Just Another Day

Pyungbum was a normal guy

Just Another Day

Pyungbum awoke one day in an awkward position, his body contorted like a deranged gymnast's, his limbs tangled with the sheets and comforter into a squalid pretzel. Normally a sound sleeper, he was shocked to discover himself in such disorder. He always woke up perfectly supine, neatly placed in the exact same position in which he fell asleep, his sheets nearly creaseless. But not today -- something was ominously different. Did I have a nightmare? he wondered. No: his sleep had been the usual dreamless blackout. What caused him to awake in such a gross state?

He didn't have time for idle musing, however, for Pyungbum was a busy working man, a diligent unit in a respected company who was on good terms with his superiors and who maintained civil relations with his underlings. He quickly hopped out of bed and began tidying up the mess his subconsciousness had made. It was his first time dealing with a messy bed; his signature immobility during slumber had always saved him time during his morning routine. All he had to do was smooth out the slightly ruffled enclave where his body had been. Pyungbum stood confounded and dumbfounded for a few moments before his bed, unpracticed in restoring order to such madness.

It was while making his bed that Pyungbum first noticed his stiff neck. It was as rigid as a board; attempting to bend or turn it sent spindles of explosive pain throughout the region. He had to rely almost entirely on his hip joint to lower his vision to get the job done. It was incredibly time-consuming, and Pyungbum worried about his routine falling to pieces. At this rate, he would surely be late.

Complete loss of neck mobility also made it difficult to shower, not to mention dangerous. He almost slipped while trying to retrieve a dropped bar of soap, and he felt like he had failed to properly wash several spots on his body when he finally finished. After dressing himself as he imagined an invalid would, he rushed out the door of his studio flat. No time for his usual breakfast.

Walking to the bus stop, Pyungbum figured that all inconveniences and troubles caused by his neck would soon end. Surely, the muscles or ligaments or whatever would eventually relax. While waiting for his bus, however, he realized that he couldn't look left or right without turning his entire body. The sound of a bus's brake-screeching arrival triggered him to look left to check if it was his, but the awkward maneuver sent his shoulder into a mild collision with the girl standing next to him, knocking her phone out of her hand. The device landed on the pavement with a terrible smack that surely must have been audible to anyone within a 100-meter radius.

"Oh my god!" the girl shrieked. "Do you realize what you've done?"

Pyungbum blinked, still processing the situation. His bus filled with eagerly waiting passengers and took off before he could protest. He tried to turn his head and watch it abandon him, but that was not possible.

"Hello? You realize that you just knocked an iPhone out of its owner's hands, Mister? Yeah, that's right. An iPhone!"

She picked it up with motherly tenderness, cradled it as if it were an injured bunny. Upon careful inspection, she noticed a scratch on its southwest corner, and wailed like a mama bear who'd just lost her cub.

"You idiot! Look what you've done!"

"Um...I'm sorry--it's just--my neck..."

"Oh my god, what are you talking about? Look at what you've done to my iPhone! This is the latest model. I just got it yesterday!"

By this point, all bystanders were looking at them. "Oh man, that's a tragedy," one of them whispered to his friend.

"I'm very sorry, Miss. If you'd like, I can pay for the repair services--"

"Well, duh! Did you think I was going to just walk away without any compensation?"

The conflict was temporarily resolved with Pyungbum giving the girl his card. Then they got on the same bus, which made things increasingly uncomfortable. Because it was morning rush-hour, people flooded into the bus like refugees onto a UN rescue vehicle, jamming Pyungbum and the girl against each other, face-to-face. Pyungbum tried to turn his body in another direction, but the bus was too packed to allow any movement. The girl did not try to hide her disgust. "On top of all that, he's not even good-looking," she muttered. Pyungbum averted his eyes from her, making sure to keep his hands and arms firmly pressed against his sides to avoid accusations of sexual harassment.

Fortunately, about half of the passengers got off at the next major intersection; the girl was among them. "Fucking creep," she muttered against as she removed herself from forced contact with Pyungbum. Although the encounter had not marked her clothes in any way, she brushed herself off as soon as she got outside. While the bus drove away, Pyungbum saw the girl inspect her iPhone once again, muttering curses that were clearly legible even to an amateur lip reader. But the phone wasn't what worried Pyungbum. He became vaguely aware that he was facing a problem of much greater gravity.

A gentleman of respectable upbringing, Pyungbum, even though the girl was long gone and couldn't see him, instinctively tried to lower his head in what Koreans call a neck-bow, a quick and practical alternative to the antiquated and cumbersome obeisance traditionally generated from the hip into a full 90-degree bow. Not to mention a full orthodox bow on a rush-hour bus would be inconvenient if not impossible. But Pyungbum, to his horror, found that he couldn't even perform this most essential of social gestures. Giving a full-fledged bow on every occasion that required a formal display of gratitude or respect would be absurd; it would make him look like a clown. He would appear graceless and untrained in the basic protocols of interaction. Or even worse: people would think he was mocking them. Even if he didn't bow down the whole 90 degrees, bending at the hip like a double-hinged robot when superiors and colleagues expect an elegant neck-bow would definitely attract scrutiny.

To make matters worse, Koreans usually gave several neck-bows per encounter, as if afraid one wasn’t enough. This meant that Pyungbum would be obliged to give not only one painfully conspicuous bow for each greeting but possibly several asinine demonstrations of the functionality of his hip joint.

Panic ensued. Pyungbum began sweating inside his neatly pressed suit and crisp-white shirt. His mind became so saturated with worries and worst-case scenarios that he nearly missed his stop. The driver was just taking off when Pyungbum pressed the "STOP" button and shouted to the driver, "Sorry, this is my stop! Sorry! Thanks!" The driver reluctantly stopped once again, openly cursing Pyungbum as he violently jerked on the lever that opened the door. The driver reinitiated his journey when Pyungbum still had one foot on the last step, forcing him to leap off as the doors closed indignantly behind him. Exhaust perfumed Pyungbum's lungs as he regained his footing and the bus sped away.

Pyungbum glanced at his watch. Although still early, he was 5 minutes behind his normal schedule. This stiff neck business was proving more inconvenient than he could have imagined. Pyungbum uncharacteristically cursed out loud. "Fuck!" A woman eyed him with vicious suspicion as she passed by.

Why the devil did I writhe around in my sleep like some diseased snake? he wondered. Of course, no answer emerged.

***

Pyungbum walked into his place of work; the office was already buzzing with early arrivals sipping coffee, clattering on their keyboards, and chatting about matters both professional and private. He looked around anxiously. Every single encounter was going to be a challenge. The problem was, he had gotten by in life -- to a relative degree of success -- not through talent but by exercising diligence, discipline, and organization; years of regularity slowly and steadily building into a more or less respectable life.

