Chapter 1 — I'm Drawn to the Man Next Door

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

---

There was something liberating about the confession— that craving to be seen, the desire for that kind of exposure.

Sometimes people complained about it in private messages, grumbling with strange words. But imagining that through her exposure, readers might feel their own release even more deeply, she found her own kind of pleasure in return.

She had just come back from a short drive. She hadn't worn anything underneath— just slipped on a rubber-band skirt, and inside the car, she coolly lifted it up.

As she sat there, thinking back on the sex she'd had with her husband the Saturday before last, the scenery around her felt strangely unchanged.

She drove for thirty minutes to the convenience store, a bit far from their apartment complex, just to pick up some bread.

Long bread rolls. Two hard, almost club-like loaves. She bought them and headed back to her car.

Then she saw him— someone who lived in their building, she thought. Same floor, 15th, directly across— unit 1508.

He got married last March, still in that newlywed glow. She was kind of happy to see him.

He was wearing sweatpants, holding the same kind of bread she'd just bought.

She asked where he'd been, and he said he walked here on his days off for exercise. Youthful energy, she guessed.

Her car was parked nearby, so she offered him a ride. He said yes— he'd been having ankle trouble lately, so walking had been tough.

On the drive back, they chatted about random things, and somehow the topic turned to his wife.

She was nine months pregnant now, he said, going back and forth to her parents' place.

She teased him with a mischievous question. "Must be hard to have sex when she's so big, huh?" she said, laughing.

He answered so casually, like it was nothing— "Oh, we do it from behind. Or sideways with her lying down."

She was fascinated. She wondered— that must require something pretty long, right?

Then he held up one of the long bread rolls and said, "About this long..."

She nearly burst out laughing.

Riding up the elevator together to the 15th floor, the air between them felt strange— charged. She could feel the dampness growing between her legs.

His sweatpants looked heavy in front, the fabric straining upward, as if something were pushing urgently to come out.

When the elevator doors opened, they both paused in front of their doors. Then he turned and said, "Would you like to have a drink?"

Huhu~~ Yes!!

She had thought about inviting him to his wife's place, but instead she just said, "Come on in."

She led him into the living room, quickly tidied up her discarded panties and her husband's socks left by the bathroom, and guided him to the sofa.

She said she'd go make coffee, heading toward the kitchen, but he sat down and picked up the remote to turn on the TV.

She rushed to the VCR, pulled out the tape, and put it away. Huh? The channel was set to number 3.

The camera light blinked on— and on the screen, she saw herself standing there.

He asked why she had a camera set up. She just smiled and walked into the kitchen.

She poured two cups of coffee and brought out the bread she'd bought— lunch, sort of.

Today, her husband was out hiking, so they sat together at the dining table like a married couple. Huhu..

The table was glass, transparent.

She noticed he kept shifting in his seat, like he was trying to adjust something in his pants.

She stood up, saying she'd cut some fruit. Huh~~. One side of her skirt caught under her knee, and when she stood, the other side—

Oh my god—

The skirt slid all the way down from her waist to just below her belly, revealing everything underneath— completely naked from waist to hips.

He stared, eyes wide. How hot she felt— burning.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered.

"No, it's okay..." he said, but his eyes were blazing.

Her legs trembled. As she walked toward the kitchen, she wondered— would he follow her? Her heart pounded like it weighed two and a half kilos.

She cut the fruit, placed it on a plate, and carried it back to the table. But as she set it down, the coffee cup tipped over— clatter— spilling coffee across the floor.

She quickly grabbed a rag and dropped to her knees, wiping it up.

And all the while, she could feel his eyes— on her skirt, no, on her ass.

Don't just stare. Come here. Lift my skirt. Look. Touch my ass. Run your fingers through the hair between my legs— right now, hurry!

Inside her, she was screaming it— how slutty she must've looked.

Just once. Just once...

She was thinking it when suddenly— he stepped closer.

Her breath caught, throat burning, voice cracking. A hoarse, guttural sound rose from deep inside.

He said something— about another drop of coffee, near her knee.

But she didn't understand. She just turned sideways, trying to clean the spill.

Her heavy hip tilted to the side, her body collapsing slightly, and her skirt rode up past her knees.

Thankfully not higher— but she hadn't noticed the spill, and struggled to reposition herself.

As she lifted one knee, she accidentally exposed everything beneath her skirt—

Her opening— clearly visible— spread open.

He was eating fruit, and casually asked if she used a computer. She said yes.

He said he had a good video— he'd show her sometime. Said it was burned onto a CD or something.

She told him to come by next Saturday.

When he opened the front door to leave, his smile looked so pure— so innocent.

But as she closed the door, she paused in the entryway and took off her skirt.

She squatted down, unable to hold back, moaning softly as she touched herself— frenzied, desperate, like she'd been waiting for this.

She didn't even feel the pain as she shoved her fingers deep, pulled them out, shoved them back in.

Rubbing her clit, circling it— climax rushing toward her.

On the floor in front of the door, a dark wet spot spread like a stain. Her slipper-clad foot trembled, exhausted.

She pulled her skirt back on and opened the front door.

And there he was— still standing outside.

A gasp— Hah!— burst from her throat. She was startled.

But when she opened the door, she saw something on the floor where he'd been standing— drops, like saliva, falling in beads.

She saw— it looked like semen.

She pretended not to notice. "Why didn't you go in?" she asked.

He said he'd forgotten the bread he'd bought.

Huh... Sorry...

She went back inside, picked up the bread bag leaning by the sofa, and brought it out to him.

As she handed it over, a strange current passed between them.

Watching his back as he walked into unit 1508 with the bread bag, she wondered—

Did he hear her?

Did he hear her touching herself right there, in front of the door?

She didn't moan, but did he hear her hips grinding against the door in ecstasy?

Exposure and masturbation— strangely, they came together so easily.

Her husband was going down to the countryside in early March— for work.

She thought about going with him, but her daughter said she'd be visiting around then.

Spring was a woman's season... huhu!!