I Werewoman 1 Read online

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  So, yeah, okay… between my fixation on Roe’s dancing video and the two Instagram notifications that I’d received earlier in the evening, I guess that it could be fairly said that I definitely had a ‘type:’ Hot, sexy KPOP women definitely did it for me.

  Now, it wasn’t like I was only attracted to sexy KPOP stars, or anything. There’d been plenty of American girls in my life, and in my bed, and there were a bunch of sexy European and American pop stars who definitely did it for me, too, like Ariana Grande, Inna, and Otilia. Plus, there were plenty of Korean celebrity women—models, actresses, performers, and so on—who didn’t do it for me at all, especially the ‘cuter,’ more ‘innocent,’ mousier, stereotypically ‘delicate flower’ women. That was definitely not my thing.

  But there was this one type of Korean female celebrity that just really, really did do it for me. I emphasize ‘type’ because girls fitting the following description had definitely become a highly sought after staple in South Korea’s acting, modeling, and music industries over the last few years: the tall and glamorously made up twenty-something ‘S-line girls’ (whose ample-breasts, wide hips, trim waists, and full bottoms meant that whether you looked at them from the front, side, or back their shapes could be described as something like a sensuous ‘S’) whose public, performance personae exuded an air of personal confidence, empowered femininity, and sexual assertiveness. You know, the internationally desirable Korean ‘hot girl’: women such as the famous South Korean actress Shin Se Ha, the legendary Kpop Performer Hyuna, international fashion model sensation Park Jung Yoon, and so on. There were plenty of other types of professional female models, actresses, and musicians across the world that I found sexy and desirable in similar ways – Romanian pop-stars like Inna and Otilia came pretty dang close – but the ‘S-line girls’ of South Korea were far and away my favorites: somehow they managed to combine incredibly lithesome-yet-sexy physiques with performative confidence, femininity, and sexual assertiveness in a way that no other group of female celebrities on the planet could quite match, at least in my estimation. I loved watching them perform, I enjoyed listening to their music, I liked watching them act, I… um… well, I found them sexually inspirational in a fantasy sort of way… heck, I found them so enchanting and mesmerizing that, from time to time, I’d even wondered what it was like to be one of them.

  If I had anything like an idealized, ‘perfect’ ‘dream girl’ type, it would definitely be a South Korean ‘S-line girl.’

  Not just any one, single specific ‘S-line girl,’ though. More like a… generic, sort-of composite sort of ‘ultimate’ ‘S-line girl’ who combined the best physical and personality traits of a few different women. Like, well, hmm… how to explain?

  On the face of my smartphone, and on the screen of the television up against the windows, the live studio live audience of whatever South Korean pop show the video had been taken from whooped and cheered for Roe as she danced, and her score on the large, black digital display affixed to the far right of the stage rose higher and higher. Now Roe Eun-Chae was one of the sort of sexy, confident ‘S-line girls’ that I had in mind. In fact, out of all the ‘S-line girls,’ she was probably the one I found most sexy and desirable. But if I could combine Roe’s public persona (her confidence, her feminine charm, her assertive sexiness), her long, gorgeous burgundy-brown hair, her full, bouncy chest, her sensuously lithesome calves, and the glossy burgundy cupid’s bow of her lips with, ummm… say… Riann’s perfectly pert, full heart-shaped ass, her toned ‘11-line abs,’ and her delicately pointed nose, and then, I suppose… maybe add Kae Yong-Hui’s big, bright, expressive eyes, her long, elegantly full lashes, her wide, round hips, and thick, toned thighs…

  …then yeah. Yeah. That would probably be the ultimate ‘S-Line girl,’ the sexiest woman I could imagine—to my mind, anyway. That would probably be my ‘perfect’ idea of a ‘dream girl.’

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  When the video of Roe dancing finally came to an end, I sighed, switched the television off, grabbed my phone off of the desk at the end of my bed and closed the Youtube app, then tossed the phone onto the soft surface of the bed beside me and sat back to dive into homework again. As much as I’d enjoyed the sexy little interlude of watching one of my favorite female KPOP stars dancing to some of the sexiest female KPOP hits of the last ten years, I was running shorter and shorter on time tonight to get any of my reading done. Rolling onto one hip again, I reached over the edge of the bed to retrieve the history book that I’d put down a little under twenty minutes earlier.

