Fucking Own teacher

“Teacher,” Sumin said, suddenly. “What is ‘Netflix and chill’?” She looked across the desk at me with an expression of open curiosity.

Caught off guard, I hesitated trying to figure out how to answer this. My gut instinct is to always be honest but I also know that in the classroom there are certain boundaries, even if this was a private lesson and not in an actual classroom. We were sitting in her apartment’s study room with a piano against one wall, bookshelves filled with books along another wall, and her desk with me on one side, and her on the other. Sumin was framed by the large window behind her looking out over a landscape of other high rise apartment buildings. The textbook was open before her and her scratch paper next to it. I had been guiding her through some exercises with de***********ive adjectives when, mid-exercise, she sprung the question on me.

“Well…,” I began slowly. “You know in Korean people say ’would you like to go eat ramen together’?” I said this part in Korean.

Sumin grinned. “I know that.” Good. Bullet dodged. Suggesting to your Korean date to go eat ramen together was essentially do you want to come up and get your freak on.

“It’s like that but in American English. I don’t know if they use it in Australia or England, but we use it in the US. for the same reason. It’s kind of a joke now, I think.”

She pressed on with a little too much interest in her expression. “Did you say to girl before?”

“Eat ramen or the watch Netflix?” I said, cautiously.

”Either one is okay.”

“English, please.” She repeated the correct phrase in English back to me and waited, her expression expectant.

Sumin was a very intelligent young woman. She was not yet out of high school and she excelled in most of her subjects. (She said social studies bored her to tears.) She was planning to go to the US to attend university after she graduated in a couple of years and a lot of our conversations had centered around American culture and what to expect. High school can be brutal in South Korea but Sumin managed to keep in high spirits and genuinely seemed to enjoy learning new things. She was bright and inquisitive.

In addition, she was an exceptionally cute girl. It wasn’t all natural as most young Korean women and many of the men go under the knife for plastic surgery. Image is king in South Korea. And even though she was still in high school, that didn’t stop her or many other students from having a little work done. Many got it as a birthday present, or as a reward for good test grades. Her wide, expressive eyes had been worked on, and her nose was just a little too perfect to have been natural. But she didn’t look too far off from what you might see in a kpop video. Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders and her perfectly smooth cheeks and slim jawline accentuated a full mouth. She often had on makeup for our classes since she usually met up with friends after we finished, and today was no exception. Her lashes were long around her brown eyes so dark they were almost black, her lips a deep crimson. Most schools in Korean didn’t allow the girls to wear makeup so they tended to go all out on the weekends when they were able to get away from the classroom.

I enjoyed our classes together and we often had good conversations. This was the first time anything remotely sexual had come up beyond some questions about dating American boys in university. It’s not like I’m in the habit of probing about the sex lives of my students, after all. Usually our conversations centered around Korean cultural issues, news topics, or school drama when they weren’t about cultural differences between our two countries.

“Um…” I paused. “No, I don’t think so. I used to joke about it with my ex-girlfriend but we were already dating before I learned about eating ramen.”

She seemed a little disappointed but then asked “Is it okay? Can girl say to boy?”

“In the US, sure. As we talked about before, relationships are a little more relaxed,” I informed her. “Women are a little more free to express themselves. Do girls say that to boys in Korea?”

“I think no,” she replied, her normally smiling mouth tilting down into a small frown. “Girl say to boy then maybe people say girl is bad

“Bad,” I corrected.

“Bad,” she repeated, this time in English. Then she pushed on. “If girl say to you, you think girl is bad?”

“No, I don’t think so,” I responded. “I think girls can do that just like boys can.”

Sumin nodded her approval, her glistening black hair catching the fluorescent lights that are used in every Korean apartment. “Me too, me too!” I arched my eyebrow in a very teacherly fashion at her regression back into her native Korean. “Me, too!” she quickly corrected, with a little smile.

“Where did you learn that?”

“I hear that. In Youtube video they talk that.”

“Ah. Did they explain what it meant?”

She nodded, grinning mischievously. “Little.”

