Scandalous James

Josephine... even her name felt like something that shouldn’t be touched recklessly. She’s like an Italian marble statue—majestic, yet cold.

Every time I saw her, she was dressed more or less the same: a loose, black long-sleeved gown paired with a neatly draped hijab covering her shoulders and chest. Her face was hidden behind a niqab. Only those eyes—sharp, calm, and calculating—could be seen staring out at the world. In the corners of her eyes, fine wrinkles only added to her authority. To me, she looked like a soldier in full iron armor, covering her entire body and head, tasked with protecting a princess.

The princess’s name was Sarah, her only daughter. She had just turned 18.

Sarah’s beauty radiated in an outfit similar to her mother’s, yet different. There was a more ‘breathable’ and light impression to her style. Her appearance felt fresher thanks to her choice of bright colors such as a light yellow hijab paired with a thigh-length top and loose gray trousers.

Like a blooming flower, it was no wonder many buzzing bees tried to get close. But their courage crumbled instantly in Josephine’s presence; they withered before they could even step past the front gate. From behind the window, Josephine only had to draw the curtains and stare at them. No words were needed, for words were a waste of energy. With just a cold gaze, any young man trying to approach Sarah would freeze on the spot, as if his soul were being sucked out. Without being ordered, the young man would immediately turn around and head back to the street, his knees trembling, leaving like a beaten dog with its tail between its legs.

Perhaps I was the toughest among those who fell. Or perhaps, I was just a madman who saw Josephine as an interesting challenge—a fine achievement to be displayed on my love resume.

Dating Sarah secretly outside the house was boring. I preferred playing with fire right under Josephine’s nose. Entering her home was a maneuver she would never suspect. It was the ultimate hiding place: right in front of the enemy’s eyes. I wanted to see how long this tactic could deceive her before things turned chaotic.

I often took advantage of specific windows of time, such as when her house was filled with a religious study group. As a religious teacher, Josephine’s focus would be entirely diverted to her guests, and the surveillance of the ‘princess’ would loosen. That was when I moved; slipping through the back door and into her daughter’s room undetected. Inside that room, I shared intimate moments with the enchanting princess.

I came to know Sarah through our encounter at the soup kitchen and thanks to a massive, jet-black, disgusting rat—Ugh...

At that time, amid the steam of the stove, I saw her sweating while stirring a massive pot of curry. She was wearing a red headscarf. I whispered to myself, “This girl is actually pretty.”

I approached her, trying to introduce myself and make small talk to get her phone number. But she wasn’t in the mood. There was no smile on her lips. Her hands moved here and th ere, grabbing spices and tossing them into the pot. Perhaps she was racing against time. I was crowding her space, and we bumped into each other just as she reached for the onions. She snapped at me sharply, “What is it with you? You’re so annoying, stop bothering me! Go on, shooo!”

I was disappointed.

Suddenly, a massive rat appeared out of nowhere, scurrying at breakneck speed. Like a long-jump athlete, it leaped—one, two, three! Its body soared through the air, heading straight for the pot. Sarah screamed hysterically. Driven by some unknown superhuman strength, my hand shot out like lightning, catching the furry creature mid-air. The rat shrieked uncontrollably. Squeak! Squeak! Its tail whipped my hand back and forth. It tried to bite me—maybe the creature was high on something. I was also deathly creeped out and threw it far away. At least 10 meters. Instantly, Sarah’s gaze, which was originally full of irritation, turned to awe. Thanks to that incident, I got the chance to get close to her.

Sarah was actually a pious, polite, and somewhat innocent girl. She was a stark contrast to me, who had a vulgar mind and was easily aroused. With all my lust, I began to bait her curiosity about sexual things. I stimulated her bit by bit, coaxing her until she was enchanted.

Slowly, the walls she had built began to crumble. She let me cross the boundaries of her modesty. We started daring to kiss; at first just for a moment, but eventually, it could last for 10 minutes without stopping. Our hands grew wild, wandering and exploring, until our clothes were half-off our bodies.

Unfortunately, in one of those heated moments, Josephine suddenly appeared and caught us. She was beyond furious. Without a word, she grabbed whatever was in Sarah’s room—books, vases, even pillows—and hurled them at me with full force. I panicked and scrambled around like a frightened performing monkey trying to save my life.

“Bastard! Stay away from my daughter!” she screamed while hitting me as if chasing away a thief.

From then on, she turned into a fierce tigress. Her ferocity was no joke. Her roar could make the leaves fall from the trees. Sarah could only pout and try to persuade her mother not to be too hard on me. Unfortunately, in Josephine’s eyes, I was nothing more than a pest that had ruined her daughter.

Being somewhat insane by nature, I kept returning to infest Josephine’s house. Like a termite that is impossible to exterminate, I continued to drag Sarah into my sexual fantasies. She seemed hypnotized, always obeying without protest.

I once made a reckless move: hiding inside Josephine’s own bedroom. We huddled inside her large wardrobe, submerged among the hanging gowns and rows of hijabs that smelled of the religious teacher’s perfume.

When Josephine stepped into the room, my heart hammered against my chest, but my desire only intensified. In the darkness of the wardrobe, amid slivers of light piercing through the door cracks, we were busy making out. It felt insane; kissing her daughter amidst the scent of her mother’s clothes, while the owner of the room was only a few steps away from our hiding spot. We did it slowly, ensuring there wasn’t a single sound—not the smack of saliva, the rustle of fabric, sighs, or moans—everything had to be silent, even though we were both drowning in a noisy sea of lust.

Eventually, Sarah’s final defense collapsed in my hands. From then on, it was as if she were addicted. We began making love inside the house like newlyweds, exploring every corner without fear.

Until one day, our show came to an end. Josephine found us completely naked. This time she didn’t throw things; she appeared with a long-barreled rifle, the muzzle pointed directly at my face.

I ran out of the house in a blur, nearly naked, accompanied by a barrage of gunshots. Bang! Bang! Bang! The bullets shattered ornaments and broke the glass around me. I collapsed after being hit—not once, not twice, but five bullets lodged in my body. The pain was extraordinary! But strangely, I wasn’t bleeding. Ah, damn it. Turns out they were just BB pellets. In that panic, the weapon looked so real in Josephine’s hands. I thought she had finally lost all patience and was ready to send me to my grave.

Those days were pure madness.

One midnight, a message from Sarah arrived: “Will you marry me?”

That question instantly stopped me in my tracks and forced me to reflect. How much longer did I want to continue these romantic adventures? Didn’t I want to settle down and build a family? If so, wasn’t Sarah the perfect candidate for a wife?

After a long internal struggle, I steeled my heart to propose to her. Initially, Josephine rejected me flat out. However, after I proved that I could be a responsible man, her defenses began to thaw. Perhaps it was also because I took the burden of taking care of Sarah off her shoulders. Surely, as a widow, it wasn’t easy raising a child alone.

Since I married Sarah, her attitude has changed 180 degrees—she has become a very kind mother-in-law. However, lately, I’ve started to get confused. Why didn’t the degree of change stop at 180? Lately, it’s been spinning all the way to 235 degrees.