He didn't gamble, only drank when the social situation required it, and didn't bother chasing women -- mostly because he didn't know how. Plus, he had witnessed several friends and acquaintances go spiritually and financially broke because of their liaisons with women. He had tried going to a brothel on his own once, but found the experience more awkward and embarrassing than pleasurable, and so visited them only when one of his bosses rounded up the boys for a company outing. Crippled with self-consciousness and embarrassed at being naked in front of a stranger, Pyungbum would spend his sessions with his temporary mistresses just talking about his job, his childhood, his family, his lack of wife and children despite his age... The girls were always excellent listeners, much better than the two therapists he had tried consulting before. The former were experts in pretending to care, nearly maternal in their tenderness, while the latter clearly became bored the instant Pyungbum started speaking.

Therefore, the idea of trying to navigate a workday without the indispensable neck-bow -- the quintessential gesture of diligence -- melted his nerves into puddles of dread and fear. He already felt like he was drowning, and he hadn't even spoken to anyone yet.

"Good morning, Boss!”

One of his underlings greeted him with a decent hip-bow -- not the full 90 degrees, but a good 45 at least. Customarily, he greeted his inferiors with a neck-bow, although many bosses just grunted in acknowledgement. Pyungbum, however, didn't like to be rude, and the younger employees appreciated his relatively benign demeanor. Today, however, he was forced to offer a grunt that befit his more surly, power-hungry colleagues. The underling's smile visibly faded, nearly reverted into a frown before she halted its reversal into an awkward grimace.

"Hope you had a good weekend, Boss," she said as she walked away. Her tone had dropped in brightness.

Oh no, this is a disaster! Maintaining cordial relations with one's underlings is vital to steady productivity! Pyungbum's mind reeled in horror. He couldn't bear the idea of being perceived as another rude, unappreciative boss. Was she going to tell her fellow workers about his unintentionally arrogant gesture?

Pyungbum wanted to break down when he saw his department chief approaching him.

"Ah, Mr. Kim. How are you this morning?" his authoritative voice boomed.

Pyungbum panicked; to not offer an obeisance to a superior was an entirely different ordeal. Left with no choice, he bent from the hip into a full right-angle bow. The chief seemed somewhat startled; his eyes widened and his head tilted back slightly.

"Whoa, there! Feeling a little ceremonious today, are we?" He laughed and smacked Pyungbum on the back with his massive hand. The force felt like it misaligned several vertebrae. Pyungbum smiled awkwardly, praying for the situation to end.

The chief bellowed a hearty laugh and walked off, his assistant trailing him in nervous, fidgeting movements like a loyal squirrel. Pyungbum sighed in relief.

Two close encounters, and I haven't even made it to my desk! He avoided making eye contact with anyone and scurried to his office, where he set down his briefcase on his desk. He sank into his chair like a ball of lead in a pond. The stiffness of his neck felt like it stretched all the way down his spine to his buttocks, which also seemed stiff and resistant. He felt immobile and two-dimensional, utterly ridiculous, like a poorly drawn comic-book caricature. Spite toward an unnamed presence stirred in his normally aloof heart.

Desperate for a solution, he frantically did a search on "stiff neck after sleeping." His aging computer whizzed and whirred as it retrieved the results. All he could find, however, was generic advice about seeing a doctor if it didn't loosen up after a few days. He dug up a few posts about basic stretches to relieve tension and stiffness, but any attempt to move his neck generated excruciating pain. He imagined that the individual vertebrae had glued themselves together. His entire spine was a singular rigid column. If someone tackled him, he would surely snap in half.

But, returning to his usual industrious self, Pyungbum concentrated on his work. To compensate for his cervical immobility, he looked down his nose at his monitor while he clicked and typed, looking like a Victorian pupil of correct posture. Answering the phone was highly distracting, as he could no longer prop the receiver against his shoulder as he edited his excel files and typed emails and memos. Yes, despite the interruption in flow, he forced himself to perform more or less functionally. Unfortunately, Pyungbum occupied a managerial position, and was thus bound to be approached by one of his underlings with a report, request, or question.

"Sir, are you busy?"

And so it started.

Remembering the displeased expression of the female employee who greeted him when he entered the office, he decided to forego the impersonal approach and face his interlocutor with a pleasant, professional smile. It's better to be awkward yet friendly than natural yet rude, right?

Pyungbum stopped typing his email and turned his whole body toward his inquisitor. It was Heejin, from accounting. Expecting his usual side-glance and tight-lipped grin, Heejin was surprised when Pyungbum swiveled his chair completely toward her and bared his teeth in a wide, somewhat deranged smile – like those clowns in American horror films.

"How may I be of assistance to you?" Pyungbum smiled.

"Um...Yes, I -- I need you to sign off on these, Sir."

Why was her voice faltering? Was he being unpleasant again? She looked timid as she placed the papers on the left side of his desk. Pyungbum tried to read what he had just been given, but the downward strain on his eyes felt like it would pull them out of their sockets and onto the desk. Reading the words on his monitor was hard enough; trying to discern something that lay flat on his desk was impossible without spinal flexion.

Heejin looked at him, waiting for him to sign. Pyungbum wished she would go or look away for just a few seconds so he could perform all awkward maneuvers in peace. She remained planted in her spot, her eyes still focused on his stiff, painful embarrassment. Having no choice, Pyungbum proceeded. He stood up from his chair, placed himself directly in front of the papers, bent down at the hip, and pushed the papers further up his desk so that he didn't have to look down his nose to read and sign them.

Heejin now looked clearly disturbed. Pyungbum reflected on the effortless grace with which he'd normally perform such menial tasks. Jesus, I probably look like a living stick figure! Once he signed them all, Pyungbum returned to an upright position, papers gripped neurotically in hand. Heejin shifted, scratched her head. Pyungbum noticed, and tried to loosen the air's tenseness with a pleasant smile, but it looked so forced that it only added a streak of madness to his general stiffness, making him look like a constipated lunatic on the verge of a lethal freak out.

Heejin was now desperate to leave the room. She normally found Pyungbum relatively pleasant. A bit boring, perhaps, but perfectly harmless. What was wrong with him today? She suppressed a shudder.

Mortified at his failure to soothe the situation, Pyungbum thrust the papers forward with both hands, forgetting to release his grip at the right moment. He was concentrating on avoiding Heejin's eyes. He finally let go when Heejin gave a slight tug. Visibly quaking, Heejin gave a quick bow and scurried out.

The real panic began to muster. What if my career takes a critical hit today? All because of this stupid neck! What if it doesn't loosen up by tomorrow? Will I have to endure another day of this nightmare? What if it never loosens up? What if I have some rare condition, an incurable one, at that? Why did I have to sleep in such a wretched position? I went to bed as I've done for years, after just another normal day... What went wrong? Has my psyche been poisoned with some neurosis or worry that triggers feverish dreams that contort my spine into medical anomalies? What have I done wrong? I'm a diligent, tax-paying contributor to society! I don't deserve this! Lord, I'm ruined! Should I have lived as a religious man?