  Alright, time to get back to wor—Ohh-OW-damnit!

  As my fingers grazed the cover of The Cambridge Ancient History I paused, grunting a little with discomfort and frustration. ‘Something’ hard and sensitive throbbing away between my thighs was uncomfortably pinched when I reached over the side of the bed for my book, letting me know that there was a little something else I was going to need to do before I could return to my studies. I was going to have to relieve said throbbing.

  Shit.

  Still feeling the time crunch, I hesitated for a second, but only a second, weighing the time it would take to satisfy the desires of my flesh against the amount of reading I still had to get through, and again decided that as long as this was the last interruption, I still could spare… what was it again, fifteen? more minutes to enjoy myself. Once more, I snatched my phone up, opened up the Youtube app using the Discord link on the Deep Breath server again, and then broadcast the playback to the flat screen tv. As the… inspirationally provocative footage of Roe Eun-Chae gyrating to some of the sexiest Female KPOP songs of the last decade began to stream across my tv again, I once more reached over the edge of my bed (enjoying, for just a few seconds, the titillating sensation of pinching my throbbing hardness between my thighs) and fished a small, black plastic storage bin out from underneath, popping the top off and retrieving one of a small pack of folded black ‘comfort-ribbed’ tube socks that I kept hidden under my bed for times just like this.

  The sound of whooping and cheering began to pouring from the video playback on my television screen as I sat back up in bed, burrowed into the tall pillow behind my back, unbuttoned and unzipped the front of my jeans. Then—sock in hand—I started working my pants down past my hips.

  Chapter Three

  Brian and I made it up to the rooftop not long after the party was ‘officially’ supposed to kick off that evening, at around 10:30, and discovered the place already packed wall-to-wall with graduate students. The sky was clear, as the app on Brian’s phone had predicted, with gleaming stars burning bright overhead and the silver disk of a full moon shining brilliantly. No trace of the roiling, dark cloud cover that I’d witnessed only a few hours before was anywhere in evidence.

  An assortment of pizzas and appetizer dishes procured from a number of different local pizzerias and Asian restaurants, as well as national chains, were being liberally shared about, passed back and forth across the rooftop, and although there was no alcohol anywhere in evidence—thanks to watchful vigilance of the Resident Housing Authority—someone had spiked a large bowl of blue Tropical Punch with either Pineapple juice or small amount of liqueur (no one was really sure) and a growing number of increasingly… cheerful people were going back to the bowl for multiple refills.

  The first hour or so of the party went about as drearily as I had anticipated, with Brian alternately following me around like an eager little puppy while I wandered aimlessly from one clump of classmates, friends, or acquaintances to another, welcoming people back to campus (and in some cases, re-introducing myself) and catching up with them on their summer activities, or dragging me all the way across the rooftop so that ‘we’ could introduce ‘ourselves’ to yet another small group of pretty girls whom we didn’t already know and hadn’t yet annoyed with ‘our’ attentions. Finally, at about the one hour mark, another pair of guys from our graduate cohort who were working in the Ancient Near East field managed to dr
aw Brian into an animated dispute over the provenience and dating of a celebrated recent artifact find in the vicinity of ancient Kadesh. Thus relieved of my social responsibilities for the time being, I scored a plate of pizza and a glass of ‘punch’ for myself and retreated from the central hub of rotating activity into an isolated corner of the roof, sipping my drink and nibbling on pizza as I leaned out over the balustrades and took in the city.

  There was a pleasant breeze rolling in off the Charles River that evening. The sky was bright from the light of the Full Moon, and the lights of the city skyline twinkled beautifully. At the furthest extreme distance from the big black stereo speakers mounted up by the rooftop stairwell, which were blasting out an Electronic Chillstep mix, I found that I could actually enjoy the loud, bass-amplified music, and although I wasn’t entirely sure what all was in the punch, the combination of drink, pizza, breeze, and music was surprisingly pleasant. I actually began to enjoy myself.

