Chapter 1 — She Smells Like Peaches - Short Story Chapter 1 (1)

I'd come back from the military. During my time in the army, I'd been exposed to all the "dirty" things people usually talk about—porn, crude jokes, the kind of twisted humor that thrives in barracks—and I'd picked up a little perversion of my own along the way. But in reality, I was still a complete virgin.

I'd wanted my first time to be with someone I loved. I met someone, fell in love, and finally had sex with the woman I loved—exactly how I'd always dreamed it would happen.

I learned that kissing her, like in the movies and novels, really was sweet. And sex? Even sweeter.

Then, at her insistence, we broke up.

They call it getting "dumped." It hurt.

It hurt so much it ached in my body. My body, hardened by grueling labor and relentless physical training in the military, was powerless against the pain in my heart.

I wanted a reason, but there were too many reasons—and at the same time, none at all. All I knew was that I no longer had a place in her heart.

I started drinking alone more and more.

The size of my glass kept growing, until it wasn't a glass anymore—it was the bottle itself. I thought maybe, just maybe, if I drank enough, I could forget the pain.

One night, like so many others, I found myself alone at a dingy neighborhood bar—the kind that serves average food and average drinks, a place for locals to gather or for those who hadn't drunk enough at home. I'd become a regular, always alone.

Still, the bar in my neighborhood was in a slightly busier area, with residential buildings above. It was always crowded, never the kind of place that closed early.

That night, I was drowning in unbearable memories, tipping back liquor like water.

While everyone else sipped beer, I poured soju into my glass, bottle after bottle beside me. I didn't notice the tears until they spilled down my cheeks. Embarrassed, I turned toward the wall, trying to hide, when I caught sight of a woman sitting alone, also crying.

Our eyes met. Hers were glistening with tears. We exchanged awkward smiles.

I don't know where I got the courage—maybe it was the alcohol—but I stood up.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Ah. Sure."

We both wiped our tears, then silently refilled each other's glasses. We sat in silence for a while.

"You broke up too, huh?"

"You as well?"

"Yeah."

Another silence. She looked older than me—early to mid-twenties. We kept refilling each other's glasses for nearly an hour.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four. You?"

"You're younger? Then I'll drop the formal speech. I'm 25."

"Ah… okay."

"You can drop them too. It's not like we're that far apart."

Her stiff expression softened slightly, a small smile breaking through.

"Why did you break up?"

"She said another guy came along. But… I'm not used to dropping formal speech so suddenly."

She laughed at my fumbling speech.

"Everyone does it."

"I thought it was something special, just for me. But everyone seems to break up like this."

"Same here. That bastard. Let's drink to him—and that bitch. Fuck them both."

"Hahaha… I still can't bring myself to say that. I feel like I messed up a lot too."

"Look at you, shy as a virgin, but built like a wild boar?"

We traded stories. She learned I'd lost my virginity to the woman I loved. I learned she'd been used and discarded.

As we shared our wounds, the empty bottles piled up. I didn't realize until later that she'd long passed her limit.

"So anyway, that fucking bastard—gulp!—"

"You've had too much. Let's go home now."

"What am I supposed to do at home?"

I was naive. I didn't understand what she meant. I'd dragged her out against her will, and there was no way she could go home like this.

I'd taken drunk women to motels before—never done anything. After a moment of hesitation, I picked a random one and headed there.

I practically carried her inside, laid her on the bed, and lit a cigarette, irritated.

"Don't smoke here… it stinks…"

She still had enough sense to complain. That pissed me off even more. I lit the cigarette anyway and stormed into the bathroom.

I'd just lifted a heavy woman up the stairs, hadn't rested, and my bladder was about to burst. I finally let myself go on the toilet when she suddenly screamed.

"Hey! Get over here!"

Memories of A, Y, and K flashed through my mind. Had she vomited? Worried, I grabbed a towel and rushed in—only to find her sitting on the floor, arms raised like she was celebrating.

What the hell?

"If you bring a woman to a motel, you're supposed to undress her. What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm not that kind of guy."

"Whatever. I am that kind of person. I've been feeling uncomfortable since we got here. Just take my clothes off."

"Want to shower?"

"Yeah."

I peeled off her clothes, leaving only her underwear. It was still hot, even though it was autumn, and the alcohol made her even warmer.

I was sticky too. Staggering toward the bathroom, I suddenly noticed it—she smelled like peaches.

