Chapter 2 — Affair. 1 (2)

From the very first Monday morning, once again a jobless man pretending not to be jobless, I sat blankly staring into the distance until, after a long while, I logged back into Sei and created a music room. I poured myself a cup of coffee and settled at my desk.

A moment later, a private message popped up.

"Switch to private mode."

It was her—the woman I'd spoken to before.

"Have you been well? Did you make up with your husband...?"

"No. Same as always..."

"Oh... I don't even know what to say to comfort you."

"Buy me a drink."

She suddenly suggested drinking.

"Oh no… what should I do… truth is, I really don't like alcohol…."

"..."

"I can have coffee with you though.^^;"

"I'm so lonely. Maybe that's why I want to meet just anyone…"

"I feel lonely too sometimes. Is that why I'm here agreeing with you?"

""

"Sorry, I just… nothing appropriate comes to mind. If I upset you, I'm sorry."

"^^"

"Has your husband left for work?"

"Yeah. He left this morning without even seeing my face."

"That's rough."

"What's rough about it? It happens every day. Now I just think, 'Oh, here we go again.' That's all."

"I see."

She asks if I'm busy today.

I reply that, as usual, I'm free—just idling away time like this, chatting aimlessly.

After a long silence, she finally speaks.

"You asked for my number earlier, but I didn't give it. Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"Ahh… ha… ha… No, I thought you were just asking casually, you know?"

"My phone number makes me nervous. Give me yours instead."

For a moment, I realize—ah, that makes sense.

"Alright. My number is xxx-xxx-xxxx."

"Just a second…"

"?"

"I'm writing it down."

"!"

She says today has been exhausting and draining.

"Cheer up. Don't give in so easily…"

"You sound like some kind of saint."

"No, I just meant… cheer up, that's all…^^;"

"..."

I stare intently at the monitor when suddenly my phone on the desk starts vibrating violently.

I pick it up. The screen reads: Caller ID Restricted. Who could it be?

"Hello?"

"..."

"Hello?"

"..."

"Please speak."

"..."

I assume it's a prank call and am about to hang up when a faint voice finally comes through.

"Um… hello?"

"Yes. Please go ahead."

"Hi."

Her voice trembles slightly.

"Who is this…?"

"It's me—the woman you're talking to right now."

"Oh! I thought someone was playing a prank since you weren't saying anything."

"..."

An awkward silence stretches between us.

"Um…"

She speaks first.

"Do you… think I'm strange for calling like this?"

I answer with an uneasy laugh.

"I just wanted to talk, that's all."

"I understand. I'm glad, actually. ^^"

Another heavy silence.

We exchange a few more words—I can barely remember what.

After a brief call, we return to messaging. We talk about marital struggles, parenting stress, how the world keeps turning. ^^;

We chat for what feels like over an hour.

"Can you meet me today? Be someone I can talk to in person?"

Her question catches me off guard. I can't answer easily.

"Do you find me burdensome?"

"Not exactly, but—"

"Then spend some time with me. Life's just so dull."

I agree, though hesitation lingers beneath the surface.

We set a time and place, then close the chat window.

Trying to calm my nerves with a deep breath, I take a seat by the window. She won't arrive for at least another ten minutes.

I watch cars pass outside, wondering what kind of woman she might be.

Countless imagined faces flicker through my mind, stirring a quiet anticipation that makes me reach for a cigarette. Tch, look at me now.

By the time two cigarettes have burned down to ash, the café door opens and a woman walks in.

She's wearing a black skirt that falls below her knees and a blouse that glows white under the lights. She scans the room briefly, then pulls out her phone from her handbag and dials a number.

My phone vibrates on the table.

She looks gentle. A brief greeting. An awkward smile. I'm probably just as tense as she is.

We exchange short, scattered words. The waitress brings us cold beers.

The well-chilled beer cools the heat rising in my face and gives me a bit of ease. I start asking her questions—about this, about that.

Her answers are brief. Then silence follows again.

Not much of a drinker, I finish a couple more beers, while she downs about two bottles.

"Let's go to a karaoke room."

