SECRETS
Secrets are the hardest to keep when you are open.
Three months in. No one knew of our new dating lives. There were no rules. The road was paved in tall grass, and a mist clouded as far as we could see. Everything wasn’t smooth sailing. I’d been tripping over live wire more than once and gone on my knees begging for the mistakes I’d made.
No vid playing when the kids were around. No meeting guys in the same industry as H was. No telling personal information. Waiting till he had met someone before I could meet mine. The rules were iffy then and I was too excited to know my limits.
“Now we have to tell someone we know,” H said. “You tell a friend and I’d tell mine.”
“Whhaaaat?” It was one thing to play with strangers and snickering among ourselves about what we said and did. The roasting, pokes and pics. Everything was new and fun. Behind the screens and even meeting these strangers, our lives were split between what was real and what was new real.
Was I ready to show this new me? It was easier for H because men vs men, there could be that acceptance that dudes had but women were different.
Society had always frown on the loose women who wanted more than what she deserved. One woman, one man. Marriage was such. There wasn’t another option. Harems were meant for one man to spill his seed and spread as far as he could. Vice versa? The Patriarchal society wouldn’t allow for it.
“Don’t tell his wife,” I told H. His pal was easy going and super open. In his college days he was into drugs and slept around. Once he’d watched a threesome as he smiled high on his drugs.
His wife, on the other hand, was different. And like many moms I knew, sleeping around with other men while married would be horrendous. In the ancient days, maybe stoned.
“She won’t get it.” I shook my head. “Please tell him not to do it.”
“Okay. You can trust him. He won’t tell,” H said.
Yes. I couldn’t bare the judgement in her eyes. I was a new cougar taking my baby steps.
“You tell your friend,” he said.
“My friend? What friend?” I said. Yes. I was a MILF with no friends. A sore point on my part. It was bad enough I couldn’t find a girl friend to share my hobbies and now with this new life of mine. I definitely wasn’t Carrie B in ‘Sex in the City’.
“Tell your ex-BFF,” he suggested. My decades in the US went in a flash. My BFF from high school. She was once my bridesmaid in a past almost forgotten. She had gone through some rough patches on her side and was recently divorced. No kids, just her own free life to do whatever she wanted.
I’d wondered more than a few what that life was like. To just focus on my work and travel as I wanted. A small apartment for myself and hanging out with some friends once in a while, to be free to do whatever. She wasn’t the only one with such a life. A few guys whom I spoke to who were in their mid-thirties had chosen not to marry, preferring a single life with friends.
“Why don’t you want to marry?” I asked my FWB in Korea. He was the second one who passed the long-distance test, chatting with me often enough to share our thoughts and feelings about life. Sex wasn’t the only thing on his mind. He was the most chill and oldest of all the guys I hung out with. When we met the second Summer in Seoul after chatting for a year, he appeared older than me, though I was older than him by ten years.
He brought me out for lunch and was a pervert when he should be. Like me, he loved to have sex outdoors, filming and preferred hanging with foreigners like myself.
“It’s too much trouble,” he said as he drove me around Seoul so I could take a glimpse of what I’d missed being stuck in the hotel room waiting for the next guy. “I like my life now. I want to meet new people and go on dates and if we match, we can have sex.”
“True. Why marry just because everyone does,” I said. It seemed it was a new trend among the singles from Gen Ys, Zs and beyond.
“I like friends with benefits but in Korea, there are not many. Also, I think my mind is like foreign people. I can do what I want. No need to worry about family and children.” Also, in his case, his parents had passed on. There wasn’t a need to procreate for the next generation. Even his older sister too was single.
Korea was having one of the worst birth rates amongst all the countries in the world. It didn’t mean they weren’t having sex. Just not getting married. And even if they did, child rearing in this competitive country where kids had to start cram schools in elementary ages, and the need to buy their children’s way to better schools, education, where face-prestige matters; I could see why no one wanted that burden.
“Tell her,” said H. “Let’s see how they react.”
It’s back to sharing our secrets. It was the next step. I agreed someone had to know what we were doing. H would tell his best friend first because he was here and I would tell my ex-BFF when I returned home in Summer.
“Tell him to look for me on Ashley,” I told H. We created my profile together and thought it would be hilarious if his bestie found me in the cheating site. H said his bestie didn’t believe that I was a changed woman. How could a sweet, kind, happy housewife like me whom everyone knew for over twenty years, turned into a naughty seductress who hunted young men to eat?
My mask was good. Korean quality and skin deep. It wasn’t that I was faking it. I am genuinely a nice person. In fact in one of my convos with my Korean contacts in the YOU story, he said “You are a nice Byeontae Ajuuma.”
Whoever said we were one type of person?
Every person had facets of themselves which they showed to different people. H wasn’t surprised because he saw all my faces. In fact, he got a shock when he learned that I, his girlfriend in college, was a super horny girl who locked him in a college kitchen room and pushed him onto a chair and humped him. Even got a condom in hand so we could do a quickie before our friends returned to the kitchen.
