Bubblegum Girl
Bubblegum Girl was really cute.
Chirpy smile, pale face, long shiny black hair, and Korean monolid eyes. Never did I think I’d make a friend, and with a Korean girl in her twenties at that.
It started when I decided to try Bumble Friend, an option rather than Dating, where you get to befriend the same genders.
I really wanted to make Korean friends. When I went Yolo, it wasn’t just to date Korean guys, it was also to befriend Korean girls or foreign women living in Korea.
The country was an enigma, and there was so much I wanted to know about living there — a dream of mine which like many millions of others, was brought by the Hallyu Korean Wave.
“Japan is better,” said H.
“Some of the places here in Seoul remind me of a developing country. Kdrama made everything look shiny and perfect but there are places that are dirty.”
Of course, there were, and it was true that Japanese people took cleaning to another level.
Still, there were pros and cons to the two countries, and the places in Seoul that were not as nice, netted off the experiences that I wanted.
There was a time when Japan was where I wanted to live. If you asked why choose Korea now? I can’t answer that. Why Korean men?
Maybe, they were more my type but how far was it a country type than just attraction?
I liked Chinese guys with similar looks, so that’s that.
Bubblegum Girl didn’t care for cute-hot Korean guys.
“When I was in high school, I had a very handsome Korean boyfriend,” she DM in English.
The Koreans in their thirties and below spoke English well, many without translators.
Bubblegum Girl said she learned hers in school and always had an interest in English.
And that made sense because of her love for foreign men.
“But I wasn’t attracted to him. All my friends admired him but my type was the Arabic guys.”
“Oh…” That was interesting. I could see why Middle Eastern guys could be mysterious.
From the way she talked about these men and the way she was, she was obviously a sub and into those dark-eyed, exotic rough-shaven macho-men.
“When we had sex in high school, it was very normal and boring,” she added.
Yes, we talked about sex.
In fact, it was she who started it.
“Are you a Milf?” She asked a few DMs in after I said hi.
This girl had a purpose, and I didn’t blame her.
I had my own agenda too which I would get into that in later chapters.
“Yes.” I smiled. “Is that why you chose me?” There was no need to pretend. My profile said I was looking to hang out with friends who like mommies.
“I want your advice. You have lots of experience?” she asked.
I often wondered if it was a misnomer that Milfs were expert in sex.
I had only one sex partner for over twenty years and it was only after I went YOLO that I got to experience more sexual partners.
At that time, it was after I had my first summer of sex marathoning in Korea and my headcount then was less than ten.
“Do you give good blow jobs?” she asked. “I am dating two guys right now. Both are Arabic but one I think I’m going to drop.”
I laughed to myself. Was she for real? Never would I thought an innocent-looking girl like her would say blow job and two-timing so casually.
“Sounds like you have lots to tell. Do you want to call?” I asked.
“Okay,” she said and called me through insta.
“Hello?” I spoke.
“Hi,” she replied. Her voice was nice. Everything about her seemed fine. Why would a girl like her have relationship problems?
Her questions came rapid fire about how I knew that a guy liked a blow job and if was it normal for a guy to not want sex after getting a blow job and the questions rained on.
“Okay, hold on…hold on…,” I laughed.
“First before blow job class, tell me what’s going on.”Why are you dating two guys? And who’s the one getting the blow job and didn’t like it?”
“I have a boyfriend for 2 years. We were a normal couple and had sex, and then we broke off and got back again, and then when I thought he didn’t love me anymore, I broke off with him.
But, after the fourth time we broke off, he said he needed to think about it and stopped having sex with me.”
“Okay…,” I refrained from commenting because who knew what else was there.
“Tomorrow I’m going on a date with a Turkish guy,” she said, “And then I’m going with my ex- boyfriend for a date the next day (Sunday).”
And so it continued, her venting about this guy and her dating life.
“Has he slept with you before?” I asked one of those times.
“Not anymore, he doesn’t want to sleep with me. I tried wearing more revealing clothes (she showed me her clothes which were way tamer than what I’d wear but I had big boobs and butt so everything was always more sexualized) but he is not interested,” she said. “How do I give him a good blow job?”
“I don’t think the issue is the blow job. I asked many of my online friends and Korean guys too, and they said any blow job, even if the girl is not skilled, is sexy.”
“We went to Busan for a few days vacation.
The hotel room had two beds. We stayed in it together but he slept in his bed. Most guys would take that chance right?”
“Yes, they would.” Something was up.
“I wore a top with no bra!” She said.
Woah. She really wanted him back.
“Maybe it is time to move on,” I said. “Sounds like a lost cause. A girl like you can get any foreign guy you want.”