For the first time since his university days, Pyungbum felt waves of raw, unfiltered emotion tear through his body, pulsating in his veins and screaming in his ears. It wasn't right for a full-grown adult to be thinking such things; it was downright juvenile. For goodness's sake, he had responsibilities!

Pyungbum's arms sprung over to his computer as if propelled there by a slingshot, his body helplessly following suit like an abused doll. He performed a frantic search for the nearest orthopedic office, his fingers slapping the keyboard and his brain getting furious when he typed the wrong letters. Unable to crane his head forward, he yanked up the monitor to its highest setting. But it still sat too low, for Pyungbum was tall and lanky. Further incensed by the situation's increasing absurdity, Pyungbum cried out in exasperation. He violently pushed back his chair, stood up fitfully as if to show his disgust to the audaciously low monitor, and began marching over to his bookshelf. A few books would prop up his monitor to the appropriate height. The shelf housed a few company manuals that he regularly consulted as well as a number of literary classics that he'd never touched. Gifts from bosses and colleagues over the years, which was mysterious, because none of them liked to read.

As is usually the case when someone is in a hurry, Pyungbum experienced a lapse of coordination and tripped just as he neared the bookshelf. He barely prevented his nose from smashing into one of the shelves by grabbing the same shelf with his hand; the shock the impact sent to his shoulder joint was excruciating. As Pyungbum steadied himself and stood up straight again, a book from the top shelf fell off and plummeted into his forehead with the corner of its new, untouched hardback cover. Of all the titles he owned, it had to be the thickest, heaviest one: War and Peace. It hit the floor with a booming thud that echoed throughout his office's harsh silence. Eyes wrenched in pain, hand on point of contact, Pyungbum thought it was absurd for him to even have such a book.

The throbbing pain soon converted his musing state into one of boiling rage. He thought of the unwelcome gift's giver, one of his colleagues who joined the company at the same time as Pyungbum, a brash money-grubbing philistine who thought all art was useless except when trying to impress a girl. He was a habitual drunk who never wanted to go home. Why had he given Pyungbum such a thing?

"Fucking hardbacks!" he whispered, not wanting to attract the attention of anyone outside. Pyungbum had involuntarily hunched over 90 degrees from the pain. His eyes drilled into the cover of War and Peace on the floor. Soon after he released his hand from his forehead, he noticed drops of blood gathering on the hated object. He shot his body upright and touched his forehead with the tips of two trembling fingers. It made Pyungbum cringe to think of the word: blood.

It'd been so long since he'd seen this mysterious, primal liquid. He tried to think of exactly when he'd last seen blood but couldn't recall anything. It may have been years -- decades, even. He was probably a very young man then. During medical checks, he had always made sure to close his eyes whenever they took his blood, not daring to open them until he felt the cotton swab on the wound. He always asked the nurse to bandage the spot for him while his eyes were closed. He wouldn't remove the bandage for at least two days.

His unofficial assistant Juhee (come to think of it, he wasn’t sure what her official title was) opened the door and walked into Pyungbum's office just as he reached the pinnacle of his horror at seeing his own blood. Bloodshot and bulging, his eyes were saturated with terror and bad memories the moment Juhee stepped in, papers in hand, and met his gaze. Her fluid stride broke down into a slight stumble that nearly rolled her high-heeled ankle. She used the papers she was holding to cover her mouth, which had flopped open as she looked away.

"Um...I was trying to take a book down from one of the upper shelves, but it fell onto my face... It's nothing, really."

A true professional, Juhee had already recovered her composure and applied her face with the proper levels of pity and concern, mixed with just enough feminine warmth.

"Oh no, Sir! Are you okay?" She walked a few steps toward him and weakly thrust out her free hand as if to help him, although she had no intentions of doing so. She was disappointed when Pyungbum made no move to fetch himself a tissue or to neutralize the awkwardness of the situation. What a selfish asshole! she thought. Doesn't he see how uncomfortable I am?

"So, why did you come to see me?" Pyungbum asked, suddenly annoyed, blood still dripping down his face -- enraged by her intrusion.

Juhee saw the opportunity to leave the room. "I just wanted to remind you, Sir, about your lunch with the department chief, Mr. Kim." Her words rolled out in a smooth, automated burst. "It's ten to noon, so you have to get ready." she added.

Although her eyes were still fixed on Pyungbum, Juuhee’s body started angling itself toward the door. The blood from Pyungbum's forehead was slowly traveling down his nose. She prayed to the Gods that Pyungbum would grab a kleenex or something and wipe it off before it got dangerously close to his shirt collar, at which point she'd be morally obliged to wipe it off for him.

Fortunately, Pyungbum demonstrated that he still had some tact. Sensing disastrous humiliation, even more crippling than what he had just endured, he leaped toward his desk, plucked a tissue from its box, and wiped off the foreboding trail of blood off his face.

Juhee watched in a mixture of disgust and admiration as Pyungbum executed his movements with a completely rigid torso. Pyungbum began wondering why she wasn't leaving. Juhee began wondering why Pyungbum hadn't dismissed her.

"Yes, thank you, Juhee." Pyungbum had forgotten it was his turn to speak. His entire body was hot; his nerves grating against each other. "You may go."

Juhee gave a full bow and left the room, shutting the door behind her. She didn't care that Pyungbum didn't reciprocate with a proper neck-bow.

The thought of having lunch with the boss made Pyungbum want to disappear into the floor. The boss had an insufferable affinity for soups and broths, and the thought of trying to slurp one in his current state without soiling his shirt or tie -- all while listening to the boss' soliloquies, chiming in at the right moments with murmurs of agreement -- invited a temptation to wrench his neck back to mobility by force, even if it meant breaking it.

"What an absurd thought," Pyungbum muttered. Suicide is not practical, nor is it courteous. Nonetheless, Pyungbum clasped his head with both hands and slowly tried to steer his head leftward. The pang of pain that jolted through his nerves like acid electricity paralyzed him into the moment, rendering him motionless for the next few seconds. To hell with it, he thought. A soiled tie was infinitely better than experiencing one more millisecond of that psyche-twisting agony.

Pyungbum considered canceling his lunch appointment with some routine excuse, but souring the boss's mood would only make his life harder down the professional line. The boss was sensitive to rejection; he considered them personal affronts to his generosity, for he was being very generous by sacrificing his lunch hour to bond with his underlings. His generosity was of such magnitude that it scared the shit out of everyone in the department; it filled any nearby employee with dread, tension, and terror every time the boss started pacing the floor's corridors, cubicles, and offices at around 11:50 am, searching for his next beneficiary.

