Welcome to my Harem
(The following stories are 92% Real)
“Congratulations! Second Husband.”
It started as a joke because of him. He called many times a day after our first online sex, horny and always wanting more. I showed him my pics and vids — my ass being pounded doggy style by H, my boobs grabbed with H’s choking hand, my moaning as my climax rose, and many dirty acts.
“Have you heard of ahegao?” he asked one day.
“Ahe what? What’s that?”
“A Japanese word. Face during sex.” So, I googled it. The faces were weird. Cross-eyed with tongues sticking out. It won't be surprising in manga and anime, but seeing it in real life…well, it was a little disturbing.
“Okay…why?” I asked, even though I already knew what he wanted.
“I like that. I like seeing a woman’s face at climax.”
“I can’t show my face.” I told him.
“Why?”
“Same reason why you don’t show your face.” I tapped on my shades. The Internet was a vast ocean of darkness, and I was a clueless bird flapping too close to the waves.
As a prank, I told him once I was masturbating in the library behind the shelves. That got him excited. He was persistent, and at some point, he trusted me enough to show me his face, so I showed mine. He loved it so much that he said, “Wow. I want to get married.”
“With who?” I teased.
“With you. Haha.” He said.
“With me? I’m already married. Unless you want to do a threesome with me and my husband?” I joked.
“Haha. If it was close, I would have gone right away, whether it is a threesome or with you.”
“Really?” The tease backfired. Both H and I were surprised by his words. Today was Christmas, and Santa brought an unexpected gift.
“He proposed to you!” H whispered excitedly after grabbing my phone when he saw my face.
“Huh?” I followed H out of the room because our family was tearing the wrappers off their gifts.
“You got a proposal! He wants to marry you!” H laughed. I stared at the words on the screen.
“Can we do it now? Vid chat?” Second husband was asking. The texts flashed, rolling up as he kept going, and then my phone began to ring. I shut it off immediately.
“Go!” H said. “Make it short. Just talk only.”
This was weeks after we decided to be open. After coming out to H about my online affair and agreeing, we would work on trying out this new life of dating and fucking others. At that moment, I was more surprised at H and his excitement than mine.
Was this Korean guy serious? Far across the Pacific, a young, handsome, single man wanted me to be his wife.
Was he expecting me to visit him in Korea and consummate this relationship? Instantly, I was reminded of the Asian royalty and their concubines. Except, I wasn’t a King or noble. Yet, the thought of a second husband in Korea was mind-boggling and thrilling.
He was the first to take a dick pic for me when I asked for it, and despite his protest, he gave me my first cum shot too. It was a trophy which I treasured and played with.
He could be the start of my harem. It was that spark that ignited a crazy idea. And this was before starting my naughty IG channel. At that time, I had two empty IG accounts for my friends from Ometv, separating the guys based on danger zones. They came and go — my fishes looking for sex, someone to chat briefly with, and others were just lonely.
Life every day was the same as the next. House. Kids. Errands. Cooking. Finances. Nothing was ever new or changing — a forever state of stasis. But after I met those stranger guys and entered their rooms every day, adrenaline rushed through my veins, never knowing whom I might talk to or do.
“When was your first sex?” I asked the first guy I met for the day. Asking to play was becoming a routine. Meeting a stranger, staring eye to eye as I took my clothes off, was as natural as taking a shower. The mornings after dropping the kids at their schools, I dressed up in my lingerie, preparing for another round of flash and fuck. My husband knew what I was doing. He was encouraging my secret tryst.
Dicks everywhere. Hands jerking. Cum exploding. Korean faces I met whom I didn’t know and many I may or may not see again. But the faceless one, the first dick I saw…I still remember him.
I won’t forget his words, “My teacher was very hot.”
It was amazing that with translators, I could easily talk to a stranger about his sex life. We shared our secrets and said whatever we wanted without fear.
“There is no judging. I don’t judge,” said to another guy later whom I named ‘Buddy’. His story will come after.
Back to my vivid imagination. A fifteen-year-old boy was in the chemistry lab where the two illegals performed the deed. Even today, a teacher like her could be judged as abusing her authority, but she was a dream come true to many boys and men. He said he sat on a chair by the window, and the teacher climbed on his lap. That itself was kudos.
That woman had serious skills. I wished I was her, not that I’d do anything illegal.
“Omg. Was it good? Did it hurt?” I was told it might. Boys have skin, but with circumcision, maybe it was easier the first time…”
“No,” he said. “It was so good. She was so wet.”
“Daebak! 대박 Damn…you fucked your teacher.” I gave him two thumbs up. “This is so awesome!”
His smiley smiled. “We did it many times. I cummed in her.”
I couldn’t get over my excitement. I felt wet as I imagined I was there in that science lab. Long tables with high stools. Sinks at the far end of the table. Beakers in wood stands. A table in the front where his teacher sat.
The naughty teacher with that tight skirt and no panties broke all the rules and did what her profession made her swear not to do. She was in the back seat by the window with her student, ionically bonded as two atoms became one.
Now, that was some special treatment. After school, extra tuition. Every pervert’s dream and mine.
This guy won. Clearly, he did — reality vs. fiction.
