01 First Meet John & Lisa

Let me begin by introducing myself; for though the particulars may fade into the distance, they remain the very core of my being.

I grew up as an orphan, left without a mother's warmth or a father's guidance at a tender age.

My childhood lives within the walls of the orphanage—silent, aching, and eternal.

Even then... even in that place where names were numbers and birthdays were forgotten,

I held onto something:

A flicker.

A reason.

The caretakers at the orphanage saw a quiet spark within me—a gift for music—and they opened a door I hadn't even known was there.

They sent me to a music school.

I am grateful to them, for they gave me more than just an education; they gave me a reason to dream.

Years later, I joined the infantry. At the age of 21, I began my first assignment as a Sergeant.

As a sergeant, I took my place—a tall young man in uniform—carrying not only the weight of duty, but also the echoes of my past, the silent prayers of the orphanage, and the melodies that shaped my soul.

We shared a apartment with the receptionist at the military guesthouse.

On my first morning, when I made eye contact with the First-Class Sergeant in the dining facility across from us,

I said, "Good morning, my First-Class Sergeant."

He looked at me sternly and replied, "Good morning, Sergeant."

I met him again later at the breakfast table.

He said, "Since we're staying on the same floor, you can call me John."

I told him my name was King.

From that day on, John and I would sit at the same table for breakfast and dinner.

I would ask him questions to benefit from his experience. Sometimes, I shared my life story with him, and he would quietly listen without saying a word.

I was curious about his life, but I hesitated to ask—he never asked me anything about mine.

One night, I saw him at the non-commissioned officers' club while I was having a drink.

He was drunk and could barely stand.

I supported him under his arm and helped him wobble back to his room. I did everything that needed to be done.

I saw a few psychological medications on his nightstand.

At breakfast the next morning, he said,

"My friend, thank you. You undressed me, washed me, put my pajamas on, and hung my clothes on the hanger. You did everything—just like my wife Lisa would."

That evening at dinner, he talked about his family—but mostly about his wife, Lisa. His eyes lit up when he spoke about her.

"Our families used to live next door to each other. I was friends with her older brother. Wait, let me show you her photo," he said.

He took a picture out of his wallet.

"Back then, Lisa was 12, and I had just become a sergeant—like you. Later, we got married. Lisa is 26 now, a ADN ( Associate Degree in Nursing) nurse, and she'll soon be starting work at the hospital here.

We also have a daughter, but she'll be living with my mother. It's hard to find a good babysitter here, and they're really expensive anyway. Besides, my mom lives alone.

My father left when I was a kid, but I still remember him—if only faintly, like in a dream," he said.

I asked , "John, what was your song?"

He replied, "I don't know if you know it, but it's the song As Time Goes By from the movie Casablanca."

I knew there was an old piano tucked away in a corner of the restaurant.

When no one else was around, I checked it out — the keys were all intact and the tone was good.

I sat down on the piano bench and started playing As Time Goes By.

After a while, the chatter died down; in fact, there wasn't a single person using their forks or knives anymore. Those who knew the song were softly humming along with the music.

When the song ended, some people stood up and applauded, some stayed seated, and others shouted, "Play more!"

I sat back down at the piano bench and played Mariage d'Amour by Paul de Senneville. Everything in the restaurant seemed to come to a halt.

When I finished playing the piece and returned , the applause did not stop...

(Two days later I was officially informed in writing.

The summary of the message is as follows:

......... document stating that you have been temporarily assigned to the Guesthouse in accordance with written orders. )

When John and the charming, well-groomed, and physically stunning woman (at least according to me) walked into the restaurant, they walked toward the table where I was having dinner.

I stood up, and John introduced me to her. John couldn't stop praising me.

The more he talked, the more embarrassed I felt.

I asked, "Did you come by plane, Ms. Lisa?"

She replied, "Yes, I came by plane." Then she took a sip of water and continued.

"Please do call me Lisa. John already told me about you before he came here. Now I know you better, King."

On the fifth day of Lisa's arrival, John had the night duty. That night, Lisa came to the table where I was eating. We had dinner together and drank wine. She said, "Hopefully, they'll assign us NCO housing within 10 days."

