Chapter 1 — My Affair with a Married Woman - Part 1 (1)

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.

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I was 28 back then. My first time had been at 20, but since then, I hadn't had consistent sex.

Like most men my age, everything I knew about women and sex came from adult videos and porn—just scraps of knowledge picked up over time.

You know that burning desire in your prime years? That restless hunger you can't quite satisfy? Everyone feels it.

Luckily, I was dating a woman seriously, with marriage in mind, and could've had sex anytime. But still, something was missing—just 2 percent short.

Men often say it: women are best in their 30s. And among 30-somethings, married women are the real prize.

Human psychology is tricky. When you're cold, you want warmth. When you're hot, you crave coolness.

My first time—and even my current girlfriend—had been with virgins. That's why I desperately wanted a married woman.

My life motto: When desperate, things open up. Even a duck can fly if it goes crazy enough.

On New Year's Day, staring at the rising sun, I made a vow: This year, I will have endless, unrestrained sex with a married woman!

And dreams must come true—if you act on them. So I decided to make it happen.

First, I turned to nightclubs. Weren't they supposed to be packed with married women? A golden fishing ground, half water, half fish?

I wasn't a great dancer, but I could move with the rhythm.

Once I got a booking and pulled someone into a karaoke room, I knew I could close the deal with a few well-chosen songs.

I'd bring one close friend along each time, and within a month, I'd visited every popular adult night in S City—five or six times.

I wasn't handsome, but not ugly either. Average face, 175cm, 68kg—standard build. In a night club, I figured I was at least decent enough to get attention.

But no matter how often I went—weekly, without fail—I kept striking out.

Sometimes I picked the wrong night or time, and there were no women.

I was looking for missies—women in their 30s or early 40s—but the damn waiters kept booking me with girls in their early 20s.

(Truthfully, among my friends, I looked the oldest. They were all even more "boyish." -_-;)

Anyway, after countless failures, I gave up. My "nightclub expedition" ended after just over a month.

Then one day, while gaming at a PC room, I wandered into a chat room during a break.

(Back then, before the internet was widespread, I used early online networks for clubs and chatting with friends.)

Smoking and chatting idly, I overheard a man sharing stories about women—and caught a crucial piece of info.

"Married women? They're wild these days. My regular chat site is **. It's packed*."

"Huh? Packed? What kind of chat room is that?"

"You don't know? People meet and hook up through chatting now. You've never heard of it?"

"Damn… I've been running around nightclubs like an idiot." -_-;

"Hahaha."

"Hey, should I try it?"

"Trust me. Just go. You'll have a good time. Later~"

Figuring I had nothing to lose, I registered an ID and spent a few hours browsing.

And sure enough—women like the ones I wanted were everywhere.

Yes! This is it!

I created my own room, invited people, sent private messages, and reveled in the excitement.

After chatting for three or four hours, though, I started feeling it—my age was a problem.

Unlike men, most women seemed uncomfortable if I was younger than them.

So I made a new ID—three years older—and logged back in. Two hours of chatting later, I was back in the game.

"Hey… looking for someone?"

"Hahaha, joking?"

"No, seriously. If I'm joking, I'll leave. click~"

"You're fun~ ^^"

"Well, I am pretty fun ^----^"

We kept talking for 30 minutes—introductions, where we lived, random stories. The conversation flowed.

We exchanged phone numbers and promised to talk again. Then we hung up.

"Hmm… this feels promising."

Walking out of the PC room, I felt a thrill—my old chatting skills hadn't rusted at all.

That evening, I called her number. My heart pounded.

"Uh… hello?"

"Hi…"

"Ah… remember me? It's Daniel."

"Hoho~ You really called?"

"Your voice is pretty. Husky, but sexy."

"Like a man's, huh? That's just how I sound."

"No… it's beautiful…"

We talked nervously for a while, then reluctantly said goodbye—after confirming we'd talk again tomorrow.

The next day, I checked the site—and there she was, online.

We chatted casually, but something warm grew between us. (Anyone who's ever chatted deeply knows the feeling—like talking to an old friend.)

We shared more, even talked about sex. And that day, for the first time, we had cybersex.

"Ah~ Daniel… oh god, that's so good."

