Chapter 3 — She Smells Like Peaches - Short Story Chapter 1 (3)

I didn't want to think too much. I wanted to forget her—and I wanted to believe that Peach wanted to forget him too.

If we were using physical pleasure to numb our own pain, then maybe that pleasure could outweigh the ache of losing someone.

Around evening, I texted her.

[I said call me tonight, so here it is.]

She replied instantly.

[Why the formal speech? Weren't you casual yesterday?]

[It feels weird being formal out of nowhere like this.]

Truth was, I wasn't used to texting yet, and couldn't type well—I'd been grunting my way through every message.

[You're slow at texting, huh? Should we just call?]

Peach caught on right away.

“Sarah?”

“Oh? You're calling me Sarah now?”

“Only when I can't see your face.”

“You shy bastard! Where'd you learn that?”

“Did you see me today?”

“Today? Wait—we only just parted earlier, didn't we?”

“Oh.”

“Hey! That bar was trash. Near the station there's OO, right? Be there by seven!”

“Huh? Me—”

Ring ring!

Before I could even answer, Peach had already hung up.

What is she? I thought. Feels like I've been bewitched by a fox.

Even as complicated thoughts swirled—about lying to my family again, for the second night in a row—my feet carried me toward the meeting spot anyway.

The distance from home was about the same as the first bar we'd met at, but "near the station" gave it a distinctly younger vibe.

Still, the faintly noisy atmosphere wasn't really my taste.

Peach was already there.

“You came?”

“Y-yeah…”

“You're being formal again? Haha! Hey—you're funny. Acting all intense one minute, then stuttering like this?”

Her boldness made me embarrassed. She laughed louder at my fumbling words.

“Alright, whatever. We haven't even introduced ourselves properly. What's your name?”

“David Kim.”

“I'm Sarah Song.”

“Pretty name.”

“Thanks… I appreciate that.”

“Your name's pretty, your personality's pretty, everywhere about you is pretty.”

“Everywhere? Like where I was sucking you off yesterday?”

Ah—her blunt word choice still threw me off completely.

“Are you always this direct?”

“Hmm…”

It wasn't a question that needed hesitation, yet she went quiet. Peach downed the soju in front of her and spoke.

“Actually… I'm not usually this direct. But right now, I just want to be.”

“Why?”

“Because you seem awkward? Or… maybe because I don't want to be like how I used to be?”

“…

Why did you jump on me like that yesterday? What were you thinking in the bathroom?”

I told her about the peach scent—that I'd smelled it on her, and that my ex-girlfriend Emma Kim had the exact same fragrance.

It was a painful memory, but also strangely magical. And because of that, I'd thought, maybe with you, I could forget her.

After I finished speaking, Peach stayed silent for a long time, emptying glass after glass of soju placed before her.

“Don't drink so much. You'll pass out again and make me carry you home like last time?”

“…Yeah. That'd be nice.”

All traces of her earlier boldness vanished. Even under dim lighting, her face was clearly flushed red.

A heavy warmth pooled in my lower abdomen—the familiar heat of alcohol giving me courage. Again.

“Want to stop drinking and go somewhere?”

“There's still soju left.”

“We didn't come here just to drink, right? If the background check's done and you've got nothing else to say, we either split up or go somewhere else. This place doesn't feel right anymore.”

“You're surprisingly decisive when it matters.”

“That's just how I am.”

“…Wait a sec…”

The moment I saw a faint glimmer of moisture in her eyes as she tilted her soju glass, something sharp and sad pierced through my chest, like soju poured straight into my heart.

What was she trying to fill, risking her dignity like this? Had I even tried to listen to her story? Regret suddenly flooded in.

“…Us…”

“Us…”

We both started speaking at once. I cut her off.

“I'll go first. This neighborhood sucks for walking or dating, but if we go a little farther, there's a decent path. Want to walk together?”

For a moment, Peach looked utterly bewildered. Since I preferred acting once decided, I started urging her.

“Get up already! If you need the bathroom, go now!”

Still looking dazed, I pushed her toward the restroom, paid the bill, and grabbed her bag before stepping outside.

Though barely in our late twenties, the list of good walking routes I'd unconsciously memorized during my recent aimless wanderings—after breaking up with her—now guided us side by side.

