Train from Busan
Serendipity wasn’t fated, it was created.
And how much did I want it to happen? Enough to change my flight plans for him. He was one of the reasons I went to Seoul in the first place.
“Boob vs. Butt. Choose. Which one are you?” It was my version of MBTI. “Forget Myres Briggs,” I’d say. “Mine is much easier.”
Yes. A four-letter word could tell instantly the type of person you are.
And another four letters could tell this guy had a problem.
“Milf,” L said. “I love milfs, and I didn’t leave you. My phone cut off. I cannot log in. Kakao didn’t let me. I talked to them many times and they just gave me back my account yesterday.”
“Did you remember I was going to be in Busan?” I asked him.
“Yes. I know. The 17th. But, I cannot contact you.”
It was true. L and I weren’t smart enough to think it through. We should have exchanged numbers instead of relying on the social app. And even if we did, his phone might have died and he had to get a new one. And if we really were smarter, we’d exchange emails too, and if that didn’t work, our mailing address.
That was too much. For a FWB, this had the makings of a relationship.
“I thought you dropped me,” I told L. I was new to the game then. A few months into yolo-ing and I met him on Tinder. He was really cute and just my type with his young boyish looks and extremely filthy mind and mouth. My type of byeontae.
“No! I didn’t. My insta didn’t work too, and I forgot your ID.”
Thinking back, I wondered if they were lies. It was very convenient that he said the same things many other guys did. Was insta so bad of an app that guys were kicked out and when they were finally bac,k they remembered what my ID was? Could he have started a new account and looked for me earlier rather than wait months to contact me? My ID was a very easy name to remember as it was in Korean.
“I’m flying tomorrow,” I said.
“I know. I’m too late.” L added a sad face. “Now, we have to wait until next year to meet.”
That was a trigger. L threw the bait.
“You’re always so impatient,” said H. “Everything must be now.”
Yes. I am a firefly. Always worried that my flame would snuff at any moment and my life would be filled with regrets. Impulsive. And, I was a butt person.
“Your boobs or your butt?” Someone asked. “Show me a pic of your butt and I’ll choose.”
“Not my boobs and butt. What you like. It’s a personality test, dude,” I replied to that someone.
“It’s hard to choose…”
I rolled my eyes. I was dealing with another indecisive person. “If you can’t choose, you’re greedy and indecisive.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t make a decision,” I said.
“Boobs,” the someone said.
“Boobs means you like comfort, planner, and safety.”
“True…I worry it won’t be okay. What are you?” Someone asked.
“Butt. Risk taker, impulsive and passionate.”
“Isn’t passionate better?” He asked.
“Not really. Many mistakes. Act and think later. Every personality has good and bad,” I said.
And in the case of L, he and I were definitely Butt people. “I changed my flight. Pushed it out a day. Can you take time off?” I asked.
“My work ends at 7 pm,” he replied.
“I’ll get you a KTX ticket,” I said. “I don’t want to wait a year.”
“Me too. I want you…,” he said. “Sorry, I can’t pay for the ticket.”
He was 23 years old. Worked as a barista. “It’s okay.” This was a cougar talking. Time was more precious than money. For $50, it was better than having flown all the way to Seoul and not meeting him.
I’d make fate. “I’ll get you the Train from Busan and back.”
Our plans were made, and the next day came fast. My heart hammering in my chest. I went for my first and last chance for a facial which I’d always wanted to get but didn’t because during the Korean trip, I was juggling with naughty meet-ups, touring with my mom and family, and working on my book.
H was long gone to Japan and I had the hotel room to myself. L was the last person I was going to meet in Seoul. A great way to end a first experience in Korea. A memory worth remembering.
He was the 5th person I met. As I took the elevator down to meet him in the lobby, I was both excited and nervous. Never had I ever paid for a train ticket to bring a guy to me. Never had I felt more like a mature woman preying on a young man. Adding to our age difference, which would raise eyebrows.
Age was just a number.
“I’m here.” The text came after he’d been giving me updates on where he was. My hotel was in Myeongdong where most of the tourists liked to stay. The older part of Seoul is close to the palaces and street markets. A crew of stewardesses flocked in as I got out of the elevator, and I hid afraid to be caught.
Not like anyone would know me. I was in a foreign country, and East Asian, one of the many black-haired women in a mass of many. Guilt reflected in my face as I stared at the mirrored elevator door.
A tall man was approaching me. His face I didn’t recognize. His body shape I did. He had nice broad shoulders, long legs, and V-shaped torso. I knew he was working out and not as slim as he was in his previous pics. Having seen his bottom half more than a couple of times in the months preceding to this, and his fashion as he took many to keep me close, I knew he was most likely L.
Still. “Shit,” I said to myself. I was catfished again. His face I didn’t know. Or did I? He could be L’s older brother.
“Hi,” he said and reached out to give me a side hug.
I stiffened. Still searching his face for some resemblance. “L?”
“Yeah.”
In my heart, I was still reeling. Holy shit. Oh wtf.
I was new to this. I didn’t know what to do. How was I supposed to get out of this? I brought him here. He didn’t have a place to stay. How was I supposed to tell him to go home to Busan when he took two and a half hours to travel here to see me?