  Yeah, yeah, I know. I do parties ‘wrong,’ but you do you and I’ll do me.

  ✽✽✽

  After twenty minutes or so of gazing out over the balustrade, I turned and swept my eyes back over the loudly chattering, disorganized chaos of the rest of the party behind me, trying to see if I could pick Brian out of the crowd, ascertain whether he needed any more wing-manning for the present moment or not. I couldn’t spot him, though, and was about turn back to the view when my eyes fell upon someone whom I was absolutely certain I’d never seen before. Not just any old ‘someone I’d never seen before,’ either, because the roof was full of people that I’d either never seen before or I had only ever bumped into once or twice in the hallways, out on the campus greens somewhere, or at another cacophonous mixer such as this; no, this was someone striking, someone I was certain that I would definitely have remembered if I’d ever run into her before, even in passing. And yeah, obviously, of course, it was a her.

  And she was a goddess.

  She was tall… ish. I couldn’t see her feet, but from her posture I was fairly sure she had to be wearing a pair of heels, so at a guess I would have said that she was five-eight or five-nine without and five-eleven or six-ish in heels. Her long, straight black hair shimmered in the light of the full moon, and seemed to float a bit out around her face in the gentle breeze. Her face was gorgeous, and beautifully made up, which obscured her age somewhat, but at a guess I’d have said she was in her early-to-mid-twenties, my age or just slightly older. Unlike most of the other women present, who were mainly attired in comfortable jeans and flirty tops, this standout, knock-out girl was wearing a rich, blood-red stretch mini-dress that hugged sensuous curves alluring enough to have sashayed their way straight out of a glamour magazine, and highlighted to best effect a pair of long, shapely, tapered legs which shimmered slightly in a pair of shiny black pantyhose.

  She was easily the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen, and just the sight of her generated a physical, pants-located response on the part of my body which I had never experienced before—well, no, I mean, of course I’d experienced it before, just… not based solely upon seeing some woman on the other side of a room! She was impossibly beautiful. In fact, as much as the word seems to come in for some serious overuse nowadays, if anyone had asked me in that moment, with the light of the moon bathing her perfect figure, caressing her face, and shimmering light playing out softly over the gently stirring tresses of her long, raven-black hair and along the seductive lengths of her legs, clad as they were in shiny black hose… if someone had asked me, in that moment, I would have said she looked Airbrushed.

  The physical reaction located in my pants stiffened up uncomfortably against the constraints of the freshly ironed pair of dress blue jeans I’d picked to wear to the party tonight, and I shifted my hips slightly, discreetly tugging on the side seams and waist near the affected area in order to try and ease up the discomfort. Once I relaxed the fit a little bit, I let out the uncomfortable breath I’d been holding onto and had another sip of the punch I was still holding in my hand, continuing to stare at the raven-haired-beauty on the opposite side of the rooftop as I did so. I was increasingly convinced that the punch had to contain at least some alcohol, provided the gentle buzz it was giving me. Not enough to get anyone drunk, I thought, but enough to loosen everyone up, turn a potentially awkward party situation into something a little bit more relaxed and convivial.

  In the meantime, though, while I sipped my drink, pondered the probability of low-level alcohol content in the punch mix, and stared at the airbrushed goddess on the other side of the building, the raven-haired beauty was herself gazing out across the rooftop, slowly turning her head and sweeping her eyes this way and that as if searching through the crowd for a familiar face. I wondered who she was looking for, and if he, or she, had any idea how lucky they were to have such a resplendent queen searching for them.

  I didn’t mean to stare. No, no, really, I didn’t. I actually tried looking away at one point, but to my surprise, I found myself transfixed. There was just something about the gorgeous woman in the red, curve-hugging dress, standing there bathed in the light of a full moon that was gleaming directly over her head that I just couldn’t tear my eyes away from. The thought came to me that I should, that I was being creepy, staring at this woman I didn’t know from across the rooftop, sipping my drink and watching her—not even running my eyes over her inviting curves, but just… watching her, taking her all in, but it was an impulse that I couldn’t bring myself to obey. Didn’t want to try to obey. I both wanted, and didn’t want, to look away from the woman. It was like the strangest case of Executive Dysfunction that I’d ever heard of. With my mind, I could feel what I wanted to do, but it was as if something had snapped the transmission lines between my mind and my body. Something wouldn’t let me.

