Loooser

He was my first ever almost-chaebol.

His dad owned the hotel he was working at, and he was the bartender, aside from working with housekeeping. When he told me that, I wondered if he was lying.

“I don’t lie…everyone here is a Looser…” he was spinning an empty bottle of liquor on the coffee table. 

I tried to cover my laughter, but he saw it and frowned. And why? Because we were on Ometv and I had randomly fallen into his lap. 

“Do you speak Korean?” he asked in English the moment our screen matched and I saw him lying on a couch with a bottle in his hand. 

I shook my head. “Hangul Salam (한국 사람)?” <Are you Korean?>

“Yes, I am but are you?” He pointed at me. 

This was the part I seemed to have to answer more frequently that I thought I should. 

Wasn’t it obvious? Or can a pair of sunglasses fool all the Koreans I’d met in this chatting app so well? I’d thought my nose was a give-away. Or my lack of high cheekbones? Does the color of someone’s skin play such a big part in a person’s identity? I was as white as snow and my skin glowed like pearls in sunlight.

“No.” I said.

He squinted and rubbed the tip of his nose and ran his hand through his light hazel brown hair. Something he did a lot, as I noticed later. 

I wonder why he didn’t just ‘fucking’ go to bed. Another word he kept using.

“No! Your parents are Korean!” He pointed.

“No,” I said. “So, isn’t it late?” The time said three-thirty a.m. on my phone in Korea. 

He nodded. “Don’t get me wrong. I won’t be awake if I didn’t have off tomorrow.” he replied. Our friend was fluent in English. Though some of his pronunciation turned some letters into ‘R’ sounds which irritated him when I don’t understand.

“How old are you?” He asked.

“You guess?” I replied as I usually do to keep the conversation going a little longer while I figured what to talk about as I assessed my potential new fish. Sometimes, it was easier to pace it and not throw it out so quickly. Like fishes in the sea, some dart fast to me, and others got very scared.

“Just tell me.” He frowned. “I don’t like to play games.”

I showed him my hand gesturing the three and five because this was my forever age and worked the best here because I’m neither too old and not yet over the cliff. Before he could make some comment about looking older, I asked him quickly.

“How about you?” 

“Thirty-two.” Though, he could pass off as twenty-five. Hot and blemished free face, a fit body other than the drunken state he was in, and the casual way of cursing, he was good enough to eat.

Something from the jaded way he glanced at me when he wasn't staring at his empty bottle, told me I wasn’t going to see his dick. This guy was a screw loose. A canon ready to fire.

“Why are you here?” he beat me to it. My go-to question.

“To…” I smiled but he’s not taking it. Nice guys smiled back. This sleepy, drunk guy frowned. “To what? Are you lonely?”

“Me?” I point to myself. “No. I’m here to have fun. To play a little.”

He took a sip of his empty bottle while I was still trying to piece together who was he. 

“Are you married?” He asked, giving me a once-over with his bleary eyes.

I smiled and showed my ring finger. “Yes.”

“No fucking way. Why does your husband let you come here? If I am your husband, I won’t let you be lonely. I will fuck you twenty-four hours and when I’m working, I will think of you and when I get home I will fuck you.”

“Wow.” I smiled. “That’s nice.”

“But…” He frowned. “I don’t fucking care about you or your situation. I don’t care about anyone. I don’t want to know what you are going through or why you are here.”

He kept going on this rant about not being interested in me, yet he kept talking and didn't skip me.

“Women are fuck toys. Fucking them is like exercising. Going to the gym. When you are done, you leave.”

“I see…,” I said.

“I think I’m more experienced than you,” he said.

“Really?” I could leave now but I was curious if his cruel words about women stemmed from something deeper. A chaebol scar that made kdrama fun. Or maybe how being rich, and having gold-digger friends and lovers caused trust issues. To hear it from real life instead of kdrama would be heaps more interesting. 

And he was hot. Eye-candy even when drunk. His styled, though messy hair and smooth face and all of him, was my type. It was an irony that ever since I started talking to Koreans I’d use the “type” word because I’d never needed to before because I only had one type, and that was H.