The questions kept compounding in my head. My eyes were blurry and my body stiffened more as he sniffed into my hair. It wasn’t that he was terrible-looking. It was just upsetting because in my mind I had expected someone different.
It wasn’t like the other guys whom I met looked the same either. It was a 60:40 chance and so far, I was okay with that. To an extent. Though there was one who was too perverse but I’d put him in the back burner to think about later.
What was done, was done.
At that time, I was naive, new to this hooking-up experience and not understanding that faking who you were and putting your best pics was the the thing to do. Some even had the nerve to put pics ten years ago, and girls were okay with it. Not that they had a choice because, every chat, every meet was left to chance.
With the Internet, personality stood a chance just as penpals did. In this day and age with AI and filters, people are not who they are. You’d never know whom you’re going to get.
Maybe my age was showing cos I was still reeling when he led me into the elevator. Not cool. So not cool.
“Which floor?” He pointed to the buttons.
My hand shook slightly as I scanned my card to the keypad and pushed the number.
He hugged me tight. “I’m so happy I’m here.”
He placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled back to stare into my face. “You’re so beautiful. More beautiful in person than in our vid chats.”
“Oh…thanks.” I swallowed. “Thanks for coming over to see me.”
We walked down the hall as I felt like a prisoner heading to the executioner’s block. Yes, it was maybe too much to describe it like that because he wasn’t bad looking but perhaps because I had a deep expectation and I blamed myself for it.
“Remember to do a proper vid chat with the guys,” H said a month or two before our Korean trip.
“Do I need to?” I asked.
“Yes. You have to.”
“But how do I ask them?”
“You need to protect yourself,” he said.
H was right and I thought I did. Come on. I had more than ten times of vid sex with L. Why didn’t I see him properly?
Because he wore shades. Or was quick with flipping his phone to his erection. His face wasn’t as important as what we were doing. Or maybe he was worried that I might be a scammer.
What about me? Why was I so trusting?
“You are too horny,” said H. “Always impatient and want to play with those young guys.”
Very true. H was always right. He read me like a book. He was steps ahead on what I might do. Knowing where my pitfalls were, and letting me fall so I’d learn my lesson. Which obviously, it took many to get me there.
We stepped inside and L hugged me from behind. I felt his thick erection against my ass. It wasn’t small. His biceps wound tightly around me.
I was trapped. “I have my period.”
Proving again how much I wanted this meeting to work and how much of a sex addict I was becoming that I was willing to do anything to get this guy. Lying through my teeth to my mom and not doing my best at making this trip a super fun one for my family because my needs mattered more.
“It’s your dream come true,” smirked H as I excitedly stepped off the plane ten days before.
“That’s okay,” L said, and he lifted my green dress and pulled it over my head. I wore a black lingerie under it. Lace one-piece with a T-panty clinging like a lifeline behind, highlighting my best asses both front and back.
“Don’t you want to eat?” I asked pointing to the table and the to-go grilled pork dinner I bought for him because he didn’t have time to eat.
“Later,” he said. His lips collided to mine. His braces didn’t bother me. His hands cupping my ass as he roughly pulled me against him. At six feet plus, 186 cm, he was more than a head taller than me and I had to tilt my head up to meet him.
“Wait,” I said and rushed to the bathroom to grab some towels. Suddenly forgetting that I didn’t like him or the surprise he gave me. He was a great kisser and his hard body against mine aroused my need to fuck.
Fuck it.
He took his shirt off when I got back. Super nice pecs, smooth and hard all over, tanned but not overly. He had a beautiful body.
L was naughty. Knowing tricks to please and was ready to pound hard into me. We did it two times and he came twice before we stopped. If I didn’t have my period, he’d go down on me. He told me again and again.
We stopped so he could eat. It was tteokbokki sex and we had to wipe and shower and fucked again, and repeat. Doggy, mission, cowgirl, whatever he wanted, we did. He liked blowjobs but it would have been the best outdoor as we promised. It was midnight when we stopped. The kinky didn’t happen, just good old-fashioned acts of love.
The night was a repeat of my moans, shouts and his groans. We didn’t care who heard or how much we had to clean up. At some point, we stopped, and we both washed up and slept.
There wasn’t much talk. Language was a barrier which sex broke. It was my first time sleeping with a stranger overnight. Afraid to snore, afraid to not be the girl he wanted. It was stressful while he slept like an innocent babe.
This was a first for everything. This trip to Dreamland where all the Korean crazed girls and women wished they had been. And I bagged five. Had them as they had me — the Asian cougar MILF foreigner. Those Korean men that everyone fetishized. It was fun, thrilling, and extremely naughty because the cougar hunted where society frowned.
The verdict was. They weren’t different from other men. Good sex was good sex, and some could be better, and some was kind of mind-blowing. As a naive baby cougar, I jumped before I swam.
Butt gal. Impulsive as always. Mistakes were learned in the process. The thrill in the unexpected. Heart pounding, body jerking, voices moaning, sweat as slick as raindrops on glass, and hands raised in exhilaration.
Carpe diem. Robin W was right. We poets die to live in our words. One day I wish you’d read this and remember me. My confessions, my love for life, and the young guys who would remember the one time when an Asian MILF blew their world.