MidReal Story
Temptation's Reckoning
Scenario: my ex messaged me saying that she's horny and wants me to fuck her rough
Create my version of this story
I have rough sex with her.
I have rough sex with her a lot, actually.
I grab her too hard, I bite her too hard, I fuck her too hard.
But she loves it.
And I do, too.
That’s how we are—too much of everything, all the time.
When we’re not fighting, that is.
That’s the other thing we do all the damn time.
We argue like it’s our third job.
But then we fuck after the argument is over, and it’s all worth it.
It was always worth it.
Even when we were living in a tiny studio apartment with three cats and a ferret that gnawed on my shoelaces, or when she refused to clean up after herself, or when she’d get mad at me for no reason and then slam the door in my face just to see how I’d react.
It was worth it because we were in love—or so we thought at the time.
For a while, I kind of still did think that.
But now?
Fuck, I don’t know what the hell to make of anything anymore.
The first message from Emily Johnson was innocent enough.
I had been at work for about an hour when my phone buzzed with a text notification.
I didn’t recognize the number at first because it wasn’t saved in my contacts, but then I saw her name pop up on my locked screen and my heart nearly stopped before starting to race, as if it had just gotten a shot of pure adrenaline straight to the vein.
Emily had been my girlfriend for two years before our lives started to go in opposite directions, causing us to break up three months ago.
This was the first time she’d reached out to me since then.
The first time I had heard from her at all since the last piece of mail from her Amazon account arrived at my apartment last month.
“Send nudes.” She wrote me like I was just some random guy online who’d responded to one of her Craigslist ads or something.
I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience while I watched my fingers type out my response: “I think you have the wrong number.”
But my hands were shaking, so it took me longer than usual.
Then, after I pressed send, I waited and waited and waited to hear that little duh-duh sound coming out of my phone again, but nothing came through.
I didn’t hear from her again until a few hours later when I got another text: “Ugh, I’m so horny.”
My hands shook less this time when I typed out my response: “You should probably call your ex-boyfriend if you want someone to take care of that.”
And this time I did hear my phone go off a few seconds later, but I didn’t open it right away because I wasn’t ready to deal with whatever she was about to say next.
It’s not that there was anything else to really say, anyway.
I knew what she wanted.
I just didn’t know what to do about it.
I didn’t know what I wanted to do about it.
My heart and my head were having the same exact debate.
The message was brief and to the point: “I want you to fuck me like you used to.
I want you to fuck me hard.”
Emily had always been a romantic at heart—she liked flowers and candlelit dinners and long walks on the beach.
She was a little bit of a prude, too, if I’m being honest.
She was never the type of girl who asked for rough sex.
But that’s what she was asking for now.
I wanted to believe that it was a game that she was playing with me, her way of trying to get me riled up like she used to do when we were still together.
I thought maybe she was going to follow up with something like “just kidding” or “you’re so gullible” or something like that.
But then, when I checked my phone again for the third time in less than a minute and saw nothing else from her, I started to think that maybe she was actually serious.
I read the message one more time and felt myself getting hard.
Like, way harder than I had any business being at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday when I was sitting at my desk at work and doing absolutely nothing even remotely sexual.
The message was hot as hell, but it was more than that, too.
It was everything that I thought I wanted to hear from her—what she thought that I wanted to hear from her—when we were still together.
But we weren’t together anymore.
And so even though I knew that’s what I wanted—what I had wanted for so long—I didn’t know if that was actually what I should be doing.
I stared at the message and kept willing myself not to respond, but then I couldn’t help it.
I opened it again and read it over and over and over until I had gotten so hard that I didn’t have any other choice but to do something about it, so I reached down into my pants and gave myself a few strokes until the pressure had been relieved.
And then, after I had done that, I went back and read the message one more time for good measure and tried to decide what to do next.
What did she want me to say?
How did she expect me to respond?
What would happen if I said yes?
Or if I said no?
Or if I said anything at all?
