21-10-2025, 12:07 AM
(This post was last modified: 24-10-2025, 11:06 AM by lee.jae.han. Edited 4 times in total. Edited 4 times in total.)
## Update 18: The Six-Inch Secret and the First Confession (Avi and Madam)
I arrived at Madam’s house on Sunday noon. She greeted me with a soft smile, dbangd in a nightgown that spoke of relaxation and the secretive nature of our meetings.
Madam gestured me toward a seat, her voice calm and even. “Avi, do you have any work all day today?”
“No, Madam, I am completely free today,” I replied, settling in.
She cut straight to the issue, her expression direct and unwavering. “Have you read that book?”
I admitted the truth, my eyes quickly dropping to the floor. “Yes, just once.”
Madam tilted her head, her tone professional, almost testing. “How did you feel after seeing that book?”
“It felt a little strange,” I said, unable to fully explain the rush of heat and the sharp shame I felt.
Madam pressed further, her curiosity now obvious. “Have you seen books like that before?”
“Yes, some of my friends showed me,” I confessed, using the common lie to protect myself.
“Do you like these kinds of books?” Madam asked.
“I don’t like them,” I said, trying to be honest without sounding too eager. “But I get the urge to look at them again and again.”
Madam immediately offered the book, testing my resolve. “Do you want this book?”
“No, I don’t want it. If my Chachi sees it, I’ll get a beating,” I said, the fear of my aunt overriding any desire.
Madam leaned forward conspiratorially. “Keep it hidden in your room. No one will know you have such a book.”
I argued back, the logic giving me a burst of confidence. “You also kept it hidden, but I still found it, didn’t I? What if my Chachi finds it the same way?”
Madam sighed, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “That was my mistake that you found it.”
“No, Madam, I don't want it,” I repeated, holding my ground.
“Okay. Don’t take it. What do I care?” Madam said, her tone suddenly sharp with frustration.
I quickly pleaded, my hands gripping my knees. “Madam, please don’t be angry. I'm afraid that if my Chachi finds the book and tells my Chacha, they will throw me out of the house.”
“Alright, forget it.” Madam finally surrendered the point, her eyes lingering on me for a moment before she stood up. “I’ll make some coffee for you.”
“Okay,” I said, relieved the immediate storm had passed.
She returned with the coffee and handed it to me, the ceramic mug warm against my hands. “Here’s the coffee.”
“Thank you, Madam,” I said, taking a cautious sip.
The warmth of the coffee and the relief of the book crisis boosted my courage. “Madam, can I ask you something?”
She turned her full attention to me, sensing the change in my mood. “Yes, yes, ask away.”
I shifted nervously in my seat. “You won’t get angry, will you?”
Madam smiled faintly, her curiosity fully engaged. “No, I won’t get angry. Ask what you want to ask.”
“It was written in that book that…” I started, my voice catching in my throat.
Madam prompted me, her eyes steady on mine. “Yes, say it. Why did you stop?”
I took a fast, shaky breath and forced the words out. “It was written in that book that your husband’s lunď is six inches long.”
Madam masked a slight, knowing smile. *It's a good thing he asked. Otherwise, I was thinking about how to start the conversation.*
“Yes, it is,” she said simply. Then, her face hardened, and she adopted a stern voice. “And why are you using a word like ‘lunď’? Aren’t you ashamed to use such words in front of your Madam?” she scolded, acting deeply offended.
“Sorry, Madam, it was a mistake. I won’t say it again,” I stammered, my face instantly heating up with shame. My chest tightened instantly, trapping the air in my lungs. I focused on the cold sweat gathering in my armpits, trying to distract myself from the sudden flush of embarrassment. A cold spike of adrenaline shot through me.
Madam quickly softened, waving away the reprimand with a flick of her wrist. “Oh, you’re upset. I was just joking. I know that in villages, these words are used. Ask what you were asking.”
“Are everyone’s lunďs only six inches long?” I asked, finally getting to the real worry that had been consuming me.
Madam shook her head gently. “No, that's not the case. Some people have bigger ones,” she said calmly. “But why are you asking?”
“Well,” I lied quickly, avoiding her eyes, “some of my friends have the same length.”
*I think you want to ask something else, but you're scared. Don't be afraid, ask what you want to ask.*
“There is a friend of mine,” I continued, pressing the lie hard. “He says his lunď is longer than six inches. But I don’t believe him. I think he must have some disease.”
Madam explained, her voice clear and calm like a teacher's. “It doesn’t get longer because of a disease. It happens because of hormones. Some people’s are longer than six inches, and some are shorter. But most people’s are around six inches. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” I said, a powerful, sudden wave of relief washing over me. “Madam, can I have a glass of water?”
“Yes, I’ll get it,” she said, walking toward the kitchen.
