He walked straight past the kitten and squatted by his motorcycle. The exhaust pipes were bent and the blue paint had scraped off considerably. He’d need to take this to the shop. He clicked his tongue.

The area was brimming with stray cats, especially at this hour of the night, and Troy wasn’t exactly the most careful driver.

“Unlucky piece of sht.”*

He kicked the dead kitten onto oncoming traffic.

* * *

Byul buried her face in his neckline and drew in a deep breath.

“Haaaaa. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Getting her whiff of puppy smell, she put Veggie, her one and a half year old Golden Retriever, in the cart and tied the leash tightly around the handlebar. Veggie sat on his plump bum, looking up at Byul with twinkling and clueless eyes.

“You. Are. Just. So. Cute!” Byul exclaimed at the sight of her puppy sitting with paws dangling off the shopping cart.

“Arf!”

Byul had parked her white Tesla near the entrance of the 99 Ranch Market, walking through the $3.75 boba counter in the entrance. The Asian supermarket boasted an impressive surface area, and an equally impressive array of Asian groceries.

She pushed the cart by home appliances and housewares. These aisles at Asian grocery stores had been like Santa’s workshop when Byul was a little kid.

If her parents had extra cash for the month, she’d get lucky with colorful hair scrunchies or spoon-and-chopstick set with her favorite cartoon character on them. On a really good day, a new pair of glittery jelly shoes. She would treasure those trinkets like they were gold and stardust.

Walking past makeup puffs and cotton swabs, she looked for a second longer than she should on rows of bamboo ear cleaning picks.

Like it or not, anything ear-related always made her think of him. Just like last week.

* * *

“Please have your IDs ready at the door.”

Byul shook off the sense of uncanniness that crept up. This was a sentence she often heard at bars and clubs, not at a gallery in Silver Lake, Los Angeles. She was invited to the early opening and reception of “Dive into Red,” an exhibition about sex.

The receptionist smiled politely at every influencer and C-list celebrity walking through the metal detector, taping a red wristband around each of their wrists. All banded up, Byul handed her fur-lined shoulder cape and Burberry purse to coat check. She skimmed the paragraph explaining the exhibition. White text on red painted wall.

We invite you to a safe space to explore sex, pleasure, and sexuality.

Sections of illustrations and poems inspired by love and sex, sex toys, gels, condoms, and costumes were scattered about. Byul strolled the exhibit.

‘That maid costume is so much cheaper on AliExpress.’

She thought to herself, snapping a few pictures here and there to include in her sponsored post she’d need to publish on Instagram later. Even at a quick glance, she was probably the only person in this gallery who’d ever looked up how much a maid costume costs on AliExpress. No one else was a weeb like she was.

‘I’ll need to make use of the poetry section.’

Byul thought, furrowing her brows without realizing it. She wasn’t all that sure about how to make these pictures, red everywhere, fit into her brown and gold coffee-and-library aesthetic.

“You enjoying yourself?” Someone asked from behind her.

Caught off guard, Byul turned around. It was a short man with glasses. He was wearing a red t-shirt with the exhibit title, “Dive into Red,” written across the chest.

“Hi. I’m a sex columnist usually, but tonight I’m here as a guest curator.”

The man went on.

“I see. What a wonderful purpose this exhibit has.”

Byul said, professionally.

“You’re Byul, right? Byuristar on Instagram?” He said.

“Correct. Thank you for inviting me to opening night.” Byul said, going down in a cute little curtsy. It was always a good sign when event organizers kept track of the influencers they invited.

“It’s our pleasure,” he said.

“I can definitely see how it’ll serve as a floodgate to an open and honest way of discussing on sex.”

She went on, weaving together buzz words from the exhibit description she had read moments ago.

“As expected from a book influencer, you’re a woman of words. Have you gotten around to taking any of our sex quizzes yet?” He said with a smile.

“Sex quiz?” Byul asked back.

“Yep. We have one on orgasm, sex toy preference, SM type, and more.”

Byul looked around. There were QR codes on the wall she hadn’t noticed before.

“I do recommend the SM type test. I get the ‘degrader’ type every time myself.” The curator said with a sly smile.

