squeezing my eyes shut. Cold sweat rolled down my back; between my legs everything throbbed, and my heart hammered.

Haa. Haa. My chest heaved as I spilled hot breath, then I let the strength drain from my body. Sprawled on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, I still trembled in fine shivers.

It was the first pleasure I had ever felt.

Sunlight pouring in woke me. Feeling unusually refreshed, I nuzzled my head into the pillow, then groped for my phone on the nightstand. There was a message from Do Ha-jin.

Last lesson had already been cut short, and now another cancellation in a row. Talk about a windfall.

I fired off a quick reply that I understood—then paused, frowning. He'd said he'd spend a lot of time with me over break, and yet there was no sign of it. Of course I'd refused him too, but thinking back, the Do Ha-jin who used to call and message at every opportunity had gone quiet these past few days.

"……"

Not being a bother was fine by me. I shrugged it off and checked the time: just past eight in the morning.

Ha-jin's message had come the night before. Wondering why I hadn't seen it then, I remembered what I'd been doing alone under the covers. No wonder I'd woken feeling so clean. That first taste of pleasure must have given me some kind of release.

I loitered a good while longer before finally leaving the room to wash.

"What kind of nonsense is that!"

My father's shout from the foot of the stairs made me freeze mid-step. Hurried footsteps followed, rushing out after him.

What was that? Father's temper wasn't gentle by nature, but he wasn't the type to raise his voice either. When he was in a foul mood he simply shut his mouth—so I'd only ever heard him shout once before.

"I-yeon! Seo I-yeon!"

The image of him spraying a fire extinguisher over Mother rose up, and I sighed as I headed for the bathroom. I'd thought I was starting the day in a decent mood for once; it soured in an instant.

Still, as I washed, every pass of my hands over my body brought a faintly indecent feeling, and the bitter mood gradually ebbed away.

Especially when I rinsed the insides of my thighs—the private place there tingled enough that I almost reached for it—but even though it was my own body, there was still a strange awkwardness about bare skin against bare skin, and I left it unfinished.

It wouldn't be long before I experienced proper pleasure, I thought. In a few days Cha Seon-tae would move into the annex, and then, just as he'd said, we'd have plenty of time.

Curious in a vague way about what he meant to teach me, I twisted a towel around my wet hair and headed back to my room. I opened the door… and

Bang. Shut it again.

"……"

What? I blinked at the white door, then opened it once more. Standing in front of my childhood photos with his arms crossed was Cha Seon-tae. I was far too clear-headed for him to be a hallucination, so I stepped inside and closed the door behind me first.

"What are you doing?"

Even at the flustered sound of my voice, he didn't move, just kept staring at the pictures. The frames hung high enough that the little me in the photos sat roughly at his eye level.

"I asked what you're doing. Why are you in here?"

"……"

"How did you even get in? Who opened the front door—"

I hurried over to look at him properly, and the end of the sentence died. The furrowed brow, the eyes drawn up sharp and mean, the cheek bulging as he rolled his tongue inside his mouth—far too vicious a face for someone looking at a child's photograph. When he turned to me a beat late, his brow creased even harder.

"You're really doing this?"

"What?"

He snapped at me out of nowhere, irritated.

"You're hiding this past of yours, right? So why put it on display like this?"

He flicked a finger against the cheek of the girl in the photo, then smirked.

"Cute as hell. What even is this?"

"……"

"I snuck in and almost made a sound."

I was so floored I had nothing to say. Seon-tae gave me a slow once-over from head to toe, then went back to admiring the pictures. The vicious air from a moment ago must have been him laying the groundwork for a joke.

"I asked why you're here."

"Got here early and there was nothing to do. Figured I'd come play with you."

"…How did you get through the front door? You said you snuck in."

"Made up a bunch of excuses, what else. Stop talking. Quiet during the viewing."

"……"

For some reason the same awkwardness I'd felt as a young teenager returned—whenever Father's guests saw the living-room photos and cooed over how cute I was—and I shoved at his shoulder. That massive frame didn't budge an inch.