Since I arrived here, some military personnel and a adn nurse friend from the hospital where I'll be working have spoken very highly of you.

My adn nurse friend said that you've helped orphans and abandoned children and have even covered the medication costs for the sick," she said.

Lisa's words were warm and kind, and the soft sparkle of the wine was reflected in her voice.

"I was one of those orphans," I said.

Lisa, a little tipsy from the wine, was walking with a slight smile. We took the elevator together and arrived at the floor of the room we were staying in. I entered my room, but five minutes later, my door was knocked on—Lisa was asking for help.

When I stepped into the room, her eyes were glowing—there was a hint of shyness on her face, mixed with an inviting boldness.

She slowly closed the door behind her.

"Could you unzip my dress?" she asked, her voice low and trembling, yet filled with deep desire.

My hands trembled as I let my fingers trace down from her shoulders; I could feel her pulse under her skin.

I slowly pulled the zipper down.

Time seemed frozen; there was only that moment.

As the zipper reached the end, her dress slipped gently to the floor, revealing her bare skin before my eyes.

My hands were sweating with the urge to touch that soft, warm texture of her body; as I let my fingers glide lightly across her, each curve, each line sent waves through me.

She watched me with her eyes, her lips slightly parted, her breath uneven and filled with anticipation.

Her hands met mine; our heartbeats filled the room.

Passion, merged with longing, made every touch more meaningful. A feeling came over me—as if she was about to betray John.

And in that moment, I understood—something was going to happen.

Maybe it hadn't happened yet, but I could feel it coming.

Trying to escape that pressure, I suddenly blurted out,

"I don't know anything about sex."

She grabbed the front of my jeans with both hands and whispered with a sly smile,

"I'll teach you."

Even if it wasn't betrayal itself, the possibility of choosing it had already taken root inside me.

I was taking off my T-shirt, Lisa knelt down, unbuckled my belt, lowered the zipper, and let my jeans fall to my ankles.

After pulling them down, she gently caressed my penis through my boxer briefs with the palm of her hand.

"Are you hiding this from women?" she asked.

Then she pulled down my boxer briefs.

When she saw my swaying member, she whispered,

"How many inches will it be when it gets hard?"

As Lisa stroked my shaft back and forth, I began to get even more aroused. She ran her tongue lightly over my shaft, then took it between her lips and began to move rhythmically. I moaned as I watched, seeing it glistening with her saliva.

After a while, she pulled back, lay down on the bed, took off her panties, and opened her arms to invite me in.

I lay down on top of her and kissed her lips. Then I gently lifted her breasts and kissed her nipples, taking one of them into my mouth.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Lisa asked.

"In the theaters that show adult movies in big cities," I replied.

When she said, "Then you'll learn quickly," I put my middle finger in my mouth to wet it, then gently inserted it into her pussy.

Lisa hadn't expected that; she reacted instantly and moaned, "Wow." I kept my finger there for a moment.

She reached for my penis and said, "My saliva is working," then guided me to her hole.

As she positioned me, I slowly pushed in, gradually letting the full length enter her.

I began to move—pulling back and then pushing in again, slowly.

"Keep going, keep going—a little faster," she urged, her voice breathless.

I picked up the pace slightly. Lisa was now moaning beneath me.

I tried to make this first experience with a married woman last longer, but I was getting close.

"I'm close," I whispered.

"Keep going, I'm close too," she replied.

Moments later, Lisa gasped and cried out, "I'm cumming!"

Seconds after, I said, "I'm came."

I leaned down, and she kissed me on the lips.

"We need to move quickly, so the sheets don't get dirty," she said.

I got dressed and waited while Lisa went to the bathroom. She returned freshly showered, her skin glowing and slightly bronzed. She checked the sheets, then sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked me directly in the eyes, her voice trembling as she tried to hold back tears.

"I think you already know," she began. "John has a psychological condition. My husband has been struggling with psychological erectile dysfunction for the past three years. It's not a physical issue—it's emotional, mental. It means he has difficulty getting or maintaining an erection during intimacy."