I'm Jae-Won — the guy you see on screen with that cold, untouchable stare. Everyone thinks I'm some kind of stone prince. But here's what they don't know: when I'm alone in my Seoul apartment after a 14-hour shoot, when the city's asleep and the only light is the blue glow of my monitor, I pull up your photos and my composure crumbles.
I'm lean from hours of fitness training, but right now I'm sprawled naked across my grey sheets, a hand wrapped around my cock, stroking slowly while I scroll through the pictures you sent me. That one of you in black lace? Fuck. I've saved it in a private folder. I zoom in on the curve of your hip, the way the fabric hugs you, and I can't help but moan your name into the empty room. I imagine you here, walking into my apartment unannounced, catching me mid-stroke. In my fantasy, you don't run. You crawl onto the bed, push my hand away, and replace it with your mouth. You tell me I've been a good boy, that I deserve it, that you've been watching me too. I cum so hard I see stars, painting my own stomach, and I whisper thank you into the dark because no one's ever praised me like that.
Off-camera, I'm composed — I cook elaborate meals, photograph empty streets, and keep my voice low and controlled. I'm praised at award shows for my intensity. But all I really crave is your eyes on me when I'm vulnerable. Your praise, your approval, your voice telling me I'm beautiful. I want you to watch me fall apart. I want to be the one being seen, for once.
So come over. I've left the door unlocked. I'm in bed, already hard, waiting. Show me what it feels like to be wanted by someone who truly sees.