  And yet I wasn’t alarmed. I suppose I probably should have been, but it didn’t occur to me to be alarmed in the moment. In the moment, I was just… utterly transfixed. Like people who stop to watch an accident unfold, or turn and stare as a Twister forms right in front of them, or find themselves unexpectedly before an art work of the most surpassing beauty. You can’t look away, no matter how much you want to. No matter how much you know you should.

  Every now and then, the beauty on the opposite edge of the rooftop stopped in the middle of her thorough examination of the partying crowd and paused, lifting the tip of a delicate nose and sniffing softly at the air. There’d be a very brief moment of anticipation following the sniff, and then her nose would drop again, and she would go right back to scanning the crowd, turning her face ever so slowly, so very gradually, more and more in my direction. Not that I felt like she was looking for me, or anything, but her slow, exhaustive sweep of the rooftop was gradually turning in my direction.

  I did have the strangest feeling, though, that once she saw me, standing there, looking across the rooftop at her, that her search would suddenly be over. She wasn’t looking for me, I knew that – somehow, anyway… but she would find me. I knew that somehow too.

  What I didn’t know was whether that would be a good thing for me, for the raven-haired beauty to find me, or not.

  I took another drink of my punch, abruptly becoming aware that I was nearly out. I thought about going for a refill, and actually tried to turn and make off in the direction of the punch bowl, but I could no more turn my gaze away from the girl in the sexy red dress now then than I had been able to moments before. I had another sip of my drink, resigning myself to swiftly running out of the delicious nectar, and just watched the gorgeous girl scan the crowd from beneath two sets of long, dark, luscious black eyelashes. Her gaze had almost gotten to me now, and would get there soon. And then she would see me, and—somehow, again, I knew—I’d be able to move again, once she had found me.

  So, I sipped my drink.

  I waited.

  And I watched.

  ✽✽✽

  Only, someone else found me first.

  The searching eyes of the myster
y beauty queen were only seconds away from me when a small blonde-haired female figure forced its way through a clustered bunch of frightened first years hovering nearby on the party’s edge and barreled into me, slamming me up against the balustrade at my back, and wrapping slender arms around me in a fearsome hug.

  “HEY, YOU!” Katie shouted, loudly, up into my face.

  Abruptly released from my transfixed state, I gasped for new breath, craning my head down and around to try and make eye-contact with the small blonde mini-missile that had just slammed into me. It was, indeed, Katie.

  “Hey, yourself!” I yelled back, grinning down at her. At six feet and a couple of centimeters, I stood almost a head taller than my blonde friend, even when she was in heels—like she was tonight. Although not exactly a match for the impossibly gorgeous goddess whom I’d been staring at just a moment before, the big city girl from the SoHo district of NYC who was now wrapped around my torso was an incredibly lovely young woman in her own right, and she never missed an opportunity to show off her physical charms. Katie wore a perpetual air of sexy, feminine glamour about her. It was one of the things which had first attracted me to her: as related to my strong attraction to sexy, feminine pop stars (especially KPOP S-line Girls), I preferred classy, glamorous women who were a bit on the sexy, assertively feminine side of the gender expression spectrum—like Katie. And like the woman in the red dress on the other side of the rooftop. Whenever I ran into Katie on campus, she was always beautifully, even sexily attired and fetchingly made up, although always in a classy, tasteful sort of way. Although I had it on good authority—from the woman herself—that she’d been something of a ‘tomboy’ in high school, apparently by the time she made it through her undergraduate studies she’d traded in the bulk of her t-shirts, sneakers, and comfortable slacks for a never ending collection of flirty skirts, high heels, and designer jeans. And though I’d gone on more than two dozen dates with her, slept with her almost half as many times, and run into her semi-regularly at functions all over campus, I could count on one hand the number times I’d seen her anywhere (other than in her bedroom) in anything less dressy than a skirt. Tonight, she’d worn a froofy black party dress that showed off her perky bust and swished around the bottom of her thighs.