"You Started It"
"You started it."
Jun-ha’s hand lay on my lower abs. It felt hot—no, it pretended to be hot. In truth it was cold. A clammy sweat broke over me.
I had DM’d him first. His Instagram grid: black cap pulled low, eyes challenging the camera, white scarf grazing a razor-cut jawline. That jawline moved me—at least I thought it moved me.
We met at Hongdae Exit 2, 11 p.m. on a Friday. Jun-ha wore a camel coat; in person he was taller—183 cm to my 175. He looked down and smiled, and I believed I melted.
The Moment the Tongue Slipped In
Is this really what I wanted?
Hotel room, twelfth floor. Seoul’s lights blurred beyond the glass. Jun-ha’s fingers unbuttoned my shirt. When the third button came free his breath grazed my cheek—cigarettes, parched mint, something unfamiliar.
He pushed me against the wall. It was the scene I’d pictured, the movie still. But my body locked.
His lips brushed mine—soft. Then the problem: his tongue. Long, wet, sticky, sliding in.
This… this isn’t it.
The tongue scraped my gums. A nausea I couldn’t name flooded my throat.
"Ugh—" I half gagged. Jun-ha froze.
"What, not into it?"
His gaze iced over. I couldn’t answer; I was about to vomit. I bolted to the bathroom, gulped water. In the mirror stood someone who wasn’t me.
The Fruit of Desire
What I wanted wasn’t Jun-ha. What I wanted was me, the gay man.
For three months I’d scoured Reddit’s r/korea. “Best gay bars in Seoul,” “first-time tips,” “top/bottom quizzes.” The comments burned:
“Bro, everyone’s nervous at first—then it’s insane.”
“I almost puked my first kiss; now I can’t get enough.”
I borrowed their desire, inhaled their excitement as if it were mine. I borrowed the delusion that Jun-ha wanted me, and that I wanted him.
But I never wanted myself. I wanted the version of me who was gay—confident, clear in lust, desirable to anyone.
Jun-ha was effortlessly gay; I was not. I merely longed to be the gay Reddit promised.
Two Kisses
First: Seung-min (26)
We met in a tiny café near Daehak-ro. Jazz-piano major, long pianist fingers. His hand rested on mine.
“You said it’s your first time, hyung?”
I nodded. When his lips touched mine I closed my eyes—only to see Jun-ha’s gaze urging me on: This is how you’re supposed to be.
Seung-min drew back. “Hyung, open your eyes.”
I did. Tears glimmered in his. He was looking at someone who wasn’t there.
Second: Ki-ha (28)
That night Ki-ha wasn’t Jun-ha. Same 175 cm frame, but the scent differed—subtle cologne. We sat on an empty park bench at noon.
Ki-ha leaned in slowly. Just before contact I turned away.
“Sorry.”
He asked, “What do you actually want?”
I couldn’t answer. I still don’t know.
Why We Crave This
We crave the taboo, yet the taboo is of our own making:
“A gay man should be like this.” “A first time must be magical.”
To dismantle one taboo we erect another.
So was it Jun-ha’s tongue that disgusted me—or was I disgusted by myself?
Psychologists call it narcissistic desire: we don’t want the other; we want the self who wants the other. When the kiss misfires we panic—not because the object vanishes, but because the wanting self does.
Do You Really Want What You Think You Want?
Even now, remembering Jun-ha’s tongue, my throat tightens. Now I understand: the near-vomit wasn’t his fault. I never wanted him. I wanted the gay me. But that wasn’t me either.
So I ask you:
Do you truly want what you believe you want? Or are you borrowing someone else’s desire, one you were taught to treat as your own?