But was he lying? Because for an almost chaebol with his dad owning a hotel, his bedroom and fixtures, with clothes hanging on an exposed rack, seemed normal enough. Lotions on a shelf, brands that I would buy and clothes and stuff strewn everywhere. 

“I don’t lie,” he said again, like reading my thoughts. His voice slurring a little but his English surprising was good which could add to his words about being a chaebol. 

“Did you study abroad?” I asked.

“No…my school taught English.”

“You speak English well,” I said.

“Of course…not like the loooosers here…”

I laughed again. 

“Why are you laughing? Why are you always smiling?” He frowned and ran his hand through his hair. “I so fucking tired.”

“So, go sleep,” I said.

“No! Tomorrow’s my day off.”

“Do you work alot?”

“Of course…” He raised his hand to count his fingers. “I work…ten…twelve hours? The hotel is gonna be mine. I have to learn what I can now.”

I laughed again. In my bubble, I didn’t meet young drunk guys. He was my first and was cute in his rebelliousness.

“You know you talking to me here, makes you a loser too.”

“I’m not! I’m just bored!” He pointed at me. “You shouldn’t be here. Your husband will be mad. You are too nice.”

“Everyone’s a Looser…so many fucking loosers…”

Yes. In some ways, not having anything more meaningful than finding companionship online was a loser-ish thing to do. A real connection, face to face should represent a lot more than ten of these “friends”.

And yet, being on Ometv and meeting strangers from another part of this world held more power than what I had here. Before being online, my world was so much smaller, the bubble that much tighter. 

I was a housewife meeting other moms and kids. My world was a fishbowl and the dads were the closest I got to meeting guys who was not my husband.

Deep down I was aching for more. Not just a variety of men but also women, people. To live a life I would never live or get to experience, that wasn’t acted out in a tv, drama or movie.

I wanted to experience the real. Hear about their troubles and everyday life at work. I wanted to know what they liked, food they ate, women they fucked and what made them happy, sad, annoyed or mad.

“Do you want to fuck me?” he asked suddenly his bleary eyes suddenly sharp and focused on me. 

I contemplated if I should brush it aside, and play innocent but I remembered he said he didn’t like liars. “Wanted to play with you, but I changed my mind.”

“Why?” he asked. 

“Because you are drunk, and you said women are like gym equipment.”

He chuckled. “All women like me.”

I smirked. “I know.”

“When I work at the bar, I get many phone numbers. And some girls wait till my work ends.”

“Do they know you are the owner’s son?” I asked.

“No. They don’t know. But some of the hotel staff know who I am.”

“Ah…” Chances are, the word spread like wildfire. Pee-ons exist to make use of others. “So what do you do after work?”

“I get a hotel and we fuck and then I leave.” He laughed. “Sometimes I don’t say bye.”

“Wow. You’re such an asshole,” I said.

He laughed. Proud of my name-calling. “I’m bad. But if the girl becomes my girlfriend I treat her very nice.”

“So, do you have a girlfriend now?” I asked.

“We broke off. I dated some, but they are all not good.” His brows furrowed.

“Are you lonely?” I asked him.

He stopped spinning his bottle. “No. I’m too busy working. I don’t have time to sleep. No time to date. Only time to fuck.” He laughed.

“So…any interesting stories working in the hotel?” I asked. 

The last person I spoke to in the hotel industry was a pervert manager in a big hotel who loved group sex and was searching for the girl with the perfect ass. We were supposed to meet and he was gonna introduce me to his friends and we were going to do the deed and check off my bucket list. But, time sped on and we lost touched. He found a girlfriend and I thought he was finally settling down but recently, her picture was no longer on his kakao and he was back to single status.

I wondered often if relationships in Korea lasted long. Most became a couple by the first or second date and hundred day anniversaries were a thing to celebrate.

The dating culture was different from the one I was used to where the Western culture had no issues with sex before attachment and the casual nature of our relationships made dating a serious emotional commitment.

In my one and half years in dating apps, I’d noticed the Koreans were easy to say — I love you, words I would never consider uttering to a guy other than the one whom I saw myself spending the rest of my life with.

“One man, a loyal customer, he is from the Middle East, he always comes with a big bag of cash.” He laughed. 