Pyungbum tried to gently massage his neck muscles, but they felt like wood, and even the slightest bit of pressure brought extreme pain. Just as he was wincing from the agony, his face twisted into a grotesque expression, his boss barreled through the door and strutted in.

"So, you ready for a nice bowl of steaming hot broth?" He beamed an ear-to-ear smile, exposing his coffee-stained cigarette teeth.

***

Pyungbum cursed the size of Korean spoons as he tried to maximize the volume of soup he could slurp in a single scoop. Why can't we use those giant soup spoons like the Chinese do? How the hell am I supposed to consume this broth with this miniscule thing? Clearly, we could use some cultural appropriation.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" the boss asked. His face was just a few inches from the surface of his broth. He seemed ready to dip his nose into it. "And why the hell are you eating so slow?"

"Um...nothing, Sir. And I -- uh, am having some trouble with my neck, Sir. I woke up this morning and found it totally stiff."

Pyungbum regretted his confession as soon as he uttered it.

"Stiff neck?" The boss tilted his head, which still hovered above his soup in the same spot, as if suspended on a tripod. "Did you sleep funny?"

Pyungbum could see the curiosity growing in his eyes. Not good.

"Well, yes, Sir. I think that's what happened."

"Now why would that happen?"

"Gee, Sir, I don't know..."

"Are you under psychological distress?"

"I don't believe so, Sir."

"Because we take the mental health of our employees very seriously."

"Yes, of course, Sir."

"We've had a few breakdowns in the past. Diligent workers -- just like you."

"Ah, yes. I see..."

"And before they broke down, each one of them reported experiencing a stiff neck."

The boss's eyes narrowed as they focused on Pyungbum with a clarity and intensity he'd never displayed before.

"No!" Pyungbum exclaimed. "I can assure you, Sir, that I am not under any mental distress. It was...it was just a fluke that I woke up in a funny position today. I usually go to sleep and wake up in the same position every day, and this is the first time this has ever happened."

“Why is there a bandaid on your forehead?”

“Oh, yes -- that. Well...a book from one of my shelves fell onto my forehead.”

“My God! What were you doing in front of a bookshelf during work hours?”

“I uh -- tripped and fell. And when I grabbed the shelf to stabilize myself, it shook and--”

“So you’re saying you were actually trying to get a book?”

“Well, yes, Sir. I needed it to prop up my monitor so that I --”

“This all sounds like very unstable behavior.”

“No! I can assure you that I just tripped. Nothing more than that, Sir. Surely.”

As Pyungbum frantically explained his position, the boss continued to eye him with the same steely stare, his grotesque face still fixed to the same point above his soup. After what seemed like a full minute, he finally spoke. "I sure hope so, because I consider you to be one of the few dependable ones."

"Thank you, Sir." Pyungbum momentarily forgot his condition and tried to offer his boss a neck-bow, but winced as his cervical spine rebelled. The boss clacked his tongue in pitying disgust.

"Anyway, he continued, "if you're truly normal, your neck will return to normal."

"Right, Sir. It most certainly will."

For the first time in his life, Pyungbum’s insides burned with fervor, a religious desperation he'd always seen as uncouth and unprofessional in other people.

Somehow, the boss had managed to slurp up every drop of his broth and chomp down all the meat and veggies during this casual appraisal of Pyungbum's mental stability. Pyungbum, on the other hand, had barely finished a few morsels. The boss checked his watch in a large, ludicrous movement, clearing his throat so loudly a passing waitress jerked back in surprise; her jittering steps almost sent a bundle of plates to the floor. After recovering her poise, she quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed her blunder, and continued marching her dirty dishes to the kitchen -- her cheeks slightly red, her lips muttering something. Embarrassed for her, for his boss, for himself, his neck as stubborn as ever, Pyungbum turned his eyes downward as if to send the message, "Don't worry, I didn't see anything, and I'm sorry about my boss."

Pyungbum's embarrassment prevented him from seeing the subtly impatient stare of his boss as it darted from the still raised watch to Pyungbum's poor, unsuspecting forehead. The boss cleared his throat again, even louder this time -- causing a neighboring diner to nearly choke on a chewy strip of beef -- startling Pyungbum out of his obliviousness.

The boss was still ostentatiously checking his watch when Pyungbum finally acknowledged his superior's incredible capacity for patience.

"Oh, right. I'm terribly sorry, Sir, this neck is slowing me down."

"Nonsense! What are you talking about?" his boss replied, laughing with unnatural warmth. "No, no, take your time, please. Meals should be enjoyed. Jesus, you make it sound as if I'm some selfish freak that demands that everyone match my pace!" He gave another burst of eerie laughter. Only after this display did the boss finally set down his watch-arm, which was clearly fatigued.

"Of course not, Sir. I would never imply that at all." For just a second, Pyungbum thought about how quickly, how effortlessly, he produced this response.

The boss cleared his throat again -- this time, less vigorously. A stalemate silence ensued. Pyungbum's eyes veered toward his boss, then focused again on the spoon resting in his hand just above the bowl. It seemed unsure of whether to dip back in or give up and lie down on the table. Pyungbum's neck felt like it stiffened just a bit more. With more exaggerated movements, the boss got out his smartphone and started swiping through its apps and messages, his eyes swelling with boredom.

"Man, I sure could use a cup of coffee," the boss said.

Pyungbum's spoon decided to forego taking another dip into the broth and resigned itself to lying on the table.

"Shall we go grab one, Sir?"

"But aren't you still eating?" The boss produced a look of surprise. "I'd hate to interrupt your meal."

"Not at all, Sir. I don't feel very hungry today."

Pyungbum's stomach growled.

As they walked out, the waitress who had nearly tripped over herself cast Pyungbum a look of pity. He looked so stiff in his boxy, sagging suit. He looked like he wanted to crawl into a corner, curl into a ball, and go to sleep for a week. All the vitality had been vacuumed out of his eyes. They projected a look of utter defeat, total surrender.

***

Back in his office, Pyungbum winced from the acidic pain in his stomach, which always resented being fed coffee when empty. And sure enough, it had already punished Pyungbum with two impromptu visits to the toilet. Now he felt gaseous, septic, and more irritable than ever. He felt a swell of loathing for his boss.

That bastard better not invite me out for drinks tonight, he thought. If my cervical disks are inflamed from this stiffness, alcohol will only make it worse.

Cervical discs? Inflammation? What did Pyungbum know about any of either? Had he read something somewhere? Maybe he should visit a chiropractor or an orthopedic surgeon after work. That is, if that lonely, greedy degenerate doesn't insist on round two. Getting dinner and drinks meant going to a karaoke brothel, and the idea of trying to navigate an evening with one of their girls under his current condition embarrassed him. Who knew cervical mobility counted for so many things? All this time, he had taken so many basic maneuvers for granted.