Peach had lived around here nearly ten years, yet she didn't know these paths. As she kept murmuring in surprise and we walked closer together, the slightly chilly night air made the growing intimacy between us tangible.

When I drank alone, or when I carried Peach home drunk, I hadn't noticed—but walking beside her like this, I realized: fall had truly arrived. The night air was cold.

“Tired? Just a bit farther—there's a convenience store, and next to it a little park-like space. If you're thirsty, we can grab drinks?”

“What, am I a kid? Let's get beer!”

Brighter now than earlier, Peach—who'd gotten free drinks both yesterday and today—insisted on paying for a surprisingly large number of beers herself.

“Are we gonna finish all this here?”

“If anything's left, we'll take it with us!”

On a park bench, we emptied several cans—Peach snacking, me smoking as our snack.

“You're strange,” Peach said. “Any guy I know would've seen me as some slut after yesterday.”

“And honestly… I kind of wanted them to. So we could just use each other's bodies and part ways.”

“But I couldn't help feeling heavy after what you said. When you said 'let's go,' I was trying to sort through that disappointing, heavy feeling—then you randomly suggest a walking date? It's ridiculous… but I liked it.”

The earlier soju buzz lingered, and the beer seemed to amplify it. Peach leaned against me more and more.

“Enough. I saw through your act. If you were really like that, you wouldn't hesitate, wouldn't stutter, wouldn't almost cry. But you did.”

“Huh? When did I cry? Did you see me crying?”

“That thing in your eyes earlier—was it from yawning? You didn't even yawn!”

“Oh… you're sharper than you look. For someone who looks like a bear, you're sensitive.”

“Haha. Yesterday I was a wild boar, today a bear? Next you'll call me dog, cow, horse, pig—might as well open a whole zoo?”

“Pfft—haha! You're actually funny.”

I hurt too. You hurt too. Instead of hiding it, pretending we're fine—why not just admit the pain, and enjoy the joy while it lasts?

The words hovered at my lips. Suddenly overwhelmed, I chugged my beer in big gulps.

“…Say what you want to say now.”

“You're perceptive.”

“You felt me swallow hard, didn't you?”

“Phew… You're psychic. Haha.”

“What is it?”

I hesitated for a long moment. Then looked into Peach's eyes.

“You're hurting too. I'm hurting. Why pretend we're not? Why not just say the pain is real… and if we're enjoying this, why not enjoy it?”

We stared at each other in silence.

“Yeah!”

Peach's reply came just as my cigarette burned down.

“Then stop smoking! What kind of kid smokes anyway?”

“And! I don't even know where we are! Shouldn't we go somewhere?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, and it was so funny I couldn't help laughing.

“Hahaha—why are you getting quieter?”

“Ugh… Still…”

“Where'd your confidence from yesterday go? Fine! Let's go!”

“Yeah!”

Her face was brighter than when we left the bar. As Peach stood up, I saw her legs wobble slightly.

“Ugh… Why am I like this?”

“Be honest—what's your limit?”

“One bottle of soju!”

She swayed, sticking her tongue out playfully. I wanted to kiss her—she was so damn cute—but I decided to wait. Instead, I recalled the best-looking motel nearby and gently supported her as we headed there.

Drunk Peach insisted on paying for the room tonight, but I gently took her card and said, “No, this is on me.” Her stubbornness touched me—made her seem even more tender.

They say “glossy outside, rotten inside”—that phrase was made for motels like this one.

We entered the room disappointed by how shabby it was compared to the exterior, but I tossed Peach onto the bed anyway, saying, “At least the bed's great.”

Once inside, Peach collapsed fully, passed out. I woke her, made her drink a bit more beer, then carefully undressed her.

Yesterday morning, in the grim light of a worse motel, with bleary eyes and a heavier heart, I hadn't seen her properly. Now, her body was art.

How could anyone have broken up with this woman? Her figure was perfectly balanced—even with her near-170cm height and breasts over a C-cup, my gaze never wandered. Her pale skin, taut and smooth, surpassed mere beauty.

“Aww… I wanna wash…”

As soon as I hastily unhooked her bra and took her breast into her mouth, Peach mumbled with a twisted tongue.

“You said you weren't in the mood, yet you wore matching lingerie?”

The set—same color top and bottom—showed clear effort: innocent, yet undeniably sexy.

