Chapter 1 — A Trip with My Friend's Couple — Part 1 (1)

Our two couples becoming involved in swapping might have been fate.

Or perhaps it was simply a seed long buried in our hearts finally sprouting.

My friend and I were alike in many ways.

We shared similar builds and heights, had gone to the same elementary, middle, high school, and even university—and not just that, we'd married women of the same age in the same year.

Even more strangely, both of us had met our wives just six months before marriage through blind dates.

And despite that, we'd both been seeing other women openly while lying to each other about it.

Later, we discovered something else: my wife and his wife had been classmates since elementary school, continuing through middle school.

Because of these uncanny similarities, our couples grew extremely close.

We often hung out together—drinking, traveling, sharing weekends like one extended family.

Of course, there was a bit of ulterior motive too. Nothing I could point to directly, but it was there.

In my case, honestly speaking, my friend's wife was my ideal type.

A sophisticated city beauty, she vaguely resembled a popular actress.

When I first saw her, I felt my heart race for the first time since my first love—something I hadn't felt even with my own wife.

Not that my wife was unattractive.

Far from it—she was stunning enough that men would follow her all the way home.

It was just that his wife matched my fantasy more closely.

That was all.

Though this was only true in terms of looks—not personality.

When it came to character, my wife, gentle, obedient, and devoted, was much closer to the woman I'd always dreamed of.

It was last summer.

We'd used up all our regular vacation days for the kids and parents, so as we did every year, we left the children with their grandparents and took a short weekend trip.

We chose Gangwon-do, where my brother-in-law owned a condo, so lodging wasn't an issue.

But by then, it was our fourth consecutive year visiting, and the excitement had long worn off—like flat beer, dull and lifeless.

Maybe the others felt the same?

We took photos along the coast, splashed around in the water, ate good food—but still, time dragged on endlessly.

"Wanna go to a night club?"
"Hell yeah. Let's go! Let's go~"

Slightly drunk from dinner at a seafood restaurant, my friend and I boldly headed toward a nightclub, indifferent to whether the sun had set or not.

But our enthusiasm didn't seem to impress the women.

And when we couldn't easily find a club,

"Isn't going to a night club a bit too early?"

they protested, trying to stop us.

My friend turned to his wife.
"Really? Then how about a pub instead?"

He offered a compromise. But even that didn't sit well with them.

"If we're going to a pub, why not just buy beer and drink at the condo?"
"That sounds better. Let's do that."

My wife immediately agreed with his wife's suggestion.

In the end, we failed to convince them and ended up returning to the condo with drinks.

All the way back, my friend grumbled nonstop.

Summed up, his complaint was simple: I hate being on vacation and just drinking inside a room.

Honestly, I wasn't thrilled either.

But the drinking session at the condo turned out surprisingly enjoyable.

The women acted flirtatiously and playful like never before, so much so that neither my friend nor I thought about clubs or karaoke rooms anymore.

"Honey… ahhh~"

That was the first time my wife spoke like a cheap bar hostess.

If I hadn't been caught up in the alcohol and atmosphere, I might've gotten goosebumps from her words and behavior.

"This beer tastes damn good. Hahaha~~~"

Even my friend, who had earlier complained about drinking indoors, laughed heartily, his mood clearly lifted.

Each time he laughed, his wife gently patted his shoulder—a gesture that strangely stirred something inside me.

My wife could be affectionate, but his wife had always been distant, reserved.

Unlike my housewife wife, she worked full-time, always dressed stylishly, spoke properly, and never let herself appear disheveled.

So my friend occasionally vented about her.

"You don't know how lucky you are. Do you have any idea how stressful it is living with a woman who's better than you?"

He carried a quiet sense of inferiority toward his own wife.

That night, seeing her lower herself, acting like a flirtatious bar girl toward him—it made sense he was in a great mood.

And for me, witnessing this unfamiliar side of her was oddly stimulating.

Anyway, the drinking party flowed smoothly, led entirely by the women.

But eventually, charm and flirtation alone couldn't carry the night, so naturally, we moved on to games.

The first game was "369"—a common drinking game.

Penalties, as usual, involved drinking, with options for "Black Knight" and "Black Rose" requests.

Nothing special at first.

But everything began from this game.

After a few penalty drinks, the women requested Black Knights.

At first, my friend and I performed the roles dutifully, giving light commands like:

"Sing a song."
"Do a dance."
"When and with whom was your first kiss?"

But as the mood warmed, the demands grew bolder.

"A slow dance with me…"
"A kiss on my cheek."

Of course, our competitive instincts fueled this escalation.

But the women were also surprisingly proactive.

For instance, when my friend's wife danced a blues with me, she leaned fully into me, clinging tightly.

And when my wife kissed my friend on the cheek, she sat right on his lap to do it.

In short, the women were competing too.

Then came the shift—during a game of word chain.

We hadn't planned to play word chain.

Originally, we only wanted to change the penalties in 369.

We realized that if we kept going, things might spiral out of control.

So when my wife suggested setting new penalties, everyone agreed.

While deciding penalties, someone proposed switching the entire game to word chain—and we went along with it.

There were five penalties. Originally four.

But since having partners penalized only within their own couple seemed boring,

we added a rule: penalties could involve the opposite-sex member of the opposing team.