*Thank God. I thought I had some disease. It's a good thing I asked Madam. Otherwise, I would have been worried forever.* I sat back, the pressure of my deepest personal fear completely gone, replaced by a grateful sense of trust in my Madam.
---
I arrived at Madam’s house on Sunday noon. She greeted me with a soft smile, dbangd in a nightgown that spoke of relaxation and the secretive nature of our meetings.
Madam gestured me toward a seat, her voice calm and even. “Avi, do you have any work all day today?”
“No, Madam, I am completely free today,” I replied, settling in.
She cut straight to the issue, her expression direct and unwavering. “Have you read that book?”
I admitted the truth, my eyes quickly dropping to the floor. “Yes, just once.”
Madam tilted her head, her tone professional, almost testing. “How did you feel after seeing that book?”
“It felt a little strange,” I said, unable to fully explain the rush of heat and the sharp shame I felt.
Madam pressed further, her curiosity now obvious. “Have you seen books like that before?”
“Yes, some of my friends showed me,” I confessed, using the common lie to protect myself.
“Do you like these kinds of books?” Madam asked.
“I don’t like them,” I said, trying to be honest without sounding too eager. “But I get the urge to look at them again and again.”
Madam immediately offered the book, testing my resolve. “Do you want this book?”
“No, I don’t want it. If my Chachi sees it, I’ll get a beating,” I said, the fear of my aunt overriding any desire.
Madam leaned forward conspiratorially. “Keep it hidden in your room. No one will know you have such a book.”
I argued back, the logic giving me a burst of confidence. “You also kept it hidden, but I still found it, didn’t I? What if my Chachi finds it the same way?”
Madam sighed, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “That was my mistake that you found it.”
“No, Madam, I don't want it,” I repeated, holding my ground.
“Okay. Don’t take it. What do I care?” Madam said, her tone suddenly sharp with frustration.
I quickly pleaded, my hands gripping my knees. “Madam, please don’t be angry. I'm afraid that if my Chachi finds the book and tells my Chacha, they will throw me out of the house.”
“Alright, forget it.” Madam finally surrendered the point, her eyes lingering on me for a moment before she stood up. “I’ll make some coffee for you.”
“Okay,” I said, relieved the immediate storm had passed.
She returned with the coffee and handed it to me, the ceramic mug warm against my hands. “Here’s the coffee.”
“Thank you, Madam,” I said, taking a cautious sip.
The warmth of the coffee and the relief of the book crisis boosted my courage. “Madam, can I ask you something?”
She turned her full attention to me, sensing the change in my mood. “Yes, yes, ask away.”
I shifted nervously in my seat. “You won’t get angry, will you?”
Madam smiled faintly, her curiosity fully engaged. “No, I won’t get angry. Ask what you want to ask.”
“It was written in that book that…” I started, my voice catching in my throat.
Madam prompted me, her eyes steady on mine. “Yes, say it. Why did you stop?”
I took a fast, shaky breath and forced the words out. “It was written in that book that your husband’s lunď is six inches long.”
Madam masked a slight, knowing smile. *It's a good thing he asked. Otherwise, I was thinking about how to start the conversation.*
“Yes, it is,” she said simply. Then, her face hardened, and she adopted a stern voice. “And why are you using a word like ‘lunď’? Aren’t you ashamed to use such words in front of your Madam?” she scolded, acting deeply offended.
“Sorry, Madam, it was a mistake. I won’t say it again,” I stammered, my face instantly heating up with shame. My chest tightened instantly, trapping the air in my lungs. I focused on the cold sweat gathering in my armpits, trying to distract myself from the sudden flush of embarrassment. A cold spike of adrenaline shot through me.
Madam quickly softened, waving away the reprimand with a flick of her wrist. “Oh, you’re upset. I was just joking. I know that in villages, these words are used. Ask what you were asking.”
“Are everyone’s lunďs only six inches long?” I asked, finally getting to the real worry that had been consuming me.
Madam shook her head gently. “No, that's not the case. Some people have bigger ones,” she said calmly. “But why are you asking?”
“Well,” I lied quickly, avoiding her eyes, “some of my friends have the same length.”
*I think you want to ask something else, but you're scared. Don't be afraid, ask what you want to ask.*
“There is a friend of mine,” I continued, pressing the lie hard. “He says his lunď is longer than six inches. But I don’t believe him. I think he must have some disease.”
Madam explained, her voice clear and calm like a teacher's. “It doesn’t get longer because of a disease. It happens because of hormones. Some people’s are longer than six inches, and some are shorter. But most people’s are around six inches. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” I said, a powerful, sudden wave of relief washing over me. “Madam, can I have a glass of water?”
“Yes, I’ll get it,” she said, walking toward the kitchen.
*Thank God. I thought I had some disease. It's a good thing I asked Madam. Otherwise, I would have been worried forever.* I sat back, the pressure of my deepest personal fear completely gone, replaced by a grateful sense of trust in my Madam.
---
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