“A little,” I corrected, pretending not to notice the wicked glint in her eye.

“A little. But I a little don’t understand.”

“Do you understand now?” I asked her.

“Yes” she piped back.

“Anyway, back to the lesson,” I said, pointedly. I wanted to steer the conversation into safer territory. “Find the adjective in this sentence and then make your own sentence with it.” Was it just my imagination or did her eyes linger just a little too long on mine before going back to the problem?

The rest of the lesson went on without any such riske´ topics and before we knew it, the hour was finished. I assigned her some light homework to help better familiarize her with de***********ive adjectives and we said our goodbyes.

In the elevator down to the ground floor of the high rise apartment where she lived I replayed the conversation in my head. With Youtube being what it was and students exposed to language and ideas from all over the world, it was probably nothing but honest curiosity. I was just imagining the longer looks she seemed to be giving me or the fact that her shirt seemed tighter today.

I put my headphones in and tried to put it out of my mind. Hers was my last class for the day and I had the rest of Saturday to myself. I wanted to go home and relax. I didn’t want to be thinking about nubile high school girls asking about Netflix and Chilling. And I most certainly didn’t want to be thinking about what she looked like under that t-shirt that was only coincidentally tighter than normal.

Chapter 2: The Message

I’d been teaching in Korea for about six years at that point. I came to the country on a whim, not having anything big going on at home, and figured I could put my Master’s degree to some good use. Free housing, easy access to other Asian countries for travel, decent food, and a relatively low-stress environment. My main job was at an after-school education facility called a hagwon, or what we’d call an academy in English. Kids of all ages go to academies for all sorts of different classes to try and give them an edge when it comes to their school testing. (Or for fancy babysitting if the mother wants to get them out of the house for a few hours so she can meet her friends at a coffee shop and bitch about their husbands and mother-in-laws.) They even have Lego academies where kids go and play with Legos.

The pay isn’t stellar at most academies so a lot of teachers like myself supplement our incomes with classes on the side, which are usually referred to as private lessons, or just privates. Technically they’re illegal under the rules of my work visa but immigration doesn’t check up on teachers and as long as no one reports me then I’m fine. It’s a nice way to pad my income and save money. Most months, I can live off the income from my privates and barely touch my salary. Not a bad life. So what was initially just a let’s-see-what-it’s-like scenario quickly became a multi-year deal. I didn’t have any plans for returning to life back in the US and was content to bank cash, take a vacation once in a while, and enjoy the tail-end of my twenties. And the women were easy on the eyes as well.

Sumin was a relatively new student that I’d picked up through a referral, which is how I got most of my extra work. I couldn’t advertise because of the law, so new students came when a mom recommended me to another mom, and I’d get a call. Sumin was an only child living with her mother, who was divorced. But of course Koreans never talk about that, her father was just “away” working in another city. Code for divorce. Her mom ran her own moderately successful hair salon and wanted her daughter to attend university in the US so they sought me out to improve her communication skills and as a bit of a cultural education. Korean schools focus heavily on English grammar education but not so much on the speaking part, especially once they hit high school, so that’s where I come in.

Sumin was my last class on Saturdays and we finished up at around five o’clock. She lived in one of the large, multi-building apartment complexes that grow up from the urban Korean landscape like weeds. Towering edifices of concrete and rebar built to the gods of efficiency and mediocrity, many with absurd portmanteau names that blend Korean and English into something unholy and wrong to native English speakers, all in an attempt to sound high class.

Names like Luxtige, a merger of Luxury and Prestige. Or Ricenz, which is the name of an apartment along a river. It’s the bastard offspring of river, center, and zenith. Why? Because fuck English, that’s why. But it’s trendy here.

My accommodations were much more humble. I lived in a decent enough place, two bedrooms, in what Koreans call a villa. But if you’re thinking of some beautiful home in the Italian countryside, you’ve got the wrong idea. It’s in a bland brick building, five floors and no elevator. Calling it a villa almost seems like an insult or some sick joke. I live on the third floor. It’s nothing to get excited about but the kitchen was big enough for an oven, a luxury for many westerners here, and the neighborhood was quiet. And did I mention it was free? Paid for by my academy.