Pyungbum looked at the pile of work on his desk.

That son of a bitch!

Pyungbum was surprised by the animosity he felt toward his boss. Until then, his emotional reactions to his supervisor rarely strayed beyond annoyed indifference. He winced. His stomach was stinging again.

Thinking it might help, Pyungbum went to the mini-kitchen on his floor, fetched a bag of some herbal tea -- rooibos, or something like that -- and popped it into a disposable paper cup, which he filled with hot water from a water cooler. Something was wrong with the cooler's heating apparatus, however, and the water was barely lukewarm. The tea bag floated in the tiny cup, wondering why the water wasn't heated enough to seep through its paper and soak its leaves to release the herbal nourishment Pyungbum's aggravated stomach so desperately awaited.

"Motherfucker!" Pyungbum hissed.

Once again, Pyungbum was surprised by his own outburst, but not as startled as Juhee, who so happened to be walking into the mini-kitchen to fetch her own cup of rejuvenating rooibos

Pyungbum heard her footsteps too late. He'd already uttered the curse, and his assistant was already freaked out even more than before. He turned his body toward the direction of her steps, and their eyes locked into an awkward moment.

Juhee was the first to offer a gesture of social grace. Lowering her head into a neck bow, she said, "Good afternoon, Sir. How was your lunch meeting?"

Pyungbum liked Juhee because she had tact and sensibility, but today he found everything about her annoying. Her every word and movement felt like a mockery of his absurd crisis, as if her soul were pointing at him and laughing in a telepathic frequency only he could hear. Somehow he knew she was judging him, taking note of his ridiculous progression, delighting in the cruel farce that had become his existence.

Still vexed at the cooler's failure to provide water hot enough to extract the tea bag's herbal remedy, Pyungbum's face was furrowed into a frown, which made Juhe feel even more uneasy. Poor Pyungbum didn't realize this until it was too late, and the sudden attempt to turn his frown upside down just came off as creepy and sad.

"Um, yes. It was fine. You know the 'ol boss!" Pyungbum tried another smile, even garnished it with a friendly laugh, but Juhee didn't seem any more at ease. She was clenching and unclenching her fists, waiting for Pyungbum to stop blocking the water cooler.

It was Juhee's turn to fake a smile; she was better at it than her boss. She decided to give up her quest for tea and seek out the watercooler at another time.

"Well, I must get back to work," she said. She gave a full hip bow and briskly walked toward the cluster of cubicles where she worked. Pyungbum looked at her as she walked away, dumbfounded. He hadn't noticed it before, but she had very nice hips that tapered into a slender waist whose lines sloped up elegantly to introduce the curves of her breasts. Not sure why he noticed this just now. He was still holding the paper cup full of lukewarm water and a wasted bag of tea. He walked over to the mini-kitchen’s counter and leaned on it with both hands.

He slipped into a brief but intense fantasy about his assistant. Hiking up her tight office skirt, he bent her over his desk and stuck his lonely, hungry penis into her tight, wet, willing and waiting pussy. "Oh God," she moaned. "I've been waiting for you to give it to me for so long!" Her moans heightened into hysterical, nymphomaniacal wails. Pyungbum kept thrusting, every nerve in his body magnified a hundred fold. "Fuck me harder!" Juhee screamed. "Oh my God, give it to me 'til you cum. I want to feel you cum inside me. Fill me up! I want it! I need it!"

Pyungbum realized his mouth was gaping open. He closed it and looked around, swiveling his entire body, of course, to ensure nobody had spotted him standing in the office kitchen indulging in a sexual fantasy with his jaw dropped like a teenager in mid-puberty. It didn't appear as if anyone had noticed; people were scurrying around with papers, typing furiously into their keyboards, or discussing something on the phone in urgent and stressed tones.

Pyungbum released a sigh of relief. He hated embarrassing moments, and that would have been humiliating -- standing like a dunce in the kitchen with his mouth open like that.

Just then he saw a young girl he'd never seen before -- probably an intern. Couldn't have been older than 23. She nervously eyed him and darted away like a frightened rabbit. And sure enough, like he was in a teen sex comedy, Pyungbum felt something horribly similar to an erection. He couldn't bend his neck down to confirm, so he had to bend at the hips and strain his eyes downward. There it was, in full throb, ready to pierce through the fly and enter Juhee's wet, willing vagina. Only Juhee wasn't in front of him, and he wasn't about to have sex. It had gotten all excited for nothing. Once it realized this, it went soft almost immediately, grumbling something about having been tricked. Pyungbum straightened his posture and scuttled back to his office. He slammed the door behind him.

Who was that girl? Would she gossip about what she'd witnessed to other female employees? Pyungbum always dreaded the notion of being the subject of office gossip. He hated the idea of people talking about him.

If she was an intern, were there other interns she could talk to about his untimely arousal? Damn this day! Why couldn't it just go like any other normal day? Why all the deviations from the standard pattern?

It was all because of this goddamn neck!

"Fuck!"

Shit. That was a little louder than intended. How much sound insulation did this office have, with these ridiculous glass walls? Come to think of it, what was the point of having a personal office if everyone on the outside could see what you were doing?

It was a most unpleasantly peculiar day, indeed, and it was making Pyungbum behave in very uncharacteristic ways.

Yet despite the embarrassment he'd just endured, Pyungbum refused to let go of lingering thoughts. He couldn't dispel images of Juhee from his mind. His penis, too, despite having been tricked just a few minutes ago, started emerging from dormancy again. As it grew excited it nudged against his fly, demanding to get through and find a home inside Juhee. As Pyungbum's imagination explored the soft slopes and firm curves of her fragrant body, the silky locks of her long hair, his penis became as stiff as his neck. This time, it didn't seem to care that it'd been tricked. One way or another, it was going to get satisfaction. It demanded release.

Pyungbum looked outside through the glass wall of his office. He wondered where the intern was, whether or not she was divulging the details of what she'd just witnessed to another intern or one of the younger employees. Were they busy giggling at his expense at this very moment? God damn youngins! And he'd always tried to be a fair supervisor! Rotten little ingrates.

Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice him. Everybody was busy scrambling through their daily tasks with desperate diligence. Up until this morning, he had been the same. Before this stiff neck, he had been a loyal contributor to the system like them, working with the same exasperated vigor: exhausting his brain, body, and soul until the system permitted him to go home for the evening. Sometimes that would be around 6 pm, the official end of the workday, but he usually didn't leave the office until around 9, the de facto end of the workday for him -- and for most of his colleagues.

Staying true to Korean custom, this meant his underlings usually didn't leave until around 9:30. Pyungbum did not work for one of those companies that concerned itself with the buzzword "work-life balance." The top heads looked at such a concept as something invented by smug Westerners who didn't know how things worked in Asia, where economies had to be built from the ashes of war, poverty, and the aftermath of colonialism. Koreans had elevated their country from one of the poorest in the world to the 13th largest economy in just a few decades. Sure, people worked themselves to death, but by golly, what an achievement! We Koreans work hard, and we're damn proud of it!

