Grandpa's Letter

Greetings, my boy

How’s your life up there in Korea? I hope the cold wasn’t too much for you.

I do not know when you will find this letter. I might be long gone by the time this message reaches your office.

I will not lie, Thirdy. My body is killing me right now. I thought I just saw your grandmother the night before. God, Leonora, bless her soul.

But anyways, should you find this letter, I hope you can fulfill this one last request before I go.

When I was there, 75 years ago in ‘51, I fell in love with one of the Korean nurses. Minju was her name. Park Minju, that name never forgot me even after I married your grandma for 70 years. Everyday and every night as you and your father got older, the girl Park Minju never left my memory.

Gosh, if Baby Villareal was Korean, her name would’ve been Park Minju! I fell in love with that girl the moment I laid my eyes upon her. I didn’t speak any Korean and she could barely speak some English, thanks to that small dictionary of hers that she used for nursing school.

I could never tell you how many times I’ve had Captain Yap slap me on the back of my head for daydreaming while on duty. Hell! I even thought about getting hurt on purpose just to be with her, to talk to her while she tended to my “battle scars”, scars that I basically invented.

She had this way of tilting her head and frowning at me—a look that said *you’re a complete idiot*—but her eyes were as sweet as your grandmother’s honey cakes.

But speaking about battle scars, I’m pretty sure you already know that I got all of them in Yultong. Our family already knew about my ordeal there.

Oh, those poor souls, those brave men, Captain Yap, I still can’t believe he sacrificed his life for me! Maybe when I’m gone, I’ll meet him in heaven and I’ll finally thank him face to face. You, all of you, already know of my survival and Captain Yap’s sacrifice.

But what you did not know was how Park Minju tended to me when I thought I was at the hour of death!

I barely made it out alive, I was taken to a stretcher with a twisted ankle and a bullet on my shoulder, but that wasn’t what had me shaking. It was the cold. The kind of cold that turns your breath into shards of glass and makes your blood feel like sludge. It was nothing like Baguio! No, it was so much worse!

God, I was so scared of sleeping in those days! I was so terrified that if I closed my eyes, I would’ve never woken up! I… I couldn’t bear thinking I was gonna leave mama and papa behind so soon! I was around your age at that time, around 20 or 21.

Park Minju and I were around the same age as well, but she had a strength that didn’t come from muscle. She would walk between the rows of stretchers, her small hands smelling of carbolic acid and cheap soap, checking bandages with a precision that felt like a prayer.

But then, one night, Oh god, I hope I don’t make you feel embarrassed by the time you read this.

One night, she came into my 'cubicle’, a small space for myself really only separated with curtains. I was on the far corner, one of the last few patients far from the entrance.

I remembered seeing her so pale and so exhausted. The sheer number of deaths and wounded from the battle took a toll on her. I knew she was there to check up on me as part of her routine. But instead of heading out for the next patient, she chose to stay behind in my cubicle to have her break.

She had a couple pieces of home made kimbap and a bottle of water for us to share. We sat there in a heavy, suffocating silence, but for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel that bone-deep chill. She didn’t say a word—she didn’t have to. She just leaned her shoulder against mine, her small frame shivering under that oversized nursing coat, and let out a sigh that sounded like a prayer for everyone who didn’t make it.

With the limited Korean and English we had, I managed to get to talk to her, far longer than I could’ve imagined. She told me a bit about her little village, the one with the pear blossoms that smelled like heaven and the way her mother would scold her for staying up too late reading.

I remember leaning in close, smelling that scent of carbolic acid mixed with something sweet—maybe jasmine, maybe just the hope of something more. And that’s when I remembered asking about our first loves.

I told her about having a bad break-up with my girlfriend at that time, your old grade school Math teacher Mrs. Estrada and she told me her husband was gunned down in the early stages of the war. She had been grieving about it ever since. We were two broken things leaning on each other in a room full of dying men, finding some weird kind of comfort in our shared misery.

I reached out and touched her hand. I thought she was going to pull away. But instead, she squeezed my fingers back, her skin feeling warm and soft against my rough, calloused palm.

I met her eyes once more and the sight of her face, oh so close and so precious, made my heart go race! She gave me this tiny, shy little smile—the kind that makes you feel like the only person in the whole wide world.

I kissed her…

I kissed her and I thought, Oh no… What have I done? I shouldn’t have! Not without her consent!

But instead of slapping me or running for the head nurse, the girl kissed me back! I could still remember to this day how her lips felt like soft little marshmallows, and suddenly the whole world just vanished, leaving only the two of us in that tiny, curtained-off space.

I laid us down where she settled on my side, her body avoiding my injuries. Yet, I couldn’t care less about the pain, not when Park Minju’s lips were treating me better than any dose of aspirin! My hands were fondling and touching her body in places that shouldn’t have been touched!

My hands were all over her thin frame, sliding beneath her nursing coat to find the heat of her skin. I remember the sound of the heavy canvas curtain snapping shut, sealing us away from the groans of the dying and the sterile smell of the ward. She pressed me gently on my back into the thin army cot, the metal frame creaking under our combined weight, and I groaned when my shoulder flared with pain.

But the pain was nothing compared to the electric shock of her bum sitting on my groin. God, I could never forget how her ass filled my crotch! She wasn’t as big as your grandmother’s, but fuck, the feel of it all, the small soft flesh of her buttcheeks squeezing my hardness through the thin fabric of my army trousers, made my head spin. I reached up, my fingers digging into the meat of her hips, pulling her closer until there wasn’t a single inch of air left between us.