"Me too… wish I could do more, but I'm at a PC room. Still… that was amazing."

"I want you… I want you so bad."

"Haa~"

"Should we meet?"

"....."

My heart started racing. I could feel my blood pressure rising.

"Yeah… let's meet tomorrow?"

"Okay… come to my neighborhood and call me."

"Alright…"

I couldn't get up from my seat for a long time. Trembling. Excitement. Anticipation. (It felt even better than the day I passed my driverer's test.^^;)

The next day, I dressed neatly and drove to P City. Called her a few times for directions. Finally arrived near her place.

"Hello~"

"Yeah… you here?"

"Yeah… I'm near the Apartments, on the road facing -dong."

"Okay… I'll come out."

I lit a cigarette, turned on the music. Impatient. Excited. Nervous.

Just as I finished the cigarette, a woman appeared, holding a phone, looking around.

She spotted my car, then sat beside me.

She was a little under 160cm. Curvy. Not stunningly beautiful, but her hair was long and jet black.

"So… what do you think now that you see me?"

"You look good. Your body's nice."

"Pfft~ Liar. A woman my age like me?"

"No, really. I prefer a little softness over a skinny girl."

Trying to hide the awkwardness, she suggested we go into town.

"What should we do?"

"Grab a beer?"

"Sure. I don't drink much—go ahead. I'll pour for you."

Maybe nervous about our first meeting, she said she'd have a drink.

The bar was empty—too early for customers.

"Did you eat?"

"No… came straight here."

"Then let's eat."

"Yeah~"

She ordered budae-jjigae and soju. I poured, and she downed glass after glass.

The daytime drinking seemed to loosen her up.

I shifted closer. Gently wrapped my arm around her shoulder.

She leaned her head on me.

The sweet scent of her shampoo dazed me.

I slid my hand down slightly, wrapping my arm around her back, resting it on her waist.

Through her clothes, her full breasts brushed against my thumb. I gently rubbed the side of her left breast, watching her reaction.

We'd already hinted at sex in our chats—maybe that's why I felt bold.

I grew bolder. Pulling her closer with one arm, I placed my hand over her right breast.

"Mmm… mmm….."

She let out a soft moan and leaned even harder into me.

Emboldened, I moved my free left hand to cover her left breast, pulling her tightly against me.

"Mmm… mmm.........."

Her moans grew more frequent. I began kneading her breasts.

They were full—so large that my hands couldn't completely cover them.

"Mmm… you like my breasts?"

"Yeah… they're big and beautiful…"

Encouraged by her words, I slipped my right hand—still around her back—under her shirt.

I stroked her waist gently. There was softness, a little extra flesh—but the thrill of touching a married woman for the first time made it irrelevant.

"Hmm… hmm… you're grabbing fat… don't touch there…"

"It's okay… you're beautiful… I like it…"

She grabbed my hand, trying to stop me—but it was half-hearted.

I tightened my embrace and moved my hand higher.

Soon, my fingertips touched her bra. I stroked the lace cup, savoring the texture.

"Mmm… mmm… Daniel… yes… mmm…"

She trembled, pressing closer. I seized the moment—slid my hand under her bra.

"Huh… mmm…… ah…."

She stiffened for a second. Then I began caressing her full, soft breasts, searching for her nipple.

"Ah… ah… I can't… hmm…"

Now she seemed to accept it—turning slightly, helping my hand move. I finally found her nipple.

It was thick, like my pinky finger, already hard. I gently pinched and rolled it between my fingers. My own arousal surged.

"Ah… mmm… mmm… I'm so turned on…"

"Me too… I love you… your breasts are so beautiful… you…"

Dazed with pleasure, I whispered in her ear. My breath tickled her, and she shivered.

Now both hands were under her bra, freely massaging her breasts. She closed her eyes, savoring the touch.

"Mmm… ah~~~ mmm….. hnn~~~"

As her moans grew closer to real cries, I realized I couldn't stop here. I whispered, "Let's go."

She nodded, fixing her clothes, preparing to leave.

Avoiding the bar owner's knowing (and slightly scandalized) gaze, we walked out—like we'd planned it—and headed straight for the nearest motel.