Yes. I was a planner. The cougar’s playbook. Always loved sex and still do today.
“Dude! I got in trouble with my wife!” H’s bestie texted back.
“What happened?” H asked.
“My wife said if I don’t get off the site she’d cut my balls off!” H’s bestie said.
“Damn…,” H said.
“Looks like she’s not open to the idea of us seeing other people,” Bestie said.
Yeah. I knew it. Women’s instinct is never wrong.
Flash forward a few months later. Im back at home with my mom and that night I was meeting my Ex-BFF.
“I’m meeting my girlfriend,” I told my Korean buddies in Kakao. Instantly, I get messages asking if I’m going to sleep with her or to share some pics because they heard that she was the same age as I. The thirst for MILF was strong.
“Does she have smooth skin?” One guy asked.
And so I touched her arm. “Yes, smooth and pale white like tofu. She’s my friend,” I texted back to the crowd of guys who were now swarming my insta, wanting minute by minute account.
“When was the last time she slept with someone?” Another asked.
“I can’t ask her that!” I said. But, I did anyways.
“I tried Coffee and Bagel once,” she said, “But the guy wanted the benefits before the friend.”
“Oh really?” My eyes rolled. I didn’t confess yet. Was waiting for the right moment so she won’t judge. “So did you sleep with him?”
“No.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“I didn’t like him enough. Didn’t feel like it,” she said.
“Then, do you masturbate?” I couldn’t believed I asked her that. The old me would have stayed away from sex conversations. “Have you ever used a toy?” I asked.
“I bought one online. A vibrator,” she took a drink of her beer. We were at a pub close to the river and enjoying the evening breeze while families and couples walked by and settled into the restaurants nearby.
“I guess I have low libido,” she said.
The first year when I was open, I was ravenous. I had sex every day, be it masturbation, vid sex or with H or some guy.
The second year, I edged more because the time difference made it hard for me to coordinate with Korea and H was counting the guys I met again and I wanted to give him chance to find girls and his FWB before I searched for mine. Briefly for a few months, I had a Korean American FWB and met him once a week.
“I have a confession,” I said to my Ex-BFF.
“Whaat? Something happened? Woman! Don’t tell me you are pregnant again!” She shook her head.
“I…” I closed my eyes. “H and I went open. We have an open relationship.”
Her shoulders squared and she slowly turned to face me, eye to eye. “Whhhaaat?”
“Did H asked you to?” she asked. H was right. Everyone would think it was his fault.
“I met a Korean guy online and vid sex with him. An online fling. I told H about it and we decided to go open,” I said.
“No…no way…not you,” she said. “I can’t believe it.”
“I like young men. Especially East Asian guys in their twenties.”
“Woman!” She slapped my arm. “Are you serious?”
No one believed I could be into sex. Always, I had to show some pics of the guys I’d done with.
I eat young guys for breakfast.
My butter boys. Smooth like butter, taut and filled with so much passion. I showed her their profiles on the dating apps I used and for some, described a little of what we did.
She enjoyed the sexy pics my butter boys shared. “They’re not my type but they’re really hot and cute,” she grinned. “And you slept with them?”
“Yes,” I grinned. “They love a sexy, curvy MILF.”
“Did G know you were like that?” She asked. G was my high school boyfriend before H.
“He knew I like sex. We used to watch porn together,” I said. I didn’t want to confide that G and I had sex almost every time we met for the two years we were together. It was to the point he had to tell his guy friends that I was insatiable.
A sex addict. Years ago there was a movie series — Nymphomaniac Vol.1 and 2 that I was so excited to watch. It was supposed to be an art film. I enjoyed watching the main character’s experiences growing up and the guys she met and had sex with.
And as her journey closed in she lost her ability to feel in her pussy. Trying more and more extreme sex, till sex became a chore, her body withering away and ending with her body raped and torn apart by an old, white guy who rescued her from the streets, and listened to her stories.
The freedom of woman’s sexuality died by drugs and the hands of the male, white, patriarch. What the fuck was that?
Firstly, how was this a film worth speaking of? A glorified sexist film espousing the reality of downtrodden women, who for a brief moment celebrated her soul and then taken down by the men who always won in the end.
Where was that Wonder Woman we were looking for?
MILFS should be celebrated. One of the most searched porn. We loved the motherly figure. She gave us comfort, breeding sexuality, lust and love.
Why were the curvy women stuck in porns and low casted roles? Why weren’t they the smart, successful, sexy women that all men and women like?
Venus had curves. Those hips gave the world life. Adam’s Eve with her plump breasts were meant to be sucked.
Sex shouldn’t be shunned. It was something beautiful. Like music, our movements in dance. Lips, hips, arms and groins. As natural, addicting and explosive as life itself.
It was time to open those legs, Mama is coming.