I kissed her like a madman that night. Even when I made love to your grandmother, the ghost of Minju’s lips never left my body. Her mouth was so small yet so perfect, like she may have been meant for me. We didn’t have a bed or any luxury; just that narrow cot and the constant threat of a patrol officer walking by. Every time the curtain flickered, we froze, our breath hitching in sync, making the actual act of touching feel like we were stealing gold from the gods.

But nothing was gonna stop us from our act that night. There was a moment when I felt her lips kissing down on me, trailing down my chest, my stomach all the way to my cock. I thought, damn her face looks so small! So small you’d think my length would be too much for her. I felt her small, cold hands reach for the drawstring of my trousers, pulling them down with a desperate speed that told me she wanted this just as bad as I did.

And when she finally touched me, her fingers wrapping around my shaft, I nearly jumped off that cot! She didn’t know the English word for “hard,” but the way she gripped me, sliding her small palm up and down the length of it, told me everything. I let out a ragged moan that sounded more like a plea, my hips arching instinctively toward her. She looked up at me with those wide, dark eyes, her breath hitching as she felt me pulse against her skin.

And when she took me into her maw, I thought, Shit! I thought I just got out of a bombing run! Her mouth was so warm, like a little oven, and her tongue felt like a tiny, velvet ribbon wrapping around me. I watched her, this small, delicate creature, looking up at me with those wide eyes while she worked her magic.

She was so focused, her little cheeks hollowing out as she sucked on me, making these tiny *slurp* noises that sounded like the cutest little kitten drinking milk. It was just so… cute! I wanted to scream from the joy of it!

I was scared for a moment that I might hurt her. I tried telling her not to push herself. Yet every word that came out of my mouth only spurred her on to go further, her nostrils tapping my groin and her throat taking my tip.

My hands just held her head like she was some kind of fragile porcelain doll, my fingers tangling in the soft, dark hair at the nape of her neck. She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of innocence and a hunger that didn’t match her petite size. The way she looked at me—like I was the only man left on earth—made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with my wounds.

I thought, Jeez! The sight of her face with my dick deep down inside was like a ghost that was going to haunt me until the end of my days!

She pulled out of me suddenly. And before I could utter a groan, she keeps me on my back, saying something along the lines of *You’re hurt* and *must stay still*. I could barely move a muscle when she slowly got on top of me once more.

My eyes stayed glued to hers, yet I had an idea of what she was doing underneath her skirt! She lifted it slightly up just enough for me to see her discarding her underwear. I trembled when I felt the slick heat of what I thought was her womanhood, raw, hairless and dripping, as she slowly lowered her small hips.

And when she lowered herself down, sitting on my cock inside her clit, I thought, God! What did I do to deserve this? Her snatch was like a tight glove, gripping me so hard it felt like she was trying to pull my very soul out through my dick. She let out a sharp, jagged gasp, her head tilting back, her small hands clutching my chest for balance. I felt the wetness of her—thick and hot—slicking my skin as she began to move, a slow, rhythmic grind that turned my insides into liquid.

I thought, Fuck! I could never tell your grandmother how sorry I was for still thinking about Minju everytime we made love. Even when she told me that she loved me, even when I told her that I loved her back, the memory of Park Minju and her body never left my mind, like a fever that would never break.

Every grind and every slight bounce that she did on top of me felt like a secret we were stealing from the war. She was so tiny, Thirdy, but she had this fierce way of clinging to me, her small fingers digging into my shoulders as if she were afraid I’d vanish if she let go for even a second. I still remember the sound of her breath—much more than your own grandmother’s.

She felt exactly as I thought she would’ve felt if I was deep down inside! I tried thrusting up yet her hands kept slapping me lightly, her broken English telling me to stay still, that I was too hurt to move. I had to just lie there like a piece of driftwood in a storm, feeling her small, soft body ride me with a rhythmic intensity that made my toes curl.

The least I could do was lock my hands on her waist and guide her rhythm, my thumbs digging into the soft dip of her lower back. Each time she descended, the friction of her tight, soaking walls felt like she was squeezing the breath right out of my lungs. She started to make these little whimpering sounds, a high-pitched, desperate humming in the back of her throat that told me she was right on the edge.

Her movements became frantic, a blurred succession of wet slaps and gasps that echoed in the small, curtained space, turning the sterile air into something thick and musk-scented.

I felt myself coming close as well! I was desperately trying to tell her that I was close! So close that I might spill inside her. Yet my plea came through deaf ears, either she didn’t hear my whispers or she didn’t understand my English! She just kept nodding and kept saying 'Ne!’ 'Ne!’ which I thought was her way of telling me that she liked what was happening.

And when she slammed on me one last time, I felt myself blow! I don’t know how many orgasms I’ve had when I made love with your grandmother later on. But that one orgasm I had that night, the one I had with Nurse Minju, felt like an explosion in a munitions depot. I could still remember the heat of my seed filling her up, a thick, pulsing wave that left me shaking from my head to my toes. She let out a long, shivering moan, her body collapsing against my chest, her small heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs.

I don’t know how long we were stuck in there, her thin, panting and exhausted body heaving on top of my frame whilst my dick kept spilling deep inside her! I thought, Shit! I was filling this girl up! I was cumming deep down inside her, so deep you’d think I was flooding her womb, breeding and knocking her up!

I thought, Oh god! I should be stopping right now! Yet I was too frail and too limp to even move! Every last drop of me was pouring into her, a desperate, messy release that felt less like sex and more like a confession. We stayed like that for what felt like hours, the smell of sweat and sex mingling with the sterile scent of the ward, our breathing slowly syncing back to the rhythm of the living. She didn’t pull away immediately; she kept her forehead pressed against me, her dark eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t name.