Yuri

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These women called Yuri ‘delectable.’

Yuri lapped up her fourth? fifth? cocktail of the night, as drunk on compliments as the free vodka. Their large booth happened to be inhabited by a circle of professionals—none younger than their late thirties. Designer attire, jewelry that rivaled the club lights, and flawlessly preened. Sooyoung had been onto something when she mentioned y maturity.

And Yuri caught wind of their tastes. Over the following hour, ladies in their twenties materialized at each lady’s side. Pink Halter slung a slim arm around Yuri’s neck, staking an overt—yet, intoxicating—claim.

“Have you ever left Korea, Yuri?”

She warmed at how an innocuous question dripped with sensuality. “I haven’t.”

Fruity breath grazed her ear in a, “I can’t believe that. Surely, someone’s whisked you away to a foreign island once or twice.”

No whisking. No island. Not that Yuri had an opportunity while making minimum medical bill payments from teen age to twenties. By the time those were paid off, she and Sooyoung acquired matching jobs at Craftie’s. Yuri shyly shrugged off her lack of travel. “Less than once, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve a villa in Tuscany.”

She nodded, indifference coated in a curious, “Oh?”

“Mm, yes.” She snuggled closer, wavy hair held back by the snapback she coyly stole from Yuri. “Suppose you tag along with me someday. Every night, we’d feast on the finest wine until the clothes come sailing off your gorgeous body. How incredible would that be?”

Blushing, Yuri replied, “Pretty incredible.”

She knew better than to accept the empty calories of flattery. The professionals at this table had a short-term agenda—to seize life by its ually fluid horns for the weekend. Come Monday morning, they’d shroud themselves in society’s respectable robes and scoff in her direction dare she approach them. They proffered no names of their own. Many even wore their wedding bands prominently.

Yuri pictured herself leading a similarly deceptive existence. Further reason to hit the ice of her drink.

In a brisk flourish, Pink Halter refilled it from a pitcher. “When you’re on my tab, your glass isn’t allowed to be empty.”

“I think I’ve had en—” Yuri gulped at the tease of lips to her neck. She shivered, slurring, “Who’s gonna take me home?”

“I am, if I play my cards right.”

She’d meant her own apartment alone, but even the thought of engaging in the curves pressed to her body noodled her response into a girlish snort. “You’re bluffing.”

“Not at all.” Pink Halter leered. “I swear you’d contort me into so many positions.”

Yuri flushed crimson. She had no expertise in contorting anyone. She’d barely mastered lying still until Taekwoon came. Something told her that her youth + dykey costume broadcasted the wrong signals. “A yoga instructor, I am not.”

“Nonsense. I know how you millennials fare. Play hard, complain hard, hard.”

“Massive generalizations there.”

“Care to dance?”

She sipped through the subject change. “Um, um...”

“You can dance, right?”

“I have a few moves.”

“Then, finish that and come on.” Pink Halter crawled over Yuri, leaving an alluring mélange of perfume, softness, and confidence in her wake. “Hurry. I bet you’ll feel as amazing as you look.”

Yuri drowned her inhibitions in a tropical blend. She wanted to live, to indulge. To fit in with everybody else under this rainbow-flagged roof. It’s not like Regular Yuri was that exciting, anyway.

...

Two songs in and the pleasure coursing through Yuri felt too good, too dangerous. Like, cheating dangerous. Conflict raged within her, featuring Pink Halter’s fingers in Yuri’s hair, a hipbone to her center, the lingering thought of Taekwoon innocently awaiting her return, and this burgeoning uality…brought on by that delicious hipbone on her center.

Her dance partner had it all in the looks department, including those laugh lines. And she appeared close to a meltdown, too. If Yuri drank less, maybe she’d be able to envisage some consequences, the inevitable aftermath of behaving recklessly. Yet, the voice of those free cocktails whispered, ‘ behaving.’

Their gyrating rocked out of accord with the music. Pink Halter’s lips now accompanied teeth upon her skin. The indentions of Yuri’s nails into bare, hairless, unmanly thighs were real and raw and tantalizing. The current of lust between her own legs parted the heavens for a disclaimer:

Yuri liked women

and this was .

“We gotta…” She withered as Pink Halter’s leg hiked up higher. “We gotta cool off.”

She received a long on her jaw for an answer. Yuri coiled, shocked that she’d ever be tested ually. This woman was accomplishing what Taekwoon couldn’t in complete .

“P-p-please? Can we step away for a sec?”