“Ugh… hey… I wanna wash…”

“Okay…”

“Oh! Ahh!”

Having served in the military—where I'd done more physical labor than most—I could easily carry someone like Peach.

I lifted her into the bathroom, sat her in the tub, and washed every inch of her. Her eyes grew deeper, darker, watching me.

Since I'd eventually touch and suck every spot, cleaning thoroughly mattered. And as I diligently showered her, her gaze grew hotter—just as her core grew wetter.

I quickly rinsed myself, wrapped her in a towel, carried her back, and half-laid her on the bed.

“I'm thirsty. Gonna wet my throat.”

“Give me a sip too.”

“Huh? Here.”

“Not from the can—from your mouth.”

My tongue followed the beer into her mouth. We kissed deeply for a long time, my hands roaming her body.

Soft, firm—she'd used body cleanser, but the peach scent still clung to her.

Much later, remembering a famous actress's line from The Thieves, I thought of Peach.

Less aggressive than yesterday, she quietly let me explore her entire body. Only soft tremors and quiet moans filled the room.

Knowing that caresses alone wouldn't make her moan louder anymore—something I'd learned from articles and videos—I slid inside.

Just like yesterday, I came faster than during foreplay. Again, my cock stayed hard, buried deep inside her as I enjoyed the afterglow and began moving again.

“Mmm… You're really good.”

“At what?”

“Ugh, pervert. You have to ask?”

“Does asking make me a pervert?”

“Men always pry. Women care more about the mood, the touching… but men think longer thrusting means better sex.”

“So me being good means…”

“Uh… yeah. Could you stop moving for a bit? It's too intense. Your foreplay completely melted me, and now you're doing this—ahhh… don't move, pleeease… I feel too good.”

“Got it. I'll stay still.”

“Ha. You say that, but…”

“I am staying still.”

“Ha… it's growing. Already? Next round?”

“If you'd like to begin now, Your Majesty, I await your command.”

“Ahaha… You're too funny. Let's stay like this a little longer.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“…But…”

“Hmm?”

“Are you sure… it's okay for me to just do this?”

Suddenly, her expression darkened. She stopped moaning. Her body stiffened.

And just as her body tensed, her pussy tightened too—like a fist gripping my hand.

“Get up!”

“Hey—did I mess up by asking?”

“Get up!! Get up and pull out!”

Slightly offended but mostly guilty, I quickly withdrew and stood. Suddenly, Peach shoved her fingers deep into her own pussy.

“Know what this is?”

She pulled out a ring about the size of a hair tie.

“This is a NuvaRing. My ex hated condoms and made me get prescribed this.”

“At first he wanted me to insert it in my wrist. When I refused because of scarring, he switched to this? I was crazy to agree.”

“To be honest… I should've broken up with him then. Has your girlfriend ever made you do something like this?”

Honestly, I'd once failed to track her cycle and use a condom, so I made her take emergency contraception.

She called it mutual fault—said I'd miscalculated her period—but seeing her suffer afterward broke my heart.

“Has that happened to you?”

“Yeah.”

I told her the story.

“Haha. Yeah, that was mutual fault. You guys knew you'd be sleeping together for days, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did your girlfriend wear cute pajamas?”

“Yeah.”

“You shy bastard! A girl preparing like that—how could you not expect it and not prepare?”

“Is that how it is?”

“Exactly. You might be energetic, but she wasn't unprepared.”

“Maybe…”

A brief silence fell. I wanted to stop remembering.

“Sarah! Let's stop digging up the past. We can't turn back time, and we shouldn't want to.”

“Yeah!”

Peach brightened again, smiling wide.

“…But I have to put this back in. Look over there.”

“Earlier you just pulled it out from the front? Want me to put it in for you?”

“Ouch—”

The ring was soaked in her arousal and my semen.

“In this state, will it go in easily? Or should I wipe it first?”

“I don't know—give it! I'll do it myself!!”

“No—let me…”

We argued for a while, but finally Peach turned around, struggling to reach. I took it from her and inserted it myself.

Then she settled back into position.

“…But it kinda stings.”

“You were really angry earlier.”

“Yeah.”

Her shoulders felt tense—different from how they were during the shower.

“I'll be right back.”

“Huh? Where?”

“I'll be right back!”