Kiss like Kdrama
He came from a distance. Tall, mysterious, Korean.
Every K-drama girl’s dream came true. White shirt tucked neatly, long tapered black pants: broad shoulders, clean Korean-styled hair. Heart thudding hard in my chest. I stood conflicted by my car. Was this what I wanted?
Flashback, hours to the night before this fateful day.
We met online on a dating app. It was serendipitous because during the month or so I’d been on, I had never seen a Korean guy in the dating cards. Swiping left mostly and giving up at the ten thousand likes. No way I was gonna be able to go through the piles of White, Latino, Black, Indians, and a bunch of other guys whom I didn’t care for.
Yes, I am a sex racist. Don’t you shake your brows at me. Sex was the only thing I could proudly say, I’m a racist. We all had the right to choose who to fuck. So there.
So when this guy who was my type appeared, you could imagine my excitement. Within seconds after a few messages, I learned he had a girlfriend. Downer. Just to be clear, I tried not to mess with guys in relationships. Though there were exceptions, like this case.
Plus, he knew I was married and open. This wasn’t a romance but a hookup in broad daylight with the noon sun bearing down on us.
Yes, it was hot. Sun. Scorching hot.
Little beads of sweat were trickling down the side of my face as I tried to shade my eyes from the glare of the disapproving star.
I came this far. Egged on by, of all people, my husband, H, who told me this was my chance to test it out.
Test what you ask? Test my nerves because I was going to Seoul — the city of my dreams, in a month and a half. Seoul, or as H called it, my Dizzyland, where this cougar’s goal was gotta-catch-them-all, Korean mice.
Was this baby big cat ready?
Every guy who spoke to me would know I have a bit of a fetish. Okay, more than a bit — a disease called ‘Yellow fever’.
Who said Yellow fever was only for those not yellow? Okay, so I had a thing for Koreans. Blame Kpop, and kdrama. The wave came and left me lost and desperate. I had to do this. Call it purging. Eat till I surfeited. As for objectification, it worked both ways. They loved my Milfy curves, and I loved their looks.
“I’m trying to prove a point,” I said. “Research. Stories for my book. Yolo journey…”
“Yeah, hella right,” H would say, “Total bull-shit.”
H knew me best. Always able to read my five steps ahead. Yes, fine. I’m a bad, naughty, naughty cougar.
Seoul guy was here for a week in April, on a business training trip. Last night was his only chance to hook up before returning to his native soil. He wanted a taste of American girls, and lucky for him, he hooked an Asian American Milf. Lucky for me, I thought I was chatting with a cute, twenty-six-year-old Korean guy.
If things went as planned. Some kissing, some pawing, and maybe a little more. Back then, I was a newb. Rules were made as we went. H and I had road bumps, but still, we were speeding ahead. Desert dry and determined to live life to the fullest. COVID-19 taught us, in a snap, that things could end. H and I would not regret. I would not regret. I was gonna leave a mark. A memory to those seeking meaning in their lives. I was there. I made them happy even for the briefest of moments as they made me.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked H, exiting the highway. The meeting point with Seoul guy was a coffee shop near his hotel. In a few hours, he’d be on a plane heading back to shining Dizzyland.
“Do it,” H said. “No regrets.”
Having my first stranger sex under my belt, I pushed myself forward. This was different. The K boys I met were online. Online sex was beam in the dark. A ray of lust-filled satisfaction. The lack of communication made the fun mysterious and all the more thrilling.
Would it be the same?
I was minutes from the coffee shop. Another message popped up.
“I don’t have the car. I can’t meet at the coffee shop,” he said.
“What? Where do you want to meet?”
“How about the hotel?” he asked.
“What?” Red flags were ringing. I was pulling over and texting.
I told H. This guy was suspicious. I was ready to call it a day.
“What if you don’t meet another Korean before we leave for Seoul?” He asked.
Good point. It took me days thinking of my schedule in Seoul. Planning which guy I should meet on which day, and going so far as to pick my lingerie for each guy based on their likes and dislikes. My naughty suitcase was laid out and toys put in. This cougar was ready to raze the ground, blazing in pervert glory.
But, everything was just a thought-out idea. All would fail if I chickened out. What would happen if the first Korean guy I saw gave me a severe case of anxiety? Couldn’t perform? Endless tearing up? Who knew what I might do? Stuttering? An experiment was needed for this closeted big cat.
When I got to his hotel, he sent me another message saying I should get a room. He had two hours before leaving for the airport, and his excuse was that his boss and colleagues were in the same hotel, and he couldn’t be seen meeting a woman there.
