Christopher Bahng

These corridors... that sense of intimate, negative space stuck to you. It spoke out, poking and prodding, evoking a deeper sense within...

Given fallacy, was discerned. Ignored. Yet, now; the flickering, fluorescent lights illuminating, drawing back the dark and dwelling shadows of the passageway. They worked so perfectly together to create visuals... to create the reality you bear witness to at this very moment.

Perhaps, the contrast of black and white is ironic. Fabricating the great structures, the pillars of this environment. Walls. Parallel lines. Never touching. Never blending in. Forced apart like oil and water, because the idea of being together...

You swallowed. Eyes bloodshot. The window's reflection eluded you. Looking back was something unhinged. Deranged. But, you were obsessed.

How dare he reject you? When in your head, you've already decided that he belonged?

A shaking, shuddering breath entered your lungs. Why were you even here? Driven to the brink of pure insanity. A purpose only to be aroused by the intensity consuming your whole being. Tension plagues, it is a bane that deteriorates the mind and heart. In spite of this, in spite of everything, you longed for him. Yearning dangerously.

Because, how could Christopher Chahn Bahng linger around you... like a moon waxing and waning around its Earth, changing moods; stares lingering. His desire for you was obvious, however, no action would be made. Professionalism was stealing your rights, your entitlements, to a man like him.

That is why you are here. Standing in front of his office's corridor, his work sanctuary, with a coat on. Panty-less. Completely nude underneath, adhering to the fashion of a common street whore.

You were determined to make him yours tonight. Drunk on jealousy. Restless and lovesick from your sleepless days, has led you to make rough decisions. To cut heavy corners, that might cost you. Even worse, venture you out in uncharted territory, a place so familiarly unfamiliar.

A dream you cannot capture.

Your hands tremble slightly, nerves ecstatic. Lust and pain electrocutes through, influencing your movements; the slight sway in your hips. The wetness of your lips. The ache in your core. And the shiver down your spine...

With enough twisted courage, you bombard into his office like a sex monster. In Hell. On fire. Well, does anybody want to cover the Vatican's holy ears?

Bangchan's eyes settle down on you, confused, ashamed, and probably even hurting. You almost forgot how intoxicating he was... it made you feel dizzy... light weight. Because, oh God, there really was nobody like him.