Chapter 1 — The Woman Who Was My Coworker

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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At the end of 2010, after shutting down his own business, Daniel Lee found himself back under someone else's roof—working for a company again.

Looking back now, those few months feel like a complete waste. He didn't learn a damn thing.

The boss was a sleazy guy who spent more time chasing middle-aged women at nightclubs than managing the business. The guy directly above him, along with the other male employees, were all borderline con artists. Sure, sales involves some exaggeration, but these guys? He never wanted to deal with them again.

When he started, there was only one female employee—young, plain-looking. Not exactly ugly, but painfully country-style. Mongolian features, you could say.

After about a month, she quit. In her place came a tall, pale-skinned woman.

The boss—who had never once hosted a company dinner—suddenly decided to hold one. Clearly, he had one goal in mind: this new woman.

But no matter how hard he or anyone else tried, she remained completely indifferent to all the men in the office.

Once, he ended up helping her with something—can't even remember what. They made a separate appointment to go over it.

Yeoksam Station.

He suggested a simple bar, maybe some chicken and beer. But she showed up at a place with servers in tight, revealing outfits—and she came with him, no hesitation.

He's not usually the type to talk much around women. But the fact that she agreed to meet him outside of work… and even offered to buy him a drink? Maybe she didn't dislike him.

They ended up having a conversation he never expected.

She told him she'd worked at M Corp, a foreign company in the P Building right next door, but quit.

"I hated how rigid everything was," she said.

"You left that kind of job?" he blurted out. "Why the hell?"

As the alcohol kicked in, she looked at him and said, "You're the only normal one in that office."

"Huh. I kinda feel the same way," he laughed. "You don't fit in there either."

They clicked instantly, laughing like old friends, drinking like they had known each other for years. When they parted ways, he already knew he'd miss her.

Soon after, he quit and moved to the countryside. A couple of months passed.

By chance, they reconnected—and decided to meet up for drinks that very night.

This time, he had a clear intention: he wanted her. He set the meeting spot near Konkuk University.

An Indian-style café. It still exists today. A perfect place for seducing women.

They drank Absolut. Barely half a bottle between them, but they were both drunk.

They wandered the streets aimlessly. She was already clinging to his arm. He didn't know the area well, and the alcohol had wiped out his sense of direction.

They ended up walking almost all the way to Children's Grand Park—then walked into a shabby motel together.

She followed without protest.

He kissed her. His hand moved to her breast—she didn't resist, but whispered, "Let's wash up first."

He tried to undress and get in the shower with her, but she insisted on going alone.

Wrapped in a towel, she came out. He showered quickly and returned to find her already under the covers.

He slipped under the blanket, one hand going straight to her breast, the other pulling her into a kiss.

She had long, straight black hair and pale skin. Big eyes, a sharp nose, lips with just the right fullness. Her face was flawless—except for a slightly wide forehead.

And her breasts? Barely an A-cup.

But when he touched her, she responded immediately.

He felt her nipples harden, so he took one into his mouth, sucking gently. His hand slid down to between her legs.

Her pubic hair was moderately thick—not messy, but definitely more than average. Just… abundant.

He slipped his middle finger between her labia, searching for her clitoris. She was somewhat wet, but compared to other women, she was on the dry side.

He rubbed her with his fingers, then moved his mouth down, ready to go down on her—when she suddenly grabbed his head and pulled him up.

"No," she said.

Then, with one hand, she spread herself open. With the other, she grabbed him and guided him to her entrance.

But she wasn't wet enough. It wasn't going in.

She winced in pain, but kept pushing, trying to take him deeper.

Finally, after struggling, he was all the way in.

"Damn… it hurts…"

He didn't answer. He just started thrusting—hard, deep piston strokes.

But even though she wasn't wet, she felt loose. Looser than he expected.

The last time he'd felt anything like this was over a year ago—with a temp teacher he'd hooked up with one night.

She later told him she'd married a friend of his from a different circle. He'd seen a message photo revealing she'd given birth before the wedding.

Anyway, he couldn't come inside her.

She noticed. Without a word, she took him into her mouth and gave him oral sex.

Surprisingly skilled.

Was her tongue just longer? She wasn't like other women who lazily circle the tip. Her mouth felt like it was wrapping him completely.

But still, he didn't come.

It must've been around 2 or 3 a.m. Still hard, he lay beside her, calming it with his hand as they talked.

They chatted about their current jobs, random family stuff—normal things.

Then she said, "I don't even remember how long it's been since I last had sex."

And then, almost as if justifying why she came with him: "I wanted this too."

They weren't lovers. They were sex partners—pure and simple.

Whether she had feelings for him? He doesn't know.

He just knew she was someone he could talk to honestly. Someone comfortable. A real friend.

After that, they met every two or three months—had sex, and gave each other advice about careers, resumes, life.

About a year passed.

When they started losing touch, he slept with another woman—then a few months later, he met his current wife.

She must've seen his message status and known he was getting married.

She always messaged him first. And every time he replied, she never answered again.

Then one night, she reached out.

Around midnight. She was drunk.

Her place was near a university—somewhere up north.

He took a taxi there once. Another time, he drove.

They only met for sex.

But somehow, they were the most honest versions of themselves with each other.