And so following Confucian corporate codes, Pyungbum couldn't leave until his boss left, who couldn't leave until his boss left, and so on… On the bottom of this pitiable chain were the young staffers and rookies, who didn't share their seniors' pride for overwork but nevertheless bore the brunt of it for fear of being thrown into the abyss of youth unemployment, which seemed to reach a new all-time high every year. For whatever reason, all that working hard hadn’t solved everything. Growth had stagnated and nearly everyone was in some kind of debt. Some said it was the Americans' fault; others blamed the ultra-rich and the corporations. Pyungbum's bosses and the company heads blamed the lazy youth and the poisonous communist ideals that had sickened their ethnic brethren up North and that now seemed to be making a comeback in the free world.

But all this was irrelevant right now. The only things that mattered at this moment in Pyungbum's life were his penis and its desire for Juhee. He tried to think of other things -- his job, his boss, the company, his stiff neck -- anything non-sexy and unrelated to Juhee, but it didn't work. Little Pyungbum was still just as excited and demanding as ever. And Pyungbum's mind refused to stray from thoughts of Juhee and how her tight skirt hugged her buttocks and hips...how she exposed her neck every time she pulled back her hair. How did his memory banks have such detailed images? Where did they come from? Had he been hungrily eyeing her all this time without even realizing it?

He had to do something. It was impossible to work in this state. Obviously, he couldn't just walk over to Juhee and start having sex with her. She was already weirded out by his abnormal behavior; trying to engage her in intercourse was out of the question. So...what to do?

Before he could rationalize what he was doing, Pyungbum was already speed walking out of his office and down the corridor that led to the bathroom, deftly turning his body toward the wall and walking sideways anytime someone approached from the opposite end. Sure, he looked ridiculous, but it was better than having them spot his massive boner. It was vital that he preserve whatever dignity he had left.

After what felt like several kilometers, he finally reached the men's bathroom on his floor. He swiftly charged toward the nearest open stall -- but before he could enter someone who had just finished his business at one of the urinals turned around and blocked Pyungbum's path. He gave Pyungbum a mighty slap on the back.

"Well, look who it is!" The man grinned. It was Pyungbum's boss.

"Um... Hello, Sir."

"In a bit of a rush there, huh?" His boss burst into a spasm of laughter. "It looks like you're in the middle of an emergency!"

Pyungbum just smiled weakly, mortified. Had the boss espied his erection?

The boss laughed again, burping at the end of his jovial outburst. "I get it, buddy. The older you get, the more unpredictable your bowels become!"

Bowels? Thank God. He hadn't seen the erection. Pyungbum offered another weak smile. "Yes, Sir. Sure is the truth." He tried to maneuver past the boss into the stall, but the boss positioned himself to block Pyungbum's escape.

"Before I let you get to your business, I wanna tell you that I think we should have dinner and a few drinks tonight -- you know, because lunchtime was just too short!"

Dammit, I knew the son of a bitch would pull this shit! Pyungbum fumed internally but put on another impotent smile.

"Why, of course, Sir. It'd be my pleasure." Pyungbum didn't have to think about his response; it came automatically. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must..." His feet made a few jittery steps toward the stall.

"Ah, jeez. Where are my manners!" The boss emitted another guffaw, wiping his sweating forehead with his unwashed hand. "You go ahead and get your business done, Son." He slapped Pyungbum on the back again and sent him off with an ominous wink.

As soon as he heard his boss exit the restroom, Pyungbum rushed into the stall he'd chosen and scrambled to undo his belt and unzip his fly; not being able to look down made this a difficult ordeal. All of a sudden, belts and zipper flys seemed like the most inconvenient inventions of modern man.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he muttered. For a second, he prayed that nobody was in any of the other stalls; he hadn't bothered to check. But he shook his head and dismissed his worries. He was too frantic for details. When he finally dropped his pants and got a hold of his erection, he suddenly couldn't concentrate. He suddenly couldn't picture Juhee and her inviting hips. The silky contours of her legs dispersed into fragmented images that splintered throughout his mind. He struggled to retrieve those images and reassemble them into Juhee, but it was pointless.

Pyungbum opened his eyes. The only thing he could think about was the absurdity of his situation, how unbecoming and shameful he looked right now. He had done everything anyone had ever asked of him -- his parents, his friends, his bosses. What had gone wrong? Why was Life doing this to him?

He looked down at his penis. It had since gotten soft, so limp and lifeless it was hard to believe it'd been so raging hard just a few moments before. Not wanting a repeated incident in his office, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine Juhee's young, feminine silhouette again. I must get it out of my system! But that part of his imagination had been mysteriously deactivated. Discouraged and despondent, Pyungbum wanted to hang his head, but his neck wouldn't permit it, so he had to wallow in his despair with a perfectly upright posture -- which made him feel even more absurd and depressed.

And so, with a limp dick and stiff neck, Pyungbum shuffled out of the bathroom stall, washed his hands while bent at the hip, and walked out into the corridor that led back to his office. He felt dejected and useless, like a faulty product. He wondered if there was anyone he could talk to, someone to confide in, but all his friends would only laugh at him.

He thought about the one friend he still saw occasionally. "Dude, my wife keeps nagging me about money, my kid's practically failing school, and I can't sleep more than three hours a night, and you're complaining about a stiff neck?" Pyungbum could already hear his friend’s response.

Pyungbum’s father was dead, and his mother would only flood him with worry if he told her. Besides, he still had a pile of paperwork to deal with. It'd probably gotten bigger during his bathroom mishap -- unlike his dick and pride.

Somehow, through some miracle of sheer willpower, Pyungbum got through the workday. His neck made working at a desk a nightmare, but he forced himself to focus. Besides, work was the only way to forget about his circumstances. It directed his mind away from his sudden existential queries. What REALLy was the point of all this? But he was never much of a philosopher or questioner, and knew he'd never find the answers to such inquisitions. We're born, we work, we die. Fine. But for chrissakes, give me back my normal neck! He was never particularly religious (his mother was a fervent Catholic), but he felt like screaming his prayers toward God right now.

Just as Pyungbum was finishing his last batch of paperwork, his boss popped into his office. Pyungbum looked at his watch. It was nearly 8:30 pm. Juhee and the other underlings were certainly waiting maliciously for him to leave so they could go home or meet their friends or lovers. He could picture them fiddling with their smartphones, messaging whomever it was they'd arranged to meet, browsing through random websites while pretending to work...silently cursing Pyungbum and his hateful loyalty to the company.