The warnings were flapping in the wind. It took a thirty-minute drive to meet him, and I was determined to do what I set out to do. Hell and wildfire.
“No. I’m not getting a room,” I said firmly.
“Okay, how about the parking lot? I checked, and no one is there,” he said.
“Parking lot?” I got out of my car. I’d parked at the hotel and took a quick look around. He was right. There wasn’t anyone. Flanked by the highway, putting range, and an office building, the Saturday lot was empty.
“Okay, fine. See you there,” I said.
I chose the furthest spot I could find amid the roaring of cars and the constant popping sounds of balls.
“I’m coming out,” he said.
I checked my phone. Scrolling through the dating apps and then texting H again. My heart was beating, and my mind was wondering what the hell I was doing. Since going yolo, everything was new and strange.
Funny, sexy, and weird. My life wasn’t the usual mundane; that was for sure. Stories of my encounters brewed, dripping as the tsunami in my head grew.
Was this what I wanted?
Maybe? My mom friends were constantly asking what I’d been doing these days, and why I was always busy and had no time for coffee chats. I never liked talking about kids, clubs, schools, scores. I had enough. I wanna love myself.
I wasn’t a tiger mom. I was a cougar. I loved my young men. Loved my twenty-year age gap. Took me months to admit it. At that time, when I met the Seoul guy, I was still in denial. The truth that H had been teasing me for a long while, which I didn’t want to admit.
This guy was in his late twenties. From his profile, he was tall and slim with a gentle Korean face. A shy smile stretched across his face. He had potential - goody yet a beast within.
He was walking to me, and I was walking to him. The sun was burning up. Both of us were in our sunglasses, looking cool and nonchalant.
I wasn’t that poor, above-average-looking girl in need of saving, and he wasn’t that handsome chaebol with a flawed personality. My heart was pounding louder than thunder. Regrets hanging on my heels. I was ready to flee. Take the chicken way out.
And then something struck — a golf ball plonking and hitting the net behind my back.
Wait a minute…who is this?
“Is that you?” I asked first. ‘You’ because I really forgot his name, and because I am still shocked at this point, as I’m reliving the K-drama moment when the spark fizzled.
“You look different,” I spoke again because he didn’t.
“You look the same,” he smiled. “So pretty.”
My insides cringed. Oh. My. God.
“You don’t look the same,” I replied. How was I supposed to repeat it without sounding rude?
He was waiting, and I looked away, and then caught his eyes again, which were smiling, too. Obviously, he liked what he saw.
I was dressed to seduce in a brown one-piece knitted dress with a low V-cut neckline. The body-hugging dress accentuated my curves, and underneath was a bigger surprise.
This cougar was ready to eat. To attack her prey, but only to find her prey wasn’t a lamb but a giant ram.
“You bulked up.” I finally spoke again. His face was the first thing I noticed. It wasn’t sharp, and his whole body was twice as big as it was in his profile pictures.
“You like it?” He flexed his arm, and his bicep popped. He came really close now.
I turned to my car and started walking briskly away while he followed. “That’s my car.” I pointed stupidly at the only vehicle in the entire parking lot.
My stomach was churning. He wasn’t bad-looking, but I was built on expectations, especially when I had a game plan thought out, only to have my rug pulled from under me.
H’s words were in my head again. Drilling into my cortex. “You can’t back down. Think of the guys in Seoul.”
This was my pre-test.
When we arrived at my car, I swiveled around and side-stepped him. He backed into my car, leaning against it, as he peered down at me. At six feet over, he was a head taller than me.
And then, in a kdrama move, I tiptoed and slammed my right palm on the car, beside his ear, then stretched my arm out. His brows lifted in confusion. And then, I smashed my lips onto his.
He smelt like cigarettes.
A point deducted.
Too late.
He kissed me hard, holding onto the back of my head, as his tongue swirled in my mouth and snatched my tongue every second he caught. His strong arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me against his steel body. I couldn’t pull away even if I wanted to. Locked in a vise, he kissed me endlessly, as we baked in the heat. Finally, he pulled back and gasped for air.
I stared at him, my mouth full of smoke.
“Get into the car,” he said.
“Okay, you go there.” I wrenched my hands and pointed to the front passenger seat, and he looked confused when I marched off to the driver’s side. When we both got in, I giggled nervously.
“Urmm.” He was scrunched in front. My driver’s seat fit me just nicely, but for his stature, he was a bear in a toy car.
“Press that button at the side,” I said, and watched him trying to fiddle with the button. A comedy ensued when he tried to get his seat backward, and I climbed over him to help him in and then got out of the car to the other side to press the button.
