Jin-woo set his glass down. The beer trembled faintly on the table, scattering flecks of light. Beyond the glass, Ji-yeon sat. Her new black dress clung to her body as if exhaling. When Jin-woo’s gaze traveled from her toes, across her waist, over her shoulders, and finally met her eyes, I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“What if Ji-yeon were just a little more focused on another man?”
The first image had surfaced in the hallway. While our neighbor waited for the elevator and smiled, Ji-yeon smiled back. That instant of a smile lodged inside me like a black-and-white film still. The darkest shadow rose: What if that man touched Ji-yeon? Over time the fantasy grew sharper.
On the bed, her eyes closed in a half-smile. At the end of that scene I stood, breath held, back against the wall.
Why does my heart race like this?
At first we said nothing. The TV remote rested in my hand; onscreen, an actor kissed empty air. Ji-yeon asked, “Have you ever imagined… something like that?”
“What sort of thing?”
“You—with someone else.”
My lungs froze. She spoke the same vision, the same night. Not the answer I had craved, but the confession that she, too, had dreamed the same shadow.
That night we reached for each other more fiercely. Yet, strangely, the flames climbed higher. While we traced each other’s skin, we simultaneously summoned someone else. We chose Jin-woo—college friend, a relationship severed after the fifth unanswered message, then cautiously re-tied. Trustworthy, yet kept at a polite distance.
When I invited him into the group chat, Jin-woo typed only a brief “…”. Long time no see. What’s up? Just drinks. After all these years.
We met at the hotel bar. Ji-yeon arrived in the same black dress. At first Jin-woo noticed nothing. Even when she sat beside him and crossed her legs toward him, he offered only a courteous smile. But I saw his fingertips tremble against his tie.
“The truth is, my wife is interested in you,” I said. The words leapt from my tongue.
Jin-woo stared, drink halfway to his lips. “What?”
“I’m fine with it. With you and Ji-yeon… doing that.”
The glass clinked against the table. His pupils wavered. His gaze slid to Ji-yeon. She nodded—small, but definite.
Why do I sink into this chocolate-dark fantasy?
Nico, 34, game designer
I first saw it in porn. Oddly, excitement beat anger. When I talked with my wife Sara, she admitted imagining the same. So we tried it for real. After dinner we went to a friend’s house. I sat quietly on the living-room sofa; Sara closed the bedroom door… yes. My heart hammered then—fear and thrill braided tight. We never did it again. That night Sara came back and said, “I imagined you focusing on that person, too.” In that moment I understood what I wanted. Not her with someone else, but me as the object of desire.
Inside the hotel elevator Ji-yeon’s hand tightened around mine. Jin-woo followed us in silence. The doors opened; the bed appeared, sheets stretched immaculate. Air-conditioning drifted across the room. Ji-yeon’s breath grazed my cheek—hot. Jin-woo stood holding the door handle. No one moved.
We simply drank our beer, looking at one another, laughing softly. Nothing happened.
Did we realize reality can be shabbier than imagination? Or was the true terror the hollowness when a fantasy shatters?
In the small hours, after Ji-yeon had fallen asleep, I sat alone in the living room. A sudden thought: what we had wanted that night was not the act itself, but the taboo that makes us burn for each other even more.