That nabbed Pink Halter’s attention. With a smirk, she danced away, holding out an expectant hand. Yuri intertwined their fingers like she depended on it, noting how she herself resembled that poor bastard Taehyung, desperate for the attention she’d dreamt of. They walked a bumpy path (avoiding elbows and runaway groins) to the hallway leading to VIP, near the bathrooms. Yuri contemplated giving her face a much-needed splash when in a split moment, her back collided with the wall.

“I don’t think I can wait,” Pink Halter breathed, x-ray eyeing through Yuri’s thin t-shirt.

As the flannel at her waist got untied, Yuri threw panicked glances at the other clubgoers walking by. “Isn’t this too um, public?”

“Let them watch.”

In seconds, their lips were one. Not the ghosted pecks and nibbles while grinding on the floor. Full-on, tongue-to-tonsil, head-tilted kissing that’d been Taekwoon’s and only Taekwoon’s for years. And Yuri hated herself for not stopping. For not refusing the smoothness of this woman’s mouth and how she’ll miss it when it’s gone. But, as Sooyoung reminded her: she had to investigate this. Or else she’d live full of regrets. The regrets of not knowing how this sprung her flesh to life.

So, they continued to kiss.

And writhe, and moan, and pant broken obscenities.

Drawing out this fantasy. A safe, gay haven for Yuri to probe, please herself and—

“Oh,” Yuri sighed, snatching her hand off the other woman’s . “Not too far, please?”

Pink Halter grinned in her arousal, grabbing the hand to place back on the firm roundness of her chest. “You are so damn hot, you know that? In that outfit of yours.”

The tryhard gay getup was a success. “Thank you.”

“Thank youuuu,“ She mocked lightly, guiding their hands downward. “Quit it with the innocent act and take charge, y.”

“I’m not...” Yuri created an excuse on the fly. “I don’t top, sorry.”

“Bull.”

Yuri let her head bobble, wondering if she imagined that tone in her drunkenness. “People are staring.”

“Then, you’d better step it up, huh?”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Swiftly, Yuri’s lips were reclaimed. Except, the flush of their faces didn’t burn the same as before. Too persistent, more aggressive than earlier. And Yuri’s hand—she flinched, eyes ajar—had been flattened and directed into Pink Halter’s ed shorts. The roughness of lace reached her fingertips and her heart jumped.

“I uh, I shouldn’t.” Yuri tugged with a bit more force to drive her point, only to be trapped tighter. “I’m off.”

“You were on a minute ago.”

Sweat wet the hair along Yuri’s neck. She didn’t want to make a scene, bring eyes to herself. That fear and anxiety of visiting a gay club came barreling back faster than her glass had been refilled. “Please, let go.”

“This roleplay again? You were all over me a second ago.”

Maybe she’d been naïve. Assuming any woman to be kinder, safer than a random dude. She felt pressured all over again and this was a ing stranger. Not Taek in his alma mater socks. “I changed my mind.”

“Then, you—”

“I—I have a boyfriend!” The grip on her shirt loosened; she went on. “A boyfriend that—that I love very much so would you kindly let me go before I cry for help?”

Pink Halter blinked to realization, glancing to her left and right. “Jesus, I thought we were teasing each other, Yuri. I can’t make you me.”

“Just—” The tears trickled from Yuri’s chin. Tears of disappointment. Mostly embarrassment. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Really, ? Actual tears?” She slinked off, buttoning herself. “You’re not the only one with a man at home.”

Facing a gorgeous someone who’d never lover her, Yuri sobbed, “Leave me the alone, then.”

“With pleasure.”

Two sad minutes passed before Yuri released a shuddering breath, sinking to the floor like a violated cliché. Was this punishment? Like, how come nobody warned her about female predators and their emotional ing terrorism? And, sadly, time had only weighed onto her alcohol, added kilos to her slowed brain. She shook her head. Shook it again. And her body followed suit, quaking as it sank in what had just transpired.

“I sh-should’ve gone home,” she muttered as passersby scaled obvious arcs around the wasted, sorry drunk. “I should’ve…”

She slipped on and buttoned her flannel shirt up to her neck, further realizing Pink Halter made off with her hat.

And for reasons unknown, that made her break down yet again.

...

Trap music beats echoed from the floor to Yuri’s body, bullying her in sync with everyone having a better time than her. She blinked bloodshot eyes, rolling her wretchedly dry tongue.

Still drunk, still stupid.

Still worthless and causing congestion in a hall that had somehow grown smaller. The single thing bringing her comfort was her phone in her back pocke