“No way,” I smiled.

“Yeah. You know a gym bag?” He gestured. “Like this big.”

“Wow. How much is that?”

“A lot of money. Maybe…? More than ten thousand US dollars? It is in Korean Won.” He shook his head. 

“And?”

“He arrived and came to the restaurant with my bar. He ordered a drink from one of the serving girls. And when he wanted to pay, he took out a stack of money and give to the girl.”

“What?” I said.

“Yeah right? Who pays in cash now? I asked my colleague to tell him we only have card.”

“And the man got very angry. He threw the stack of cash at the girl.” He raised his voice. “What the fuck? Who does he think he is?”

“What did you…”

“I don’t fucking care where he is from. Sultan or fucking prince. How dare he be so rude in my hotel?”

He tossed his bottle across the table. 

“I told him he can’t do that. He said he wanted to talk to my boss.”

“And then?”

“Someone else took him away. I’m only a bartender. If he knows I’m the owner’s son. That fucker. I’ll blacklist him. He’ll be banned from our hotel.”

“Sounds like an asshole.”

“Yeah. All these rich people. So many from many countries. They all come to Korea to play. Indonesians are okay. Chinese some are okay but some are jerks too. British people are polite and Europeans are good.”

“You’ve met many people,” I said.

“Yes. I can tell what type of person he or she is by looking at them.”

“What about me?” I asked sneakily.

He shook his head. “Stop coming here.”

It had been forty-plus minutes; we’d talked longer than I have with most guys I snatched from this vid chat. In fact, within that amount of time, I’d already gotten the guy to one of my SNS, and we would have had our vid sex and called it quits.

Why was I wasting my precious time chatting with a drunk who peppered his words with losers and fucks?

Was it because he was cute? Sex wasn’t going to happen with him. Here, I was his therapist. Maybe everyone were losers here, but I think we were all made from meat, sweat, and tears. 

“Go to sleep,” I said. My horniness died when I learned I wasn’t getting any. Not every meeting was a for sure sex. Many guys had too many worries to get off their chest before playing.

“I’m not tired.”

“Yes, you are,” I laughed and pointed to his head nodding off.

“I’m not going to save this chat,” he said.

“You can’t dude. This is Ometv. Random.”

“Go back to your husband and fuck him.” He sighed.

“I will fuck him when he comes home. He’s at work now.”

“Good.” His head nodded to the side, his eyes barely open.

“Stop coming here. These are for looooosers…” 

“Yes, yes, sir…” I said. 

He rubbed his hand through his hair. “I won’t come back.”

“Good,” I said. “But I will. This is my playground.”

“Go to dating apps. Those people are real,” he suggested.

“Have you used it?” I asked.

“No. I don’t need.”

“Of course not. Girls give you their numbers.” I snickered.

He shook his head. “You really going?”

“Yes.” I smiled. “I wish you the best. Don’t work too hard.”

“I have to. Many people are watching.”

“I get it. But, your health and yourself is important too.”

He nodded. Drunk or not, he was too cool to admit he liked what I said.

“Good bye. Don’t come back here,” he said and then before I could reply, he switched.

Once again, I failed to grab the contact I wanted. But, thinking back did I really want an asshole for a friend? I couldn’t fuck him either and much as he looked great on the outside, this guy was a mess. Each person I met and took on as a friend meant a smaller space in my heart.

Each person I supported, helped, and sometimes fucked, own a small spot in my heart that was getting crowded.

“Anyone online isn’t real,” said H when I complained about getting ghosted. “You can’t treat them as people. They don’t treat as a person, too.”

“But what happens when you finally meet them? The person in front of you is flesh and blood. And still, he ghosts and blocks.”

“Then, he’s a loser,” said H. “It’s his loss, not yours. You’re the cougar. You have a sea of fish. You don’t need him. Get another.”

“Steel your heart.”

H had said that a million times. But words are words; the thorns still hurt.

He was right. In this gameplay, I’m the boss. Can’t be both the damsel and in distress. 

Happiness comes in many forms, and this was one. My new life was a game changer. I won’t go back to the days of boredom and self-pity. 

Never had I loved myself more than I did now.