"Look at this loyal soldier!" his boss boomed. Somehow, he never seemed tired, although he was surely hungover all the time. He drank six days a week. He walked over to Pyungbum's desk, pretended to look through some paperwork, and gave his protegee another vicious pat on the back, the signature gesture of uninvited affection.

"Come on, soldier! We got some bottles of soju and some room salon girls with our names on them!"

"Um...it's just...I have to take care of these documents..."

His boss slapped Pyungbum on the back again. Pyungbum's cervical stiffness made this abuse especially unpleasant. "Nonsense! You can do it later. Trust me, I got ya covered."

Pyungbum knew this was false. He could already picture the next morning, his boss fuming at him over the unfinished work. "I told you to have these goddamn documents finished by today!" It'd happened several times already, and each time Pyungbum was unable to finish his work because his boss had insisted on taking him out for drinks and a visit to his favorite room salon. But once again Pyungbum was unable to refuse his boss's mandatory offer. He suppressed a long sigh.

***

"Lean your head back, Oppa, and I'll pour you this delicious drink down that thirsty throat of yours," Candy told Pyungbum. Candy was Pyungbum's partner for the evening. The boss sat to Pyungbum’s right with his partner, Misty. The table in front of them was littered with beer bottles and various-sized glasses, along with a lone bottle of whisky. The boss was merrily drunk and gossiping away, his right hand resting comfortably on Misty's right breast.

"Come on, Honey. What are you waiting for? Lean your head back so I can help you relax," Candy cooed. "You look so stiff."

"Um...the thing is...I can't."

"You can't what?"

"I can't lean my head back."

Candy looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I can't bend my neck at present. I think I have a cervical condition."

Candy laughed. "You're funny."

Pyungbum was confused. "I'm serious. I can't bend my neck."

Candy's seasoned smile dissolved. She poured herself a shot of whiskey and gulped it down. She heaved a heavy sigh and turned to face Pyungbum again. Her perfect smile had returned.

"And what's wrong with your neck, Oppa?"

"I don't know. I woke up this morning and it wouldn't budge."

Pyungbum felt ridiculous -- even more ridiculous than how he felt when he couldn't mastrubate in the company bathroom earlier. He was sitting in one of his boss's favorite establishments. The boss and the madame were on a first-name basis. It was a typical enough place. Customers were led into a private room, like the one in which he sat now, where they sipped drinks and talked with professional female company. The rooms were equipped with a surround-sound system connected to a karaoke machine.

After enough time had passed, the girls led the guests into the motel above the joint in the same building. Each guest and his girl were supplied individual rooms, where the former could release his sexual frustrations and escape his lonely soul for exactly one hour. Most men finished their business within 30 minutes, and the girls spent the rest of the hour acting as their guests' therapists. They were first-rate listeners, offered a better ear than most wives could.

Pyungbum, however, didn't enjoy such establishments. They made him feel awkward and perverted. He never knew what to talk about with his partners, and he always felt bad for them, because he knew they didn't really want to be with him.

Pyungbum's boss grabbed the mic and started to sing his favorite tune. It was an oldie, a sappy love song with a slow beat fused with too many cheesy saxophone riffs. The boss sang the same song every time he got drunk, and since he got drunk six times a week and sang karaoke at least twice a week, he sang this song a minimum of eight times a month, 96 times a year. For some reason, this figure depressed Pyungbum.

Candy, aware that Pyungbum was the shy type who'd been dragged out by his boss, let Pyungbum drift around in his own thoughts for a few moments while she rested her voice and her smiling muscles. She looked at the time on her smartphone. It was almost time to take him up to the motel. But before that, she had to please him with her lips while the premise's speakers blared a shrieking blurb of what could be described as psychotic disco blended with early-90s K-pop. The waiter turned on the music from outside the room, which was the cue for the girls to get busy.

And like clockwork, as soon as she'd set down her whisky glass, the music blared and the lights dimmed. She had exactly four minutes to go to the bathroom, gargle with mouthwash, and return to her place next to Pyungbum, where she'd bend down and disappear from table-sight to get to business. She cooed into Pyungbum's ear, "You just sit tight, Oppa, while I go pretty myself up for you. And unbutton those pants for me, Sexy." She put on her naughty voice. "I want to taste you as quickly as possible." She was good at her job, a true professional.

Pyungbum watched her get up and head toward the mini-bathroom with Misty, her nicely shaped ass hugged by her short skirt. He looked over at his boss, who was undoing the fly of his pants. When he finished preparing himself, the boss leaned back in his seat, arms spread to the sides, a smile plastered on his face. He let out a loud belch, patting his bulging tummy in satisfaction. He turned to Pyungbum, who sat motionless -- paralyzed.

"You ready to enjoy yourself, Son?"

"Um, sure thing, Boss."

"Come on now. Put a little enthusiasm into that voice! You should be thrilled to be getting with a young pretty thing like -- What was your girl's name?"

"I think it's Candy, Sir."

"Candy! Doesn't get any sweeter than that!"

"Sure thing, Sir."

Good God! Why do you keep turning your entire body towards me every time you answer? It's creeping me out."

"Um...sorry, Sir. It's just..this neck is being a bit bothersome today."

"What? Still? I thought you were going to sort that thing out?"

"Well, it's only been a few hours since we last spoke, Sir--"

But before the boss could retort, the girls came out of the bathroom and quickly took their seats next to their gentlemen for the evening.

When Pyungbum was dragged by his boss to one of Seoul's many brothels -- illegal but not exactly forbidden -- for the first time, he was a little ashamed, but excited. He wasn't exactly skilled in the art of seducing women, and although he seemed timid, his appetites were ferocious. He tamed his beastly urges by masturbating twice a day -- once in the morning before showering and once before bed. So when the opportunity to touch, hold, and have sex with an actual woman -- and a young and pretty one, at that -- danced before his hungry eyes, his heart leapt.

But as the night got later and his boss got drunker, the sordid weight of the situation oppressed him. The shrieking karaoke machine, the crass lights swiveling around the room, the tired look in the girl's eyes as she repeatedly donned a skilled but suspicious smile -- it all crushed his libido. And by the time the waiter hit the lights and music and the girls ran off to prep themselves, he just wanted to dash home, take a long shower to wash off the depravity, the glitter-coated gloom, and sink into dreams about his childhood, when none of this horrible shit mattered.

And here he was, 13 years later, at another establishment and in the same situation. When Candy started licking and sucking his penis, he was already so thoroughly soaked in guilt and dismay and worry about his neck that he couldn't get properly erect. It took a good three minutes of her coddling lips and caressing tongue for his mind to shut off and for his instincts to start responding. He wanted to look down and admire her pretty face and lips at work, but his neck felt like a singular column of oak. It laughed at his pathetic hopes for mobility.