The seat grunted, moving like the sound of a conveyor belt, and achingly in slow-mo. Us staring at the seat and then at each other.
Fate was telling me — “Go home!” As if she knew what was to come and was putting the brakes on the disaster that was about to happen.
This wasn’t an In-Lust-With-Him moment. He lost his appeal when I realized he didn’t look like his profile pic.
Was I superficial? Yes. Was that a sin? I felt cheated. Catfished. I came expecting one, but I got another instead.
Yet, I stayed. Determined to see this through, I overcame my nerves and kissed and played with a stranger a little more.
My friends in Seoul expected me to be the cougar, not the bunny, in a fox robe.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he took a deep breath.
I went back to my side of the car. Driver’s side again. “Let’s start over,” I said.
“Over there?” His brow raised. “Not here?” He pointed to his lap.
“Ermm…yeah.” My face flushed. “Well.” I grabbed both sides of my dress.
It was Show Time. I did not practice it in front of the mirror, but I practiced it several times in my head.
It was all in the wrists, I thought. In one swoop, a flip of my hands, I pulled my dress over my head and off.
“Wow! Wooow,” his voice dropped.
I looked up and our eyes met. I could see his arousal both in his gaze and the bulge in his pants. My red lingerie, with its second-skin smoothness and half-cupped creamy breasts, was magic.
He grabbed me tight as I climbed onto him. Burying his head into my breasts and breathing in deeply. His lips were already kissing and licking my skin, and hungrily reaching for my nipple. His other hand was milking my left breast, squeezing hard.
He was murmuring. Words of praise, and his other hand dropping to unbuckle his belt and unzipping.
“No.” I stopped his hand. “No sex.”
“Why no?” He muttered between kisses. “I thought this is what you want.”
“No. I said we will meet and see how we match, and if we do, we have sex in Seoul.”
“But, I want you now,” he said. “You’re too hot.”
His hand reached under my short lingerie dress, like a missile zooming straight for my red T-panty, fingers hooking on the strings, pulling closer, digging down for what was under.
I made a grab for his hand, and his lips were on my throat, and then, when he buried his head into my chest again, as I turned to my left.
The shark appeared. A shadow blotching the light. A black car with its hood facing straight at us stared.
“What the Fuck!” I pushed the guy off my chest, but like a magnet, his head latched back on.
“Damn it! Car!” I shouted, pushing him off.
The black car reversed and pulled up again behind my trunk.
“Cop!” The sky had collapsed. “Cop!” I pushed Seoul guy’s head off my breasts.
“Huh?” He looked up, confused. I could tell from his dilated eyes that he was too drunk horny to think.
"The cops are here!" I shouted. Pointing, jabbing at the shark’s bonnet and squinted at the tinted windows of the security car.
I was still on the Seoul guy. Seconds felt like hours, and in my panic, my movements felt like treading water.
I jumped into the driver’s seat. My boobs were still exposed. Popped them in my lingerie and turned around to face the cop.
The Seoul guy threw my dress on my chest, and as I turned to back out. But the cop car teased, waiting a few more seconds before relenting.
I raced down the empty car park with the cop chasing after. As I got closer to Seoul guy’s hotel, he shouted. “My hotel! I’m flying…”
I slammed the brakes, “Get off!” Glancing at the cop car coming closer. “Hurry! Get off.”
Like a teenager guilty of something bad, the Seoul guy slouched out with his jacket in his hand.
“I’ll see you again?” he asked.
“Are you for real?” I glared at him.
“What?” he was confused.
We were in the middle of the parking lot, and a cop car was waiting. In my mind, there was never.
Never again would I do this. Never had I ever had a cop car chasing. Never would I forget this day.
I burnt rubber, hell hounds nipping at my feet. I was doing seventy-five miles per hour on the expressway, not once looking back. I kept on speeding, my heart pounding hard, hammering against my ribs. Two exits later, I checked my rear view.
The cop was gone.
Several miles more, and I exited the highway, found an office building with no camera, and changed.
Never again. That’s what I told the next guy I met. A nice doctor who had sex with a nurse in their night shift room. She was hot and had tattoos, he said. The domme nurse pushed him onto the bed, tied him up, and took him.
No. I didn’t play with him. I didn’t play with the next guy, either. The security car etched in my mind.
I didn’t see the cop’s face, but he haunted my dreams in that black car. Faceless hunter who haunted my weeks, and then, in a snap, I was back again.
This time I promised to be clever.
Lust was a hunger I couldn’t resist. Who was I kidding? I lived for the thrill.