The world was boiling, both literally and figuratively. A Pacific conflict loomed like a storm cloud over East Asia, pushing waves of young professionals like us to flee to the American West Coast.
California's suburbs is dotted with sleek, solar-powered homes and drone-delivery hubs, it truly felt like a strange new world compared to our peninsula's misty mountains and sea-salted air.
MSET, the chip-design firm where I'd toiled for a decade, had relocated its most sophisticated factories and with them many key staff were pushed move to the mainland U.S, and I, Jihun, had no choice but to follow the company's bidding. My wife, Hana, came with me, leaving behind our parents and our cozy house overlooking the ocean.
We were both in our late twenties, starting over in a land that felt as foreign as it was intimidating, big tall men, busty women, openly wearing clothes that would be completely inappropriate in our peninsula.
Hana is only 26, she was a vision, 160 cm, 43 kg, her black hair shimmering with a brownish sheen, cascading to her shoulders.
Her small B-cup breasts and lithe frame were the product of supreme genetics and a disciplined diet of rice, fish, and greens. She was a stay-at-home wife now, but her days were packed with yoga, and work out and scrolling X for the latest trends.
I was at my 28th year, 165 cm, 49 kg, with long black hair tied in a ponytail. My thin, hairless frame and soft features made me look almost like Hana's twin, especially when we wore similar clothes. People often mistook us for siblings, which stung my pride more than I cared to admit.
Our marriage, once was a college fairy tale, had started to crack, cracks I couldn't ignore. We'd been trying for children, but nothing yet. I blamed the stress of my job, the endless deadlines, the pressure of designing next-gen chips in a rushed world standing on the brink of war.
Hana, despite not being very vocal about it, seemed to blame me, her silence louder than words. My insecurities gnawed at me, my 5-inch, slender cock, my "soy body" devoid of muscle, my addiction to Newhalf JAV porn during college that left me in big doubt about my masculinity.
I'd spent hours watching American men, tall bodies, overtly muscular, confident cocks, dominate Asian porn scenes, wondering if Hana, with her richer history of dating, her higher body count, could truly be satisfied with me.
The memory of our honeymoon in Jeju Island haunted me. We'd rented a seaside villa, the waves crashing outside our window as we made love on silk sheets.
Hana, radiant in a white lace negligee, she straddled me, her hips grinding slowly. I thrust upward, eager to please, my hands gripping her waist. Her moans filled the room, loud and rhythmic, but something felt off, like it was a performance rehearsed too many times.
"Jihun, you're so good," she gasped, her eyes half-closed. "You make me feel amazing."I swelled with pride, my chest tight with love, as she arched her back, her cries peaking, I saw her hands clenching the sheets, her breaths uneven.
Was she faking it? I pushed the thought away, focusing on her words. "You're perfect," she whispered afterward, kissing my forehead. "I'm yours."Her compliments propped up my fragile ego, but deep down, I wondered if she really meant them.
She'd dated men before me, taller and stronger men, A taekwondo master in college, Canadian exchange student, and middle eastern journalist. Could my skinny frame, my gentle touch, really compare?
We had barely settled in to our new home, a compact house provided by the company, with big glass windows and a rooftop garden.
Our new neighbors, Tyrone and Latisha, came to greet us, they were in their mid-30s, the only Black couple we'd ever met in person since we arrived, they looked strikingly beautiful.
Tyrone, a stay-at-home husband, was tall and noticeably muscular, his deep voice warm but tinged with a quiet sorrow.
Latisha, his wife, was 170 cm, her athletic frame accentuated by C-cup breasts and a confident swagger. She worked as a secretary for David Arlington, a charismatic executive who had an estate house nearby, Latisha's playful demeanor hid a sharp wit.
They helped us unload our SUV, their laughter easing the tension of the move. "You two must be exhausted," Latisha said, her eyes scanning Hana's figure. "Come swim at our pool tonight. It's the best way to beat this heat."
Hana's face lit up. "We'd love that."As we changed in our bedroom, I slipped into swim trunks, self-conscious about my slight manboobs and the lack of any chest hair.
Hana, meanwhile, donned a new bikini--barely-there strings that hugged her curves. "You like?" she teased, twirling. My cock twitched, but she giggled, swatting my hand away. "Save it for tonight, Jihun.
The sun's setting soon."We grabbed a six-pack of beer and headed next door, passing a neighbor who stared at Hana as he took out the trash, she didn't notice, but I did.
In California, I'd heard whispers on X about Asian women sought-after by White men, seeking petite women with docile mannerisms, a trend fueled by the influx of East Asian immigrants fleeing the Pacific conflict.
The thought twisted my gut: would Hana, with her past, be drawn to men like that?
At Tyrone and Latisha's, the backyard was a futuristic oasis: a pool with glowing LED tiles, surrounded by robotic lawnmowers trimming super green grass. Latisha greeted us in a thong bikini, her breasts barely contained, bouncing as she hugged Hana.
Tyrone wore tight trunks that showcased his sculpted legs and a bulge that seemed impossibly large. I swallowed hard, my porn-addled brain flashing to those college nights spent watching scenes I could never measure up to.
David, their guest, lounged by the pool. A White man in his late 30s, he was slightly stockier than Tyrone but exuded authority. His speedo left little to the imagination, another massive bulge catching my eye.
"David, my boss," Latisha said, winking. "And a good friend, me and him share a very deep connection." I learned much later, that she was more than his secretary--David's dominance extended to her personal life, a dynamic Tyrone had accepted years ago.
Tyrone, jobless after his tech startup unexpectedly failed, he now lived at home, cooking gourmet meals and tending to their home with a quiet pride.
After a few beers, the mood was light. Tyrone shared stories of his failed startup, his eyes crinkling with self-deprecating humor. "I'm better at grilling than coding," he chuckled, flipping a burger on a nearby smart-grill. Latisha, meanwhile, showed Hana her collection of vintage dresses and lingerie sets, her fingers lingering on Hana's arm.
David, a super car enthusiast, he boasted about his restored vintage aston martin, parked in the garage.