I'd sensed a faint, sweet scent earlier, but I'd assumed it was from the bar's menu—maybe canned peaches or white peaches. But no.

It was her. She smelled like peaches.

"Wait a second…"

She waved at me with half-lidded eyes, then walked into the bathroom. I stood there, dazed, savoring the lingering peach scent she left behind.

Wasn't it said that men never forget their first woman? My ex had smelled like peaches too.

I loved her peach scent so much that whenever we met, I'd bury my face in her and inhale deeply.

From her hands to her face, her hair, her skin, her chest—and even that first time I touched her down there—her peach scent intoxicated me.

The deeper I went, the stronger the fragrance became, mixed with a tangy sweetness that made me dizzy with happiness.

Being with her felt like walking through a peach orchard at night.

Heartbreak had stolen not just my love, but the scent that came with it. For months, I suffered, haunted by the vivid memory of that fragrance.

And now, this woman smelled like peaches.

Lost in the scent, I barely heard her call.

"Help me…"

What? I rushed in—only to find a ridiculous, yet impossible-to-laugh-at situation.

She'd gone to the bathroom, tried to take off her bra, but in her drunken state, she'd torn it too violently.

The clasp had caught on the towel hanging behind her, both straps hooked on either side, trapping her like the bra was strangling her.

"Hahaha—"

"Don't laugh! Why is this happening?!"

"You just pull your arms out…"

"No! No! Something's wrong!"

I figured she was definitely drunk.

I freed her from the bizarre "restraint," and since she insisted on washing up, I stripped her completely. As I helped her bathe, I confirmed it again—my nose hadn't lied. She really did smell like peaches.

You can't wash someone while fully clothed, so I took off my own clothes too. Since I'd gotten wet, I might as well shower. Soon, we were both naked.

Seeing each other's bare bodies, we both started to get excited.

She'd been heavy to carry, but her body was amazing—perfect breasts, a narrow waist, firm, round ass. I could finally touch her as much as I wanted.

After washing, we lay naked on the bed.

"Wow. You've got a great body. I saw earlier."

"My stomach's out."

"You work out?"

"I did manual labor in the military."

"Right. Guys who come back from service always look so fit."

"It's been almost a year, though. Not like before."

"Still, you're not bad to look at."

"You're pretty too."

We were both turned on, but her sobriety was slowly returning, and I was still clinging to some sense of reason. Our conversation kept stalling.

I wanted to do something, but kept telling myself no.

"You don't want to do it with me?"

"I… I do."

"Huh. Are you shy? Or… am I just not attractive to you?"

"You're too attractive. That's the problem. I don't even know what's going on. Let me smoke one cigarette first."

"Brush your teeth and come back. I hate the smell of smoke."

I wanted her so badly I was going crazy. But it had taken me six months to forget that other scent.

I inhaled the cigarette deeply, and suddenly, my ex-girlfriend turned into "that bitch" in my mind. I would forget. I would erase her.

Through this woman, who smelled just like her, I would forget.

I smoked another cigarette, brushed my teeth, and walked back in.

She was dozing off.

"… wake up. You said you'd wait…"

I nudged her with a playful voice, then immediately brought my hands and mouth to her full breasts.

"Oh my. Look at you. Made up your mind, huh? Fine. Let's share our loneliness for tonight. I'm lonely. Come here."

I wanted to dominate her, to break that fake adult act she was putting on.

Her breasts smelled like peaches too. I bit down hard, sucking like I was devouring a ripe summer peach.

"Ah— ah—"

Was youth defined by its recklessness and strength? Once I let go of reason, I threw everything I knew—every technique I'd learned from books, photos, videos—into pleasuring her.

The alcohol surged through me, giving me endless energy.

"You're… really… good… hah… hah…"

Her broken words made me laugh.

Just for tonight, she'd be completely mine. Full B-cups that looked like they might burst. Over 165 cm tall. Just the right amount of softness. Hips as lush as her chest. Smooth, flawless legs.

I explored every inch with my mouth, licking, sucking—until I reached her pussy, overflowing with wetness. I kissed it deeply.

Just as I expected—stronger peach scent, and that tangy, sweet taste.

"Ah… ah… Aaahhh—!"

Later, I'd realize that actual penetration was surprisingly monotonous. Maybe that's why I clung so hard to foreplay—the time when you could truly feel every curve, every secret of the other person's body.

Without even entering her, she seemed to reach orgasm once already.

"Ah… ah… Aaaahhh—!"

To be continued