Most days it’s just a regular job, a regular place to live. Except most conversations sail over my head and I never turn on my TV because I can’t stand most Korean TV shows, even if I can understand them. My Korean ability is intermediate, at best. I can have halting conversations and my grammar is passable some of the time.

At about ten o’clock that evening, with dinner consumed and with some deep relaxation setting in, my phone buzzed. It was a Kakao notification. Kakao is a messenger service that almost all Koreans start using from birth. It was from Sumin. I don’t normally give my number to students but for older ones who take more complex classes, I will sometimes make an exception. Sumin was one of those. Normally the chat was reserved to double checking lessons or canceling and rescheduling.

Sumin: Teacher what are you doing? k k k k

(Koreans use a letter in their language that corresponds to an English K sound. It has the same meaning as ‘lol’ or ‘hahaha’.)

Me: Hey. I’m at home watching youtube. Did you have trouble with the homework?

Sumin: No I finish already. But now I’m very boring so I am watching a movie.

Me: Is your mom home?

Sumin: No she is eating dinner with coworkers. Maybe she will be home late.

Me: Oh, okay.

Sumin: Teacher…

Sumin: I’m watching Netflix k k k k

And then she sent a photo. In it I could see her television, a huge 72-inch OLED beast of a tv mounted to her living room wall. She was laying on the recliner section of her couch and she had included her legs in the photo. Her very bare legs, which were very visible up to her upper thighs. Thighs that looked very long thanks to the camera angle and lithe. Oh my.

I was so caught up in those legs that it took me a moment to notice what was frozen on the television. It was the sex scene of some movie. It was out of focus since she had focused the camera on her legs, but in it a woman looked to be in the middle of raising herself up over a man she was clearly riding. She was topless and fully on display.

Me: I don’t think you’re old enough to watch that movie.

Sumin: k k k k k k k k k (blushing emoji)

Sumin: Teacher, this movie very sexy.

I let that hang for a minute. This was really happening. The conversation from earlier came back to my mind. Her tight t-shirt came back to my mind. And her legs came back to my mind. So smooth and…

Sumin: will you say to my mom??? ㅠㅠ (scared face)

I thought about that for a moment. I wasn’t a prude and it was none of my business what she watched on TV. And it was only netflix, so it’s not like it was hardcore stuff. And I’d certainly seen much worse by the time I was her age.

Me: No, I won’t.

Sumin: (smiley face) (smiley face) Thank you teacher!! You are best teacher! k k k k k k k k k

I paused for several moments. She was flirting with me. It was obvious now. The questions, the legs, the frozen scene on the tv screen. And what should I do about it? I knew that line was very close, that line that teachers aren’t supposed to cross. Thoughts ran through my mind of Korean prison, or of losing my visa and getting deported. But then, In the back of my mind, a dirty thought whispered, “The age of consent is different here…” So… not illegal. Definitely not ethical, but not illegal. This went around in my head for several seconds until I sent a response.

Me: (smiley face) (thumbs up)

Sumin: Goodnight teacher!!!! (happy face) (happy face) (kissing face) k k k k k k k k k

And she sent me another photo. This one a close up of her face lit only by the light from the television, her eyes gleaming and some of her long hair coming down across her face. It was supposed to look casual but she was a savvy Instagram veteran and she could make those “casual” poses in an instant. She knew just how to tilt her face, just how to arrange her hair and where to direct her eyes. She had her thumb and forefinger up against her smiling cheak in the shape of a little heart.

Me: Goodnight.

Oh boy.

Chapter 3: Driven to Distraction

The messages throughout the week both excited and terrified me. She’d message me, usually late at night. And there was always a photo. Sometimes it was of her laying in bed with bra straps clearly visible. Or the top of her bra. Sometimes it was a bathroom mirror shot with her wearing a long t-shirt and no shorts or pants, with the shirt just long enough to cover her panties.

