113 — An Immoral Mother

Eun Ha's POV:

Eun Ha's smile was soft, almost maternal, as her fingertips traced the tamarind wood frame for the hundredth time that week.

The grain was worn smooth where her thumb always lingered, right over the knot that looked like a bruise.

Inside the glass, fifteen-year-old Jae-il stood frozen mid-celebration, fist raised in triumph after a goal. His eyes weren't on the camera; probably didn't even know the picture had been taken. He was turning away after making his glee clear to the world, a cheeky, self-indulgent smirk sitting right beneath purple eyes.

Him at his most charming, oblivious to his looks, even the great expanse of his talent.

Just a happy boy full of ambition and drive.

It was her favourite photo. It was the one she would always look at, and it always brought her this weird sort of ache, an overwhelming, painful, surge of pride. And among those beautiful, motherly feelings, there was another, less comfortable emotion. And the ache bloomed lower now. A slow, treacherous heat that had nothing to do with pride.

Eun Ha's breath fogged the glass. She watched the mist bloom and vanish over Jae-il's frozen mouth.

She shouldn't be feeling this. Not about her son. It wasn't normal. She put him into this world, had been the first thing he'd ever beheld when he opened his eyes, with so much awe as well. As if she'd been, from that miraculous second on, his entire world. She simply shouldn't see that very same, now grown-up babe, as anything more than her precious son.

Ah, so much shame. She couldn't understand how those feelings came to being, where it had all begun. What had been the definitive spark that set this all into motion? Why was it that, despite the burning shame, what was between her legs burned even hotter? Eun Ha closed her eyes, the image of Jae-il's sweaty, determined face imprinted on the back of her eyelids. His smile, the confident set of his jaw, the way his lean muscles rippled under his shirt—

He's fifteen.

The number sat in her throat like a stubborn fishbone.

Fifteen.

She'd seen him on the news broadcast of the Australia game. The camera hadn't missed a single inch of him. It had lingered on the sweat-slick line of his throat, on the defiant jut of his chin. She'd watched, her teacup rattling in its saucer, as the commentators sang praises about his 'otherworldly talent'. And for a horrifying, ecstatic moment, she hadn't been a mother watching her son. She'd been a woman watching a man.

A man that she thought was attractive. Sexually desirable, even.

The thought was so profane she had almost dropped her tea and turned the TV off. Threw the damn remote against a wall.

Because, if before it had been a blind, accidental brush at the edge of thought—a faint, uninvited knock she could pretend not to hear—now the thoughts stepped forward on their own.

The feeling persisted, even as she made her way back to her room, to calm herself down. To find a sliver of peace and clarity, that thin, fragile line between mother and monster.

Eun Ha stroked the smooth wooden frame, breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth. Counting her breath. That's all it was. Admiration for the son she loved and cherished with all her soul.

Liar.

It didn't have to become anything more than that. She was a healthy woman. That meant she was allowed to recognize other men as objects of admiration, didn't it? To find them attractive? Jae-il's head hadn't doubled in size; his cock wasn't suddenly a weapon in her eyes. She hadn't suddenly felt the need to go around, yelling at the top of her voice that her son was hot.

Even now, he was just a son. Her son, the talented goal scorer, the eye-catching male that everyone swarmed around.

Liar…

You're lying.

So, why?

Why was this picture doing things to her? Making her feel guilty, but also very aroused, despite the fact that it was the innocent, fifteen-year-old version? He wasn't naked here. Wasn't actively provoking her. It was a simple picture.

She pressed her forehead to the cool frame.

The wood smelled faintly of the drawer where she kept it tucked away.

More so for her mental sanity.

Having his face so close to where she slept turned out to be detrimental for her mood. Every day. Multiple times a day. Even when she was working and mentally occupied, and shouldn't have been thinking about him in such a wrong way.

Every damn day.

Multiple times.

Just a fleeting, dangerous impulse, something that had sneaked into her and wouldn't leave, even when she wanted it to, desperately.