By the time Pyungbum was escorted to his motel room upstairs, his mood had improved, and he even felt aroused -- although the guilt remained. He always felt bad for the girls, but he still wanted to have sex with them. Such nights would always end in brooding despair. He'd feel relieved but empty, sedated but unfulfilled. Surely, tonight would be no exception. But there he was, being led down a motel corridor by a rented angel who held his hand with professional gentleness.

The room they entered was like the countless other motel rooms he'd been in: cramped, damp, and dimly lit. The lighting was always a specific shade of lustful rose. The bed was just barely big enough for two people; they usually were, to discourage customers from getting too comfortable.

"Let's get you washed up, now." Candy flashed another assembly-line smile. Still, she was nice to look at. When could a guy like Pyungbum ever spend time with a girl as young and attractive in the real world? He tried to shake his head, winced from the pain, and settled on a long, wistful sigh. He'd spent all his youth studying, working, working, working -- and now he was 40, sex-deprived, and crippled with a rigid neck.

He stripped and entered the bathroom with Candy, where she washed him down with the handheld showerhead, lathered his entire body in the motel's cheap body wash, and rinsed him off. As the girls usually did, she paid extra attention to his cock and balls, stroking and teasing them as she washed. The harder and more aroused the clients were when they started, the more quickly they finished their business. Tricks of the trade.

By the time they exited the bathroom, any sense of guilt or moral opposition regarding sex with a working girl had vanished. Candy laid Pyungbum down on the awkwardly sized bed and began working, her tongue and lips demonstrating the pinnacle of professional prowess. The technical expertise and acumen of the world's greatest engineers and scientists suddenly paled in comparison to the mastery Candy's mouth had over Pyungbum's senses. He closed his eyes and marveled in how good she felt.

Work, Juhee, his boss -- none of that mattered anymore. All that was good and holy and true in the universe was concentrated in Candy's mouth. He tried to remember if any of his past experiences had been this good, but this was definitely something new. This girl was undeniably special -- an angel sent from the heavens. Pyungbum wasn't religious, but at that moment he was willing to erect a shrine in honor of Candy's mouth. Her head bobbed up and down as she worked -- slowly at first but gradually increasing in speed and intensity before slowing down again right as Pyungbum thought he was going to explode inside her lovely, divine mouth. She seemed to know the exact rhythm of his senses, like she had studied the network of nerves in his cock and constructed a map inside her head. After a few minutes, Pyungbum was convinced that nature had designed this woman and her mouth to please him and him only. It was the only plausible explanation for such perfection.

Life existed for this moment and this moment alone.

"Oh my God..." Pyungbum moaned. "This is... Oh my God..."

Candy looked up from her work to answer. "You like that, Oppa? You taste delicious."

"You feel incredible."

Candy replied by resuming her work. Pyungbum felt like he was going to faint from pleasure. Every single nerve and sensor in his body was dancing, hollering -- nearly crying in ecstasy. The experience was so beautiful he felt like he might cry any second. Her mouth made him feel like a man and a little boy at the same time.

In a rare moment of philosophical reverie, Pyungbum thought that perhaps so many men insist on making society a patriarchal one because they know, deep down in their male hearts, that no matter how tough and confident they act, no matter how much money we make or how much we achieve we are completely helpless before women and their charms -- as boyish and as helpless and smitten as the moment we see a pretty girl for the first time mid-puberty. No matter how much control we pretend to have, we're just like those tropical birds who don flamboyant feathers and squawk around in ridiculous dances, risking being seen by predators who would chomp them to pieces, at the tiniest hope of impressing a female.

All of this whipped through Pyungbum's head in a couple milliseconds as Candy's divine lips and sacred tongue worked his nerves into a pleasure flurry so intense he arched his spine like a possessed soul being exorcised -- and came into Candy's mouth. This woman is literally an angel! There's no other explanation! As if to prove his thoughts correct, Candy then swallowed Pyungbum's release at that moment -- instead of running straight to the bathroom to spit it out as she usually did. Pyungbum floated in his arched position for a second and settled into a supine, resting position in what felt like theatrical slow motion. Everything was relaxed.

Candy herself wasn't sure why she was being so generous -- it was just a feeling, a vague sense that for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she was genuinely helping someone in need.

A prostitute making the world a better place? You're being ridiculous! But this flash of cynicism didn't diminish the feeling. The look in Pyungbum's eyes was so earnestly lost and pained that it actually sparked a maternal warmth, something she'd assumed dead. No, it was undeniable: She had just saved a man's life, and perhaps even his soul.

When the ecstasy of his orgasm had passed, that earnest look of helplessness and innocence faded into embarrassment. Pyungbum, suddenly inundated with reality -- boss, prostitute, work -- could no longer look into Candy's eyes. But as he turned away he felt fragrant fingers on his chin. Candy gently turned Pyungbum's face toward hers, locking her eyes onto his. The softer her touch became, the more powerful it felt. She was only using the tips of her index and middle fingers, but Pyungbum felt he couldn't resist their force no matter how hard he tried. Even if he were the most powerful, brutish man in the world, he would have been no match for those fingers.

Feeling even more vulnerable and embarrassed, Pyungbum made one last effort to look away, but Candy just smiled and released a girly giggle. Pyungbum stopped resisting. He was in her mercy.

"You poor, adorable little thing," Candy cooed.

"Huh?"

"It's okay."

Candy slowly leaned forward and kissed Pyungbum passionately, like the way she kissed her first love back in her school days. It was something she hadn't done since those days, actually.

Pyungbum -- alarmed, even resistant at first -- submitted himself to the experience as he had done just a few minutes ago. All the karmic forces in his life led to this kiss with Candy. Her lips and tongue made him feel like everything he'd been taught by his parents and in school, his job, was total rubbish. Yet he also felt like he'd just been granted the Universe's most precious wisdom in a single, hyper-condensed moment that would reside at the core of his soul forever.

When their tongues and mouths released each other, it was Candy who seemed embarrassed this time -- her cheeks flushed, her eyes flitting downward and to the side.

They were embracing lotus style, Candy on top. Pyungbum reached out and stroked Candy's right cheek. He leaned over and gave it a tender kiss.

Pyungbum smiled. Candy smiled back.

"Well, aren't you a gentleman," she said.

"Only in the presence of a true lady."

Candy laughed and playfully slapped Pyungbum's arm.

Pyungbum rode the bus home under the impression that the world was filled with endless beauty. Insteading of burying his interest in his smartphone -- neurotically scanning newsfeeds and skimming articles, his neck curved into a sickening downward bow -- he stared outside at the city passing by, his eyes curious and brimming with wonder. All these people...all these buildings... His mind let go of concrete thoughts, allowing his consciousness to swim through a stream of primordial impressions that flooded his senses. No words, just a flowing mix of colors, heat, coolness and sound. He felt like a divine animal. His neck was mobile and relaxed.