"Move. Get out."

"Roughly looking, about ten?"

Sharp eye. I answered with silence, and he muttered that he'd thought so. The moment I put more force into my arm to shove him again, he caught my hand and hoisted me up in one motion. One arm behind my neck, the other under the backs of my knees.

"Wh-what are you—"

Seon-tae looked down at my startled face, glanced at the photos once more, then clicked his tongue and turned. Since "coming to play" could only mean one thing, I checked the clock and let the tension leave my body.

Eight-forty. Gardening work started at nine, so we still had about twenty minutes—and that was when he dumped me without warning.

I sank into the soft give of blanket and mattress. Even if it was a bed, being thrown so suddenly left me reeling. No—being on the bed made it worse. And then he climbed on top of me, which made it worse still.

"……"

Shadow fell over my head. His broad shoulders filled my vision, and the towel wrapped around my hair slipped free. He tossed it carelessly off the bed, shifted a little lower, and met my eyes head-on.

"Ten years ago you smiled a lot."

"……"

"These days those are rare."

"Whatever. About what we talked about last time."

I caught his face as it started to turn back toward the photos and steered the subject.

"You can use the annex."

"……"

"I got Father's permission. Unni's moving out at the end of the month, so come in after that."

"……"

He looked down at me in silence for a moment, then let out a deflated little laugh. But it wasn't a laughing face. One eye slightly squinted, head tipping lightly side to side—he didn't look particularly pleased.

Wasn't this what he wanted? I was still staring at him, wondering at the reaction, when he suddenly started sniffing the air around us.

"What is that smell."

"What are you doing now."

"You were so freshly washed I almost missed it."

He leaned in closer, so of course I thought he was going for my mouth. Following the habit of the few times we'd done it, I parted my lips and waited—but instead he buried his nose in the mattress. He sniffed and rubbed this way and that, then worked his way lower, and I had no idea what kind of game this was supposed to be.

"Do people tell you you're weird a lot?"

"Look at this. Caught red-handed."

Before I knew it Seon-tae's face was buried beside my waist. Annoyed at the time he was wasting on this strange game, I grabbed a fistful of his hair—and he came with it in one yank, dropping his upper body lower and bracing an elbow by my head. From a distance where his breath touched me, he whispered, sly and low.

"You masturbated."

"What…?"

"Looks like a little water leaked on the bed. Smells dirty."

"Wa— what?"

"I was supposed to teach you that. Why'd you jump the gun."

"……"

"So what do I get paid for the room, then…"

He was rattling on by himself when he noticed I'd gone rigid, and a low laugh broke out of him. I stared dumbly at him chuckling right in front of my face, then belatedly turned my burning cheeks aside. But he caught my chin and made me look at him, leaving me no choice but to feel the full force of the shame.

Strictly speaking, there was no need to be embarrassed. We'd already shared a certain amount of sexual contact, and masturbation wasn't a crime.

"Stop laughing."

Even so, having a private act laid bare was still mortifying. I glared at that smug face and tried to push him off—but before I could even put any force into it, he rolled neatly onto his side and propped his head on his arm.

"First time, so you were probably just pressing and grinding."

I snapped my head up; he still looked like he was dying of amusement. He had me so precisely that I half wondered if there was a camera in the room—I couldn't even deny it. How did he know?

"Why are you looking at me like I'm a thief."

"…Let go."

"It's obvious. You got a little taste and got curious enough to try."

"……"

"But you had to have something to go on. Of course you'd just roughly copy what I pressed on you then."

"You son of a—"

I bit down hard on my lip against the urge to smack that irritating mouth, and he licked over it. No matter how far I pulled back, he stretched his neck after me; it was useless.

"Don't."

"Didn't think you'd get shy. Unexpected."

"Shut up."

Every time I spoke his tongue slipped in and out, which only made me angrier. I twisted and twisted away until I buried my face hard in his shoulder—and only then did he stop.