Chapter 1 — The Artist She Met at a Café Gathering - 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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Today, I was hosting the wine club meeting again. I'd only joined the group recently, but when the organizer pulled some shady financial move, I ended up—by sheer accident—being named treasurer.

At first, I was elected alongside Sarah Lee, a well-off housewife, but she backed out, leaving me to handle everything alone until Emma Kim, the dance professor, rejoined as president. Unfortunately, she taught at a provincial university and could only come on weekends.

For the record, Sarah Lee was late thirties, and Emma Kim was early forties—an unmarried woman, sharp but clingy.

I host every single gathering. As treasurer, I manage the money, so the hassle is endless. I have to scout venues, confirm attendance, make reservations, and keep the menu fresh—people get bored with the same old thing.

And because I handle the finances, on days when over twenty people show up, I have to double-check everything: whether the food came out right, if the wine matches the headcount, who brought their own and who forgot, whether the bill is accurate, who showed up versus who signed up, who's paid dues and who hasn't, and whether every round—first, second, third—adds up correctly.

Because of all this, I can never really drink.

And then there's the professor. Bless her, she gets drunk fast—just a little and she's clinging to someone. Every time, it's me. Though honestly, she does it to others too.

Since most people here don't know each other, I feel responsible for keeping an eye on her.

I'm no saint. When I've had a few, I can't say the thought of doing something with her hasn't crossed my mind.

But every time she presses against me—her padded chest brushing my shoulder, my back, my arm, even my face—I force myself back to reality.

That night, most were strangers.

Eric Jung, the sleazy guy who claimed to be in music, was, as usual, hitting on women. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't keep dragging me into it.

“What do you think of her? You two should hook up.”

Then, right before things fell apart, he'd ask her to grab a drink alone.

After the first round, we moved on to a restaurant for hangover soup—hot soup—and by the time we left, past midnight, we ended up at a budget beer hall.

A place that sold cheap international beers and allowed outside snacks. Surprisingly, most of the group stayed out.

By then, all the dues were spent—whatever they paid, they could sort it out themselves. I finally let go and started drinking properly.

Everyone ordered their own beer, and someone brought Absolut.

How was I supposed to drink this? sigh

Still, I mixed drinks and passed them around.

Just then, a woman I'd never seen before sat beside me. She wore a flashy dress, eye-catching and bold.

“Why aren't you drinking?”

“Oh… I'm the treasurer. I don't usually drink much.”

“Come on, have some. Hahaha.”

“Alright then.”

We clinked glasses. I barely wet my lips.

Twenty, thirty minutes passed. People started getting drunk.

A few guys started playing darts, so I got up and joined in.

It'd been a while—I wasn't good at it. Was I about to quit?

Just then, a few women, including her, came over saying they wanted to play too.

So we restarted the game. The women were already tipsy—any dart that stuck to the board sent them into cheers.

The turn order got messy, but she kept ending up beside me. And then, she started leaning.

Her turn came again. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed into me.

It was summer—she wore only a thin dress. I felt the soft, yielding weight of her body against mine.

I guided her back to her seat.

“Have some water.”

“No. Give me more alcohol.”

“Alright.”

I'm not a talkative person, so I just sat beside her. She started dozing off.

“Hey. Want to go home? It's really late.”

“……”

Everyone was drunk anyway. Without saying goodbye to anyone, I supported her and walked her outside.

The sun had already risen. The sky was bright.

I hailed a taxi and asked, “Where to?”

An-yang… some hospital. She spent the entire ride with her head on my lap, asleep.

When the driver said we'd arrived, she jolted awake, paid the fare, and got out. I followed.

“Which way is your place?”

She didn't answer. Just staggered forward on her own.

We reached a building packed with tiny, run-down one-room units—almost like cram-school dorms.

She punched in a code and went in. I followed.

We took the elevator to the third floor, stopping in front of her door.

“Thanks. You can go now.”

She said it.

How can I just leave?

I crushed my lips against hers. She didn't resist.

I pulled back, catching my breath. She silently opened the door and stepped inside.

I tried to follow, but she blocked me. A silent tug-of-war began at the doorway.

I pushed the door wide open, pulled her in, wrapped my arms around her, and plunged into a deep French kiss.

Her lips… were they naturally moist, or was it her saliva? Either way, they were full, soft, and felt incredible.

I locked the door, still wearing my shoes, and moved my hands to her chest. Deliberately, I gripped her breast hard.

“Ah… it hurts…”

She had a solid build, and her chest was certainly not lacking.

I kicked off my shoes like I was throwing them and pushed her toward the bedroom.

I laid her down and slipped my hand under her dress, searching for her breasts.

She wore a sticky bra. I didn't know how to unclip it, so I just ripped it off. I slid both straps down her shoulders and brought my lips to her bare chest.

Her exposed shoulders—pale, smooth skin dotted with tiny moles here and there.

She wasn't slim, but her frame was defined. A body with presence. Perfectly proportioned.

And her breasts didn't disappoint. Not particularly firm, but undeniably full.

As I sucked on her nipples, one hand slipped into her panties.

She was already soaked—her juices abundant.

I pulled her panties off and went