During all of this I was still trying to go about my regular job. I worked afternoon to evening at my academy. I’d show up at about 1:30, prepare for my classes, then teach until 8:30 or so. It’s safe to say that I was not bringing my A game to my classes that week. There was a constant running dialogue about if I was really going to do this. I was running the cost benefit analysis of taking advantage of the situation or putting a stop to it and quitting the class. I would reply politely to her messages, sometimes giving her a smile or a ㅋㅋㅋ in return, but I made no attempts to stop her or get her to abandoned her course of action. I didn’t comment on the blatant sexual nature of her pictures. Part of me hoped that if I ignored what she was doing, she would stop. The other part of me didn’t want her to stop. And that part was winning. By Wednesday I had given up any pretense that I was going to try and curb this behavior. And Sumin, not getting any sign that I didn’t like what she was doing, kept raising the stakes. I had to admire her boldness.

Sumin: Teacher send me picture of you

Me: I’m in bed. k k k k

Sumin: k k k k k k k k k it’s okay…

I snapped a head shot since I really was in bed and sent that to her.

Sumin: Teacher’s eyes are so pretty. Do many American guys have blue eyes?

Me: Some.

Sumin: Teacher it’s only your face picture. I want see your body too. k k k k k k k k k

Me: I’m in bed. I don’t have any clothes on… k k k k k k k k k

Sumin: (shocked face)(shocked face)(heart eyes) that’s okay k k k k k k k k k

I stared at the screen, my cock hardening and forming a literal tent in my blanket.

Me: Goodnight Sumin…. k k k k k (smiley face)

I’ve always found a certain amount of aggressiveness attractive in a woman. A woman (and in this case, a young woman) who is not shy about expressing what she wants in bed. Where and how Sumin discovered this about herself, I never thought to ask, but the more she tried to seduce me, the more I wanted her.

I did my best to focus on my work but her messages were always in the back of my mind. I found myself opening up the messenger app constantly during the day reading over our conversations and looking at the photos.

The one she sent on Friday, the day before our next class, was a shot of her standing in front of the full-length mirror in her room. The camera was focused on her face, showing a lot of her hair and she asked me if I liked her new hairstyle. But the camera was angled in such a way the mirror clearly showed she was only wearing a bra and panties and you could see everything in the reflection. She had on a black bra and matching panties that hugged her ass exquisitely. Korean women aren’t known for having those plump asses like girls back home but what they have they know how to accentuate.

I was in trouble.

Chapter 4: Confessions

By Saturday, I’d worked myself up into a near constant state of arousal. Just her and me, alone in her house. My mind raced with the possibilities. As I entered her building, using the passcode Sumin’s mother had provided to allow me entrance, I was filled with dread and excitement and my cock was once again hard in my pants. As I got in the elevator and pulled out my headphones, I tried holding my breath. This is a trick I’ve often used to get the blood out of my dick when it decides to stiffen at inopportune moments. I hold a breath for a minute or so, letting my body run low on oxygen, and then repeat as needed. It generally works and by the third breath my body has decided it needs the blood in my dick for other things and I don’t have to deal with the tent in the front of my pants. Which is good because I wasn’t alone in the elevator. There was a little old Korean woman on her way up after walking her little Rocky. I gave a polite greeting and then avoided her gaze as she looked me up and down and her rat Rocky sniffed my feet. Koreans are not at all shy about staring. She got off on the 18th floor and I continued up to 23. I exited the elevator, heart pounding, and approached the door.

The bell sounded its sing-song rhythm and from the other side of the door I heard the pounding feet. Sumin opened the door in a rush and I had to remember to breathe for a second. Her hair was up in a ponytail exposing a long slender neck and she was wearing a thin white top with no bra. Her nipples were poking out firmly through the fabric. The bottom of the shirt barely went to her waist exposing a taught pale-copper midriff and navel, and slightly flaring hips. And her tiny pink shorts were only shorts in the technical sense. They covered only the bare minimum to be qualified as an article of clothing. I couldn’t be sure she was wearing panties but if she bent over a little in front of me I knew I would find out.

By :Cham-Ee-Seul

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