another week at EC

Apologies for the Friday absence, but it wasn't without reason: I'm now preparing to teach a Korean co-worker French, and I'm currently teaching a Canadian co-worker some very rudimentary Korean (so rudimentary that we're starting with the alphabet). He's picking it up quickly, which makes my job easier.

Despite the nipple-stiffening moral perks that arise from teaching my co-workers for the simple pleasure of teaching them (I've asked for no money, although both co-workers have offered to pay me), tutoring and tutoring prep are cutting into my free time, which is in the early-to-mid afternoons while I'm on split shift. This is the only time I have to blog, but by Friday, I was simply too pooped to think about blogging.

The solution might be to blog more often from the office, but I don't usually like taking that risk, even though I did so earlier today to alert you to the return of the luscious Miss SNU.

Oh, Christ, how she curls my toes. Maybe I'm turning into a dirty old man against my better judgement, a leering Humbert Humbert more interested in banging his students than in teaching them proper English.

Today I discovered that Miss SNU isn't a college senior: she's a junior. What the fuck sort of cradle-robbing pervert am I? I tried to dampen my own ardor by asking after her boyfriend, which was sheer agony to do, but necessary to combat potential boners. It turns out the boyfriend is now back in Korea (he'd been in America for a kidney operation) and is currently suffering from the heat in an SNU dorm without any air conditioning. Miss SNU said "his mind was changed," which may have meant that he was suffering from post-op blues, because she also mentioned that he's been rather sluggish. I fought my screaming lust-demons and cheerily advised her to take care of her man while he convalesces.

But Miss SNU is a boggle. She really seemed to brighten when she saw I was her teacher today as opposed to A, the lucky Canuck bastard who teaches her on weekdays. Somehow, conversation got around to two topics that are probably no-nos: where I live (and what my apartment's like), and how old I am (and whether I look all that old). "You live alone?" Miss SNU asked, her eyes lighting up. I told her yes, then diverted the conversation to the fact that I had air conditioning, which I joked was a shame, given what her boyfriend was going through. I know that sounds crass, but it's all in the delivery. Trust me; the joke went over better in real life than it does in print.

Then there was the age/maturity part of our discussion. "You don't look old!" Miss SNU told me, staring at me with those amazing brown eyes. "Hey, thanks!" my dick shouted from behind the zipper. Frisson. Miss SNU claimed to be flattered when I asked whether she was a senior, and said that, back when she was a freshman, people wondered whether she was a graduate student. Allusion to sexual precociousness? I told her about how some American women of a certain age claim for years to be 29. Miss SNU had a good giggle while my balls jockeyed for a better view of her.

Before I knew it, 20 of our 25 minutes had been spent just chatting (or was it pseudo-flirting?) with each other. Sweet torture.

It wasn't a bad way to end another week at EC. I still don't wear a lab coat. The manager hasn't made good on her threat to get one in my size. I still like my co-workers and enjoy most of my students.

But the hours are grueling. Afternoon naps don't fulfill (afternoon sex might, however). I'm constantly tired. On Friday, which as you know was Friday the 13th, I had a completely booked schedule: four hours of non-stop teaching in both my morning and evening shift-- no breaks, and no real sleep in the afternoon. Today, Saturday, wasn't so bad: we all had a few cancellations in our respective teaching schedules.

I've been rescheduled to go to Osaka the final week of August for my "visa run." I was supposed to go earlier this week, but the head office misspelled my last name* on the sponsorship paperwork, which meant that my flight had to be cancelled and the paperwork had to be drawn up again. EC lost money on me: I'm sure they paid a hefty penalty for cancelling the flight with barely 24 hours' notice.

I have a couple other student cuties, but one of them, the previously-mentioned Miss DC, is losing her charm. The woman has no personality. One of my co-workers thinks she might simply be shy. Miss DC is truly a gorgeous little lady, with bright eyes and a perfect smile (she's arguably better-looking than the lusted-after Miss SNU), but her mannerisms are starting to grate on me. She speaks in what can best be described as slo-mo English, and seems to think she speaks better than she actually does. It's quite possible she's been pampered for most of her life. I've known ladies like that: isolated from reality by their own beauty, all with the testosterone-fueled complicity of us dumbass males. Miss SNU, on the other hand, is truly bright; one of my Korean colleagues went so far as to call her a genius earlier today, which might be stretching things, but might also be possible; I don't know enough about Miss SNU to say. Miss DC doesn't seem to have the mental muscle or the scholarly industriousness to back up her marvelous looks, and that's always been a turn-off for me. If we ignore for a moment the Lolita-themed nature of my lust for Miss SNU, I should note that a major component of attraction for me has been and always will be admiration. Miss SNU has the goods: she's both talented and studious, along with being adorably cute and having loads of personality to spare. I don't think she's at SNU simply because she's a looker, either; I'm sure she truly earned her place there. Miss DC, on the other hand, strikes me as neither particularly talented nor especially studious. If anything, she seems stereotypically Kangnam-ian: overprivileged and blessed with good genes that'll insure her a plush ride in the Winnebago of life.

But as the charm of Miss DC fades, yet another lady steps into the gathering vacuum: a certain Miss Y, who works as an underwear designer (women's undies, in case you were wondering). Miss Y laughs at my jokes and makes obvious doe-eyes at me, which I actually take with a grain of salt, but what puts me on High Phallus Alert is her ass. The woman has one of those rare asses with absolute crossover appeal: it's not as large as that of many Western women's, but it's not the disappointing flatlands that lie north of the thighs of so many Korean chicks, either. As with Miss DC, Miss Y doesn't have much to recommend her in the personality department, but nothing screams FUCK ME like that shapely, tight, yet somehow full-to-bursting ass of hers. Miss Y is an avid rollerblader and snowboarder; her southern mountain range is all muscle, baby. And I'm happy to have those two luscious mounds warming the chair opposite me three times a week. As always, it's Look But Don't Touch in BigHo's classroom, but I allow my urethra a sly vertical smile.

Aside from lab coat avoidance, lust, and language teaching, the fourth L in my life is laundry, which I now must go and do.

May your penis never find itself somewhere illegal.

[*NB: Two-thirds of my name is indeed Kevin Kim. Kim is also a Korean surname, but it's not my surname. I do actually go by Kevin Kim when I deal with Koreans, because my real last name is too hard for most Koreans to spell or pronounce, as the EC head office found out for itself.]

UPDATE: The Maximum Leader has declared a truce in honor of the Olympic Games, and I've written a post on his blog to kick off the season of peace.

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