Soo-yun giggled, hugging her pillow tighter as the handsome oppa on screen finally confessed his feelings. She sighed dreamily, a giddy warmth bubbling in her chest. The K-drama was just so romantic! Wait! What was she thinking? Soo-yun shook her head, trying to clear the foreign thoughts. This wasn’t right. She wasn’t some lovestruck fangirl. She was a red-blooded American man, dammit!
Except… she wasn’t anymore, was she? Her gaze flicked down to her slender hands, her dainty feet. To the soft swell of breasts pushing against her pajama top. When had it stopped feeling strange to think of herself as she? Soo-yun bit her lip, a wave of dysphoria crashing over her. She could still remember being Michael, the brash, insensitive jerk who’d thought it’d be funny to take a dig at Korean culture to his equally dickish college buddies. Right in front of Na-yeon, the sweet foreign student who’d been nothing but kind to him.
He hadn’t known about the magic in Na-yeon’s family. Hadn’t known the fury of a Korean woman scorned. He’d laughed when she muttered something rapidly under her breath, some ancient Korean curse. He wasn’t laughing the next morning when he woke up in a new body. Perky tits, slick pussy, the works. He’d screamed, but it emerged as a girlish shriek. Soo-yun could still remember the taste of panic, the clench of wrong between her legs. Na-yeon had been there, smiling coldly. “Now you will learn,” she’d said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “How it feels to be Korean woman. How it feels to be like me.”
The changes hadn’t stopped at the physical. Each day, Soo-yun felt her sense of self erode further. Not just her identity, but her preferences, her mannerisms. The old Michael was being overwritten by a bubbly Korean college girl. A girl who liked makeup vlogs and bubble tea. A girl who had endless opinions on which member of BTS was the cutest. It scared Soo-yun how right it was starting to feel. How badly she wanted to dress up in cute skirts and trade gossip with her unnies. It was harder to tell what was really her, or what was just this invasive feminine perspective.
She’d tried to call her old friends, to beg for help. But her English was already deteriorating, consonants slurred, grammar simpler. She could feel the new language rewiring her brain. They’d laughed and called her a dumb foreign bitch before hanging up. The words had stung more than she’d expected. Is this how it felt to be treated that way? Is that what it felt like to be a foreign girl around these macho college dudes?
Her eyes strayed back to the TV, to the leading man’s perfectly handsome boyish face. Heat pooled in her belly, her pussy clenching with need. Hesitantly, she slipped a hand into her pajama bottoms, surprised at how wet she was. How good it felt to touch herself there. Deep down, some part of her was telling her that this was wrong, that she shouldn’t be so hot and bothered about some Korean boytoy. But it was no use against her urges. The urges of a pretty Korean coed, who swooned over dramas and dreaming of landing the perfect Oppa. The part of her still railed against it grew quieter every day. It was just so much easier to let go. To let herself melt into Soo-yun. Was that really so bad?
Maybe… maybe this was her life now. Maybe it was okay to enjoy it. To embrace being Soo-yun, with all her girly obsessions and oppa fixations. At least things made sense to her, unlike the foreign muddle of Michael’s thoughts. She shivered, pressing her fingers harder against the slick nub of her clit. Tomorrow, she’d beg Na-yeon unnie to take her shopping again, to help her pick out the cutest outfits to impress the guys on campus. After all, wasn’t some fling with some foreign boyfriend what going to college abroad was all about?
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