Penalty number five was eating a rice cake stick together with the opposite team's partner (within 2cm).

The other partner just held the stick in their mouth and stayed still.

The player had to bite down until only 2cm remained. If they failed, the opposing team got to make one request.

Now, "2cm" sounded technical, but in reality, it meant lips nearly touching.

It was by far the most intense penalty.

Other penalties included 30-second kiss with partner and passing beer mouth-to-mouth with partner.

But those were with one's own spouse, so psychologically less intense than kissing the other couple's partner.

During the game, my wife and I never landed the rice cake stick penalty.

But my friend's wife got it three times—and failed every single one.

She not only had to prepare meals and clean, but also give up the larger room to us.

"You really have no depth perception? You should've gone further!"

My friend scolded his wife after losing the big room.

Proud by nature, she snapped back instantly.

"Oh, you think you're so great? Why don't you try it yourself, then?"
"I'll die happy if I fail."
"We'll see just how well you can do."

They were on the verge of a real fight, arguing right in front of us.

Then, maybe due to the alcohol, my wife unexpectedly stepped in, calming the mood and restarting the game.

Coincidentally—or perhaps not—my friend himself drew the rice cake stick penalty this time.

And he failed spectacularly—by an even greater margin than his wife.

"Your depth perception's worse? Should I buy you glasses?"

As soon as she checked the stick length, his wife mocked him.

His face turned bright red, like a bomb about to explode.

Something had to be done.

That's when my wife made her wish: Let's switch game partners.

My friend readily agreed.

His wife didn't even speak—she simply stood up and silently switched seats with my wife.

Once partners changed, the situation became absurdly funny.

Suddenly, the rice cake stick penalty became the mildest one.

Meanwhile, 30-second kiss with partner and mouth-to-mouth beer transfer became the most intense—because now "partner" meant the other couple's spouse.

It was an incredibly strange twist—one none of us had anticipated until it actually happened, after the game looped once and a new seeker was chosen.

"Guess we need to draw straws again. Hurry up and draw."

Following his wife's instruction, my friend quickly sketched the ladder game.

Both he and I watched tensely as the lines formed.

Yet no one suggested changing the penalties.

An unspoken anticipation filled the room, thickening the air with a peculiar heat.

"It's number four. What was number four again?"

After finishing the ladder, his wife scratched her head, pretending innocence.

"You don't remember? It's the 30-second kiss."

My wife answered—using casual speech.

Until then, she'd always called her "Sarah," speaking politely.

But no one commented. No one even seemed to notice.

Everyone's eyes were glazed over, intoxicated by something nameless.

"Ah… right."

His wife gave a strange smile, glancing at her husband.

Meanwhile, my wife stared at me—her gaze oddly intense.

Both my friend and I deliberately avoided their eyes.

I sometimes wonder—what if just one of us had met his wife's gaze at that moment?

It's a pointless hypothetical, but even now, I ask myself that question.

Anyway, the game continued without modifying the penalties.

Amid the strange tension, my friend's wife and I exchanged a kiss—awkward, chaste, like teenagers on a first date.

But maintaining that simple lip contact for 30 seconds—even drunk—was embarrassingly awkward.

"Done?"

About ten seconds in, I pulled away and looked at my friend.

It was my attempt at compromise.

But he feigned generosity in response.

"That's only ten seconds. You can't half-ass a penalty."

Where the hell did he get the nerve?

"Really? Felt like a whole minute—must've been lost in the moment. Only ten?"
"Then add two more minutes."
"Fair enough. Shall we continue?"

Provoked by his attitude, I leaned back toward his wife and asked for another kiss.

Without a word, she closed her eyes and tilted her face slightly—ready.

For a brief moment, I saw flickers in both my friend's and my wife's eyes.

Honestly, I felt a smug satisfaction.

But it didn't last.

Soon, that same satisfaction returned doubled—as discomfort—when my friend got his turn.

"Finally, it's our turn."

He'd drawn penalties repeatedly, but always skipped the crucial numbers 3 and 4.

Now, landing on number four, he grinned like he'd hit the jackpot.

With meaningful eyes, he looked at my wife.

"This might get smelly. Shouldn't you brush your teeth first? Jenny. And you—try not to stink too bad, okay?"
"Jenny. No need to tremble. Relax. It's just a penalty. Just a penalty~~"

He savored every second.

And the more he enjoyed it, the more painful it was for me and his wife.

But we showed nothing.

We smiled broadly, watching like we were enjoying the scene too.

And truthfully, it wasn't just pain.

There was a strange excitement too.

Jealousy and arousal—twisted together in a complex knot.

He delayed for what felt like forever before finally kissing her.

But shockingly, it wasn't just a simple press of lips like mine had been.

He teased her lips with his tongue. Gently sucked. Nipped lightly.

"......!!"

I was speechless.

If my kiss was middle-school level, his was upgraded—high school standard.

And occasionally, my wife responded—her lips moving faintly against his.

Those 30 seconds felt endless.

The awkwardness I'd felt kissing his wife? Nothing compared.

Rage burned inside me.

I forgot my own actions moments ago.

No—I felt completely innocent.

Yet I showed nothing.

I kept smiling, calm on the outside, pretending nothing was wrong.

His wife did the same.