“How long did you have sex with her?” This was a full-blown illegal activity and not a one timer.
“A few months…and then I graduated.”
“Ahh…why did she choose you? Are you handsome?” I asked because I wouldn’t know because all I saw was his stiff cock. That and him asking for my boobs and breathlessly cumming.
Months later, I think I met him again. Randomly, I decided to check the vid app again to get some ideas for my story, and a guy said, “Byeontae Ajuuma! 변태아줌마” and smiled. “How are you?”
A handsome guy with boyish looks. He could be part of one of those kpop guys and have a massive million-dollar following. I remembered thinking, what was a guy like him doing in an app like this?
“I’m good,” I replied, still trying to place him and slightly annoyed by the Ajumma 아줌마 label.
“Still playing games?” He smiled and spoke in good English.
I nodded and narrowed my eyes.
“You’re wearing sunglasses now.” He said.
“Yeah. Do I know you?”
He grinned. Too cute. Messy combed-down hair with shiny moonlit eyes and smooth skin. “Yes…you know me. But I’m not playing today.”
“Oh…that’s fine.” I’m still trying to make him out. A guy like him should stand out. It was impossible that I didn’t remember him.
“Have fun! Go find some game.” He waved and clicked off.
Now, thinking back, I bet it was him — my fifteen-year-old-virgin-who-lost-it-to-his-teacher guy. Only he would call me Byeontae Ajumma 변태아줌마. I changed the game to Byeontae game 변태게임 after the first because I felt why should I label myself?
The Ajumma 아줌마 label would get lost in translation with the Koreans, who would not understand the subtlety of my sarcasm and the fight to break through labels of age and stereotypes.
Many months have passed, and it was getting closer to the day I was heading to Korea, my big pilgrimage in June.
Seoul — my dream, my bucket list to fuck as many Korean guys as I could. The land of my fantasy.
“Second husband.” I grinned as I typed excitedly when he logged on again.
“Don’t call me that,” he told me when we started our vid chat.
“Second husband? Why not?” I smiled. “But, it’s the truth. You’re my second husband. You proposed to me, and I said, ‘yes’.” I teased. I always like to tease him like that.
“Stop calling me that,” he said, cleaning up his white sticky mess. We had fun again in a long time and it was good.
“But why? It’s sweet. Our in-joke.” I sensed a conflict coming. Like all marriages, the honeymoon was ending. “You’re not my real husband if that’s what you’re worried about…”
“I know…but I don’t like it. Don’t say it,” he pouted. “Why are you chatting with other men? You are going to have sex with more than me in Seoul?”
“I’m open,” I said. “It’s my bucket list. You know that.”
“You should only be with me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t have an open relationship with H to be closed in Korea,” I said.
My heart shrank. He wasn’t in lust with me anymore. We weren’t having fun and talking about whatever we wanted. No filters. Anything that came out of our mouths. After the first time we met, it became clear he lusted for more. The phone was endlessly ringing, and he demanded the next sex high.
He wasn’t the only guy I was reeling in. Each wanted my time. For each one, I cummed, and we enjoyed ourselves. They went to sleep relaxed, and I started mine happily, sixteen hours behind them.
But harems didn’t last forever. The followers swish like the waves that ebbed. Fishes came, and fishes went.
Lust hurts. Lust scars.
I had my share of ghosting. Over those months, their hurt took time to recover because despite how I tried, my soft heart wasn’t made of steel.
Our cultures were different. Those promises and words of love and affection were lies. Like a naive little girl, I wanted to believe them because I always told the truth. Much as I played, I didn’t promise something I couldn’t keep. In the end, I realized it was all part of the game.
As H said, “You want to play this, you gotta be stronger. You can’t get hurt.”
H was right, and this baby cougar is still learning. It was challenging trying to understand the minds of these men, who were both foreign and exciting.
The Asian mind.
I was more American than I thought. There was a cultural divide. Being open was hard for Second Husband to relate. The freedom to do what we wanted because our independence and differences mattered more.
Each time my K friends left, my heart steeled. Metal bars prevent the leak of compassion and sadness.
“You’re more mean now,” H said.
“I’m just joking,” I replied. “Getting them to laugh gives me a high.”
“I know. But you’re more mean now.”
H was right.
Something had to give. I was trading my pure soul for this. The sweet innocence and the comfort of being in a cocoon of family life for these dangerous waters. I was getting hurt and, each time, scoring a mark on my unblemished skin.
And as the months went on, it was a little less painful. I wasn’t going to stop. With pain came pleasure, and the benefits were high, and the fumes of ecstasy were hard to avoid.
Forget Second Husband. Forget the promises he made and never kept. Forget he said he’d come back, but he didn’t. I, on the other hand, would always be here. Behind the dark screen and in that chat app I’d always been on.
One day, if he returned, even if he ghosted, I would welcome him with open arms. Not because I’m cheap and needed him but because I am curious. What lives did they lead after they left? How much real-life sex did they get?
Like me, they loved to fuck. Like me, sex was a flash of enjoyment and a moment of ecstasy. We are all screwed up. We are all pervs.
But who cares? Really. Because come tomorrow, there will always be more fish to catch.