“I’m sure I’ll find time to take them before I leave,” she said, blushing a bit at how open he was about the topic. She felt a bit degraded.

“You sure?”

The curator said, tauntingly. This irked Byul. As if to show him, she scanned one of the QR codes and loaded up a sex quiz.

“See?” She showed him her screen. The website read: What Sexual Myers-Briggs personality type are you?

“I’m just a bit busy and need to get to my next spot,” she went on, closing her phone again.

“Of course, we understand. I’ll be looking forward to what you share about us. Don’t forget to grab a gift bag on your way out.”

The curator said, waving his hand.

Byul ended the conversation with a smile back and headed to the exit. A big, red, glowing heart shaped door.

She speed-walked away from the sex exhibit. As much as she was open about the topic of sex, especially in educated and curated spaces like these, that sex columnist seemed too knowledgeable. Him and the rest of the staff might see right through her.

She might say the wrong thing or make the wrong face, and they might figure out she’s a virgin.

“Geez. I wasn’t signing up to be interrogated today.”

With a small sigh, she opened her phone to call an Uber home. The sex test from earlier was still loaded up. Sexual Myers-Briggs personality test. She looked at her screen reluctantly.

“I guess I could do this while my Uber comes.”

She justified to herself. Her ride was 7 minutes away.

She tapped through the sex quiz. Most were situational questions and answers.

Tonight’s the first night you and your partner are having sex. Do you…?
1. I’m so nervous! Wrap the blanket under me and wait.
2. Everything must go well! Prepare the room perfectly

Your partner makes an erotic sound in the middle of sex. Do you…?
1. So cute! Attack that spot more.
2. They’ll tell me what to do. Wait until they ask for more.

• Your partner pulls out a sex toy and asks to try it. Do you…?
  

1. On me? No way!
2. They went through the trouble of getting it for me. Let’s try it!

Being a virgin, she answered most of these with her imagination. Close enough, she thought. A few more questions later, she got her sexual Myers-Briggs type result.

You make love like Picasso made art. You approach lovemaking like painting and execute your vision with care and proficiency. You’re not afraid to say what you want. In fact, you have a knack for words. Even dirty talk becomes sweet words of courtship when you say them. You may seem like a player due to your understanding and openness to sex, but you value emotional connection more than anyone else.

You are weak to auditory stimuli and enjoy hearing your partner in pleasure.

At this last line, Byul flinched. She immediately thought to her secret spa room and the boyfriend ASMR she would play, night after night. She could point to the exact moment when he starts breathing heavier and, with enough imagination, moaning.

This test felt a little more accurate than she would’ve liked.

A little tip for the Sex Picasso: sometimes your pride gets in the way. Tonight, how about sending them a text first?

Yep, definitely too accurate for comfort.

* * *

Byul shook her head. That was a whole week ago already, but it had put the bug in her brain. It had made her think of the voice behind her ASMR audio as…something more.

“Snap out of it.”

She told herself, sternly. She wished she could also shake the thought of ASMR guy off. She had things to do, places to be. Eyes on the prize, she pushed the cart straight to the drinks aisle of 99 Ranch Market. She grabbed every flavor of the Sailor Moon collaboration carbonated sodas. They were the newest and trendiest weeb goods in the VTubing community right now, and as someone who lived where Japan-imported goods were easy to find, she had to buy them if only to post reviews of them on Twitter.

Pomelo for Sailor Moon, Kiwi for Sailor Neptune, Strawberry for Sailor Mars.

"What a shame there isn’t a Sailor Guardian with silver hair," she mumbled, thinking of her Vtuber character, Hoshizora Martini’s silver hair design.

"I would’ve grabbed extras of that if there were."

She arranged the cans next to Veggie. He sniffed them eagerly, leaving cute little wet marks where his little wet nose touched them.

‘I wonder if he’s catching on to the trend too?’ She thought.

God damn it. She did it again. Him. Him. Him. ASMR guy. Radioman. Voice pimp. Rando on the internet. Whatever she decided to call him in her head for the day. She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

She so wished to be in her spa room right now, burning calming incense and loading up the MP3 file of his voice.

She was thinking about him more and more these days and she didn’t even know why. And it had to stop.

She’d have to make it stop. And she knew exactly how.

To be continued...