Her suggestion comes just as the café seat starts feeling stiff and uncomfortable. I agree immediately.

As we stand and head toward the counter, she quickly pays ahead of me. Catching my blank expression, she trails off:"Just… because I'm grateful…"

We take the elevator down. By the time we step outside the building, red twilight already stains the sky.

"Won't your husband be getting off work soon?"

"He comes home late. And even then, he doesn't bother looking for me."

She says it with a bitter expression.

We move to a karaoke room, book an hour, and enter a small private booth.

I'm not much of a singer, so I offer her the first song. But she politely refuses, insisting I go first instead.

[Yeah, better than sitting here stiffly like this.]

I pick a quiet song and sing it through.

"You sing well."

"I'm embarrassed. You sing one now."

"I'm not good at it…"

"Come on. You can't just listen to other people's songs for free."

After my persistent urging, she sings one song in a trembling voice.

I sing another. Then she sings again. After a couple of songs, I try to lighten the mood with a joke.

"Your lips look really pretty when you sing."

She looks straight into my eyes and says:

"Will you hold me today?"

Her sudden question chokes me—liquid caught in my throat, coughing. I can't speak. Can't move.

"Hold me."

"..."

"Don't call me a foolish woman."

"..."

She stands, picks up her handbag, and takes my hand, pulling me gently.

"Don't say anything."

She tilts her head up slightly, meeting my gaze.

What could I possibly say to this woman right now?

We leave the karaoke room and walk a short distance to a motel. While paying for the hourly rate and receiving the key, she keeps her head down, staring silently at the neat alignment of her shoes.

Inside the room, the suffocating awkwardness paralyzes us both. We sit across from each other at the tea table, silent for a long time.

Eventually, she rises and enters the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of running water suggests she's showering.

She emerges holding a neatly folded pile of clothes. Dripping wet hair, wrapped loosely in a large towel, she stands there uneasily—and I can't decide where to rest my eyes.

She places her clothes in the closet, then slips under the bedsheet, curling up. Her eyes are tightly shut, her face flushed red, lips pressed together.

My body, hardened despite everything—my social morals, my reason—laughs in defiance.

I step out of the shower. In the dim, unlit room, thick darkness hides her trembling, fearful form.

Sitting on one side of the bed, I ask her:"Are you sure you won't regret this?"

She doesn't answer.

My cold, water-soaked body slides under the sheet, touching hers. She flinches slightly. When my hand moves toward her chest, her hand lands softly on top of mine.

Is it the alcohol? Her body feels warm.

I part her tightly closed lips with my fingers and press my mouth to her heated cheek.

A slight tremor runs through her. She exhales sharply—"Hah~"—and tenses for a moment.

I find her soft lips and kiss her deeply, brushing my fingers through her damp hair.

I follow the line of her delicate arm, take her hand firmly, and gently tease her sealed lips with my tongue. Carefully, slowly, they begin to open.

I trail soft kisses along her jawline, then blow warm breath into her ear—eliciting a low, muffled moan, like a stifled gasp escaping through clenched teeth.

I let my fingers drift down to the tips of her fingers along her shoulder.

Gently stroking the curve of her breast with the back of my hand, I feel her nipple harden instantly. She turns her head aside and bites softly on the back of her right hand.

", don't hold back."

I whisper, my voice slightly hoarse.

"Haa… I'm so ashamed…"

Her lips speak of shame while her eyes remain tightly shut.

Her teeth gleam white in the dark, visible between parted lips—and ignite another burning kiss.

I suck her saliva as if to swallow every drop, roughly gripping the soft mound of her breast.

She tenses completely, surrendering her tongue to me, her hands cradling my cheeks.

She's so hot. Her body burns—scarily, intensely hot.

When my hand glides past her softly rounded waist down to her thigh, she grabs my shoulder and lets out an excited whimper.

"Don't hate me. Don't call me a cheap, filthy woman."

My lips, no longer satisfied with her sweet tongue, slide slowly down her neck and reach her erect nipple, sucking gently.

"Huh… uh…"

With a dazed moan, she presses my head down toward her chest with both hands, as if trying to bury me in her flesh.