Her husband was gone for another extended period of time. Not that if he'd been here, things would've been different. But sleeping alone in a cold bed wasn't helping at all. She craved warmth. Human touch. Not the familial kind, but the dirty and deep and personal sort. The kind her body hadn't experienced for a while now.

And now she was spiraling, setting her eyes on the closest thing available. The son she was supposed to see as a child.

You are disgusting.

Yes. She knew.

She set the frame face-down on the nightstand, as if turning away his smile could mute the pulse between her legs.

You are disgusting.

The words looped, a scratched record. She waited for them to scour her clean, burn her in holy fire.

They didn't.

Instead her mind served up a memory she hadn't asked for: last spring, Jae-il limping in after practice, ice pack pressed to his thigh. He'd peeled off his sock in the kitchen, right there under the fluorescent light, and the arch of his foot—long, pale, still dusted with grass—had made her look twice. Three times. She'd busied herself with the rice cooker, knuckles white on the lid, while he'd flexed his toes and groaned about cramps. But he did all of that with a bright smile on his face, as he welcomed the pain of progress.

She had wanted, in that moment, to kneel and knead the ache from his calf. In a motherly way, she'd told herself. Only motherly.

Liar.

Now, alone, she let the memory run its course. She pictured her thumbs pressing into the muscle, sliding higher, higher, until the groan in his throat changed key. Until the look in his eyes mirrored hers.

The fantasy was so vivid she could feel the heat of his skin under her palms.

She bit down on her lip to keep herself from making a sound.

There was a dull pressure building behind her eyes.

God, she was... a horrible mom. No, she was worse than that. She couldn't even imagine what her dear Jae-il would think if he knew. If he only knew.

This would fade, Eun Ha tried to convince herself. As quickly as it had come. This wasn't a lifelong fixation. This wasn't something that was going to hang around to torment her the way she was so clearly tormenting herself over. This was nothing. A minor lapse.

She needed her husband. She needed some variety in her daily life. A change of environment, perhaps, would make things clear again.

After a long minute she rose from bed, naked legs prickling. Her bathrobe was an oasis of silky grey, and she clutched the lapels around her middle like a shield. She made her way down the dark hallway to the kitchen and started fixing a drink. She poured herself a glass of water and downed it in one go. Another glass followed. The rush of icy water cleared her head. Two. Three glasses.

It was over. The spell had broken. This was nothing, right? She was feeling better now. She was free from the strange urge. It was out of her system and it would never return.

She was certain.

Eun Ha finished her fourth glass, but when she went to set it down her hands were shaking badly enough to make the fine crystal rattle on the granite counter. "Damn..." She muttered, closing her eyes briefly. She didn't know what to do. Where to go. How to keep calm.

She drifted through the house like a ghost with no grave to call home, looking for work to do, for her mind to focus on and ease her. Except that it was late at night, and all the household chores had been done in advance, the dishes dried and put away, the laundry folded and stuffed into the wardrobe, or into the drawers, and every chore Eun Ha tried to engage with proved futile, a distraction she desperately needed but not the one her body desired.

She went from the kitchen to the bedroom and then to the living room. And then to the bathroom, where she thought a shower would bring some semblance of normality back. It didn't. Instead, the showerhead between her legs had a negative effect on her sanity. It did nothing but excite her more.

Eun Ha quickly dried herself off, then shambled her way back to her room, already dreading, and anticipating, what was to come next. She promised herself she'd seek therapy, advice, professional help. Whatever the cause for this behaviour was, be it lack of sex from her marriage, or a general sense of dissatisfaction with the life she'd led, there had to be something that would fix it. A simple cure she'd previously overlooked.

She refused to normalize these sinful thoughts. These... abnormal feelings.

For now, though…

The temptation was too strong. It was too easy, too shamefully delicious, to sink under the sheets, curl her fingers between her legs, and let her imagination run wild.

Maybe that, in a way, was also a cure. Temporary as it might be.

She bit her bottom lip, her footsteps speeding up, until she passed by Mia's room, where her pace stuttered the moment she vividly heard a very innappropriate—albeit frustrated—'I wanna suck your dick so badly, right now...'

"......"