Chapter 1 — Spreading Your Legs

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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Have you ever spread your legs so wide it strained your body?

Of course, I don't mean in some sadistic novel where pain is the point.

When you follow along with a yoga video, even without fully mastering the breathing techniques, there are moments you suddenly realize how liberating it feels to move muscles you rarely use.

And then it hits me—how often, really, do men get the chance to spread their legs like that in life?

Certainly less than women do. For me, the sensation was far stronger after receiving anal sex in the missionary position than it was after my first time.

Afterward, I even walked a little differently for a while.

Somewhere along the way, I began developing a fixation on younger men.

As I got older, especially after marriage, memories of my brother-in-law Eric Lee from childhood resurfaced.

I started drifting away from the older men I'd dated. Financially, there were no hardships, but even with a husband significantly older than me, something still felt incomplete.

People usually assume it's about sex—“He's too old, he can't perform,” or some cliché like that. But that wasn't the case at all. Not even a speck of it.

It was more like, in today's terms, our codes just didn't match anymore.

Honestly, I don't get it when women say,
“He doesn't satisfy me.”

That sounds like something straight out of a cheap romance novel.

The real issues start small and compound—family-in-law tensions, kids, daily life struggles. Sex might play a tiny role, but it gets blown out of proportion.

How many women really cheat or divorce purely over sex?

Anyway.

My first sexual experience with a younger man happened when I went abroad for language study and started dating a younger student from the same school.

I'd gone there to learn English, but beyond a certain level, Korean students oddly tended to stick together.

At the time, it was an environment where kids from wealthy families gathered, and as one of the older students, I found myself oddly popular among the younger male peers.

I was one of the few Korean students in the second-highest level class, and others looked at me with envy. Whenever school activities required partners, most jumped at the chance to pair with me.

Sometimes they even competed over who'd get to work with me.

I knew part of it was because I was an older sister figure—someone they could approach without pressure—but it still felt good.

Was it a Toyota sports car?

There was a guy from Busan in my class whom I liked. He always drove me home after school, and among the students, people joked that the passenger seat was “reserved” for me.

I didn't care.

I wasn't loud or outgoing, but my alma mater—something I hadn't even considered—somehow gave me an invisible edge.

I was sharing an apartment on the first floor with other Korean girls when one day, a thief broke in.

All the underwear I'd hung out to dry on the balcony was gone.

Afterward, being the only women in the house, we were oddly frightened.

So I called that guy from Busan and asked him to stay over for a couple of nights, sleeping on the living room sofa to guard the place.

The funny thing was, even when I walked around in just my slip after a shower, or wrapped only in a robe, I still maintained my image as the cool, composed older sister among the younger students.

And it wasn't until much later that I realized it was the reputation of my university that gave me that aura.

Of course, I now think it was just prejudice from people who didn't know me.

Later, I slept with him. But compared to the kind of fantasy I'd built up about being with someone younger, it fell a bit short.

He seemed surprised—almost flustered—by how aggressive I was.

Honestly, I thought I was seducing him. I'd imagined some mysterious, uncharted romance.

But looking back, I think he saw it the other way—he was the one luring me in.

And after that, unintentionally, I ended up having a group encounter with him and his friends at their place.

It was partly my fault—I trusted them too much and drank too much.

After that, I transferred to a short-term business college, started dating a local guy, and stopped getting close to other Korean students abroad.

Like I said at the beginning, I originally intended to write all this with real names, no holds barred. But something changed in me.

And the more I write, the more I feel I'd end up making too many pathetic excuses.

Now, when I look back, my memories of sex are fragmented—just scattered pieces.

I never loved anyone deeply or stayed in a long relationship back then.

Maybe someday I'll change my mind and write this all again. But right now, I don't know. Honestly, I don't feel capable of it.

When I think about it, the wounds from people weren't as deep as the ones from money.

What money really is.

Anyway, I returned to Korea.

After marriage, there was a younger student who worked at a café I often visited with a friend. We'd become close.

One day, he suddenly showed up proudly in front of me with his girlfriend, asking me to treat them to a meal.

She'd waited for him the entire time he was in the military, he said.

And she really was beautiful—her body and face blooming like a fresh flower. I felt a quiet jealousy.

She was smart, fun, the kind of girl who knew how to enjoy life.

I liked that type—gentle, masculine, yet playful.
Not just attractive, but somehow… endearing.

The kind who'd never let you feel bored, who made you want to shower them with affection.

One day, he came to me after a huge fight with his girlfriend, asking me to buy him drinks.

That night, we slept together.

As far as I remember, we had sex five times before morning.

And he came all five times. Is this what youth really means?

I'd never felt it before. He was clumsy—more so than I'd expected—but it wasn't just that I enjoyed having sex so much.
It was the way he kept coming at me, tireless, driven by that raw youth.

Was I really that good?

Sex between a twenty-four-year-old man and a thirty-two-year-old woman.

He lunged at every inch of my body like he wanted to suck me dry.

Still half-drunk, dazed, I dreamed I was drenched in his saliva and sweat.

When he spread my ass wide and shoved his tongue inside, I wasn't myself anymore.

“No. Not there. Don't touch. It's dirty.”

Strangely, I felt deeply ashamed.

Even though I'd done this before, it felt incredibly embarrassing.

Maybe it's just bias, but from my experience, slimmer guys tend to have bigger, longer dicks.

Men who are overweight or overly muscular—maybe because their perineum gets buried under belly fat or thick thighs—I've rarely seen them well-endowed.

Of course, I haven't slept with that many men, so I can't say for sure. But from the few I've been with, that's how it felt.

I think the classical statue is beautiful, sleek—but compared to the body, I don't think the penis looks particularly large.

Though maybe that is the average size for men.

His cock was smooth and long.

I think I prefer long over short and thick.

While I sucked him, I'd ask how it felt when he was with his girlfriend.

Always things like, “Do you like me more? Or her?”

And he'd mock his girlfriend's sexual habits before coming in my mouth.

Saying she wasn't as pretty or tight as me, didn't know how to move or squeeze properly—she was basically lacking.

When my questions shifted from one form to another—using the more intimate form—he started calling me by name and dropping his respectful forms of address.

When we were alone, I acted like his other young lover.

Later, I found out he'd lied about a few small things, but he was always attentive to me, kept his promises, and acted carefully.

I liked how reliable he felt. Surprisingly, we also talked well—really well.

Sometimes, he acted more like an older brother than I did, and I didn't mind it at all.

By the time I started casually belittling his girlfriend in conversation, during sex he'd grab both my ankles, spread my legs wide, and moan.

At first, it was like,
“Fuck, you sexy bitch—spread wider! Damn, you're so pretty. You look delicious.”

He said when he got excited, he stopped seeing me as an older woman and just saw me as a woman—so turned on he couldn't help but say those things.

Sometimes, he'd spread me so wide it hurt, just to tease me.

Other times, he'd stare at my body in that position for a long while and say my pussy was “so firm.”

It made me a little awkward, but I didn't dislike the way he'd get even more aroused right after saying it, then throw himself at me.

“So tight… damn, so pretty.”

With his cock still inside me, holding my cheeks in both hands,

whispering, “There's no one else but you,”

those words—strangely—aroused me far more than I ever expected.