“Then…why is he still meeting me?” she said.
“I agree. Why? And what about the Turkish guy?”
“We walked a lot and talked but I didn’t feel the chemistry. I dropped the Turkish guy,” she said.
“True. Isn’t easy to find a good match. But there are other Middle Eastern looking French guys in Seoul for sure.”
Days later I found one.
Yeah, I did. Felt sorry for her, and when I was on Bumble Korea, if I saw a guy Bubblegum Girl might like, I’d match with him and got him to check her pics out.
“I’ll meet her,” said a super hot guy. Tall, broad-shouldered, lean with obvious abs, dark-haired, fair-skinned with deep-set eyes and long lashes.
He was an actor in Korea, French with Arabic descent, and in his profile he said to feel free to contact him and not to be intimidated by his specs.
“She’s cute,” he said. “But I think you’re more sexy.”
“I’m not in Korea.” I brushed him off. He wasn’t my type. “And I like Korean guys.”
“Okay, I’ll meet her. We might get along,” he said.
“Exactly. She speaks English well.”
“No. He’s too handsome,” said Bubblegum Girl.
“Why not? If he likes you what does it matter?” I asked.
“Many girls will like him.”
“Isn’t that better?” I said. Why wouldn’t she want a trophy guy? She was a pretty, in fact, a beautiful young woman.
She deserved someone good to her, and he seemed like a nice guy, despite his looks.
Yes, even lookers had it hard.
In the end, we are all the same inside. Same type of organs, same heart and feelings, same hurt and insecurities and looking for someone to like you unconditionally.
We are all human. “We all poop,” I usually say.
“You’re so gross,” said H.
“Too bad you’re married to me. You’re hooked for life,” I laughed.
“What do your young fishes think?” H asked. “Do they know this side of you?”
“What does it matter? They come to me for one thing.”
“But don’t you want FWBs?” he asked.
“I do. So, they’d have to take what there is,” I laughed.
Being open meant I wasn’t going to change who I am. To like me the way I am — the crude, the naughty, sexy, clumsy, mean, and sometimes gross.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m really nice but I’m also insensitive, impulsive, and dumb too.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you,” Bubblegum Girl said.
Finally. The truth. Her beating around the bush was getting tiring. My time was precious. I’ll stop for a story but I had a race to run.
“My friends say I’m dumb,” she hesitated.
“And why?” I asked.
“My ex needed my help. He worked at Samsung as a contractor. He wanted to get a permanent residency in Korea.”
“Okay?” I could see where this was going.
Red flags waved in the air as a gust of wind blew on.
“He asked me to help, and so I became his sponsor.”
Damn. And I thought I was impulsive and dumb.
“Do I need to say this?” I asked her. “Drop him. Cancel his application if you’re pissed. He was using you.”
“I’m responsible for him.”
“Exactly.” I didn’t want to add more than he might have been using her right from the beginning.
He could have been gay.
Could have targeted her.
Could be many things that were all nefarious.
The extent would depend on how well she knew him.
“Are you in love with him?” I had to ask.
“I was but now…I’m not sure. I’m used to having him around.
We have been together for so long,” she said. “Can you teach me how to give a good blow job?”
Was she serious? “I don’t think it would make a difference.
If he isn’t interested, he isn’t.”
“It’s good to learn,” she said.
True.
It is always good to learn such skills.
Same reasons why young guys want to be better lovers and think sleeping with a MILF would make them excellent lovers for the young women they’d marry someday.
Sorry, it’s bull crap. Pleasing me might not please those virginal girls.
And, I don’t like to teach.
Firstly, sex is personal. Everyone has their own kinks.
Instead of assuming there is a technique that applies to everyone, communicating and understanding what your partner likes and wants is half the battle won.
Vanilla sex.
After two years of YOLO-ing, I learned one thing — I’m not vanilla, and many of the guys I’d met were.
Maybe, that was why they ran after their first encounter, afraid of the animal I’d opened, the impulse to be free and explosive.
And post-nutting and regretting the extremes I’d corrupted them to be.
Was it that bad to be who you are?
“Go read here,” I said, giving her some links to women's magazines and self-help books.
“Like I’d said earlier, sex and blow jobs were personal.”
“If he doesn’t want it, you can’t force him.”
And I’d left the rest hanging. Those words which should be obvious but somehow she refused to believe.
Heartaches were painful.
A bandaid ripping from a wound, and until it healed, there was nothing but bleeding, infestation, and hurt.
“He doesn’t love you.” I should have said but I didn’t because I wasn’t really her friend.
Just a MILF who gave blow jobs.
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