I had no idea how to answer those questions or what the right thing for me to do next would be.
I knew that I wanted her.
I knew that I shouldn’t want her.
I knew that if I answered her, she would probably want me even more.
I knew that I shouldn’t answer her, either.
But then I did anyway.
I just couldn’t help myself.
She had sent a picture, too—a picture that left absolutely nothing to the imagination—and suddenly all of my good intentions had gone straight out the window along with them.
“Do you want me?”
she asked, and I could already picture the look on her face as she typed out those words, all doe-eyed and innocent, as though she hadn’t just sent me a picture of herself half-naked and sprawled out on a bed with a come-hither look in her eyes, but as though she really didn’t have any idea what answer I would give or how happy she would be when she got it.
“Of course you do,” I said, even though I knew that wasn’t true.
It wasn’t true at all.
Half of me wanted to tell her no, just for the sake of telling her no.
Just for the sake of proving that I could resist her.
Just for the sake of showing her how much power she really had over me.
But the other half of me really did want her, more than anything else in the world.
And so, after a few moments of agonizing back-and-forth with myself, that was what I told her.
I typed out those words and sent them, and then I leaned back against the headboard and waited for the next message to come through.
The one that would tell me what to do next.
I knew that there would be another one coming soon.
I knew that there wasn’t any way that there wasn’t going to be.
And sure enough, just a few seconds later, there was.
“Good,” she said, “because I want you, too.
I want you so fucking bad, John.
I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I closed my eyes tight and clenched my jaw and did everything that I could to try and pretend like that wasn’t true, like there wasn’t any part of me that wanted to believe that this was all some kind of sick joke or some kind of trap or some kind of mistake.
But who was I kidding?
Of course there was.
She was everything that I ever wanted, too.
And if everything had been different—if things had gone even remotely the way that they were supposed to—then maybe we would have been able to have each other.
Maybe we still would have had each other, even.
But things hadn’t gone the way that they were supposed to.
She had made sure of that, even.
She had walked away from me, just like I had known that she would all along, and when she did, I had promised myself that I was going to try to walk away from her, too, but I hadn’t been able to manage that for very long at all before I had gone back on my word and sent her a message, too.
And now here we were, doing this all over again, even though I knew that we shouldn’t be.
Even though I knew that there wasn’t any way that this was going to end well for either of us.
Even though I knew that I should have left her alone in the first place—and even though I knew that I should have left her alone this time, too—I couldn’t make myself do it, no matter how hard I tried or how much I knew that I should have, because if this was what she really wanted, then what other choice did I have but to say yes?
“Good to hear,” I said, even though I knew that it wasn’t.
“Because I want you, too, Emily.I’ve always wanted you.”
“Do you now?”
she asked, and for a second, I almost thought that she was being serious.
For a second, I almost thought that maybe she really did want me just as much as I wanted her.
For a second, I almost thought that maybe everything was going to work out just fine between us after all.
But then the next message came through, and all of those thoughts were immediately banished from my mind along with any sense of hope or peace or happiness or sanity or anything else that I might ever have had left inside of me at all after everything else that had happened between us before.
Because all of a sudden, just like that, there we were again, right back where we had ended up so many times before, too—right back in the bed together with nothing else on our minds but each other’s bodies—and even though part of me almost couldn’t believe that this was happening again at all, part of me also knew that this was exactly where we belonged.
“Fuck me,” she said.
“Fuck me hard and fuck me rough.
I want you to do whatever it takes to make me come.
I don’t care what it is.
I don’t care where it is.
I don’t care how you do it.
I just want to feel your cock inside of me.
I just want you to make me come.
I just want you to fuck me like you mean it.”
And then she was gone again.
Just like that.
Just like it had never even happened.
And I was left alone in the dark with nothing else to do but wonder what the hell I was supposed to do now.
Because part of me wanted to do exactly what she had just told me to do.
Part of me wanted to do that more than anything else in the world.
Part of me wanted to take her up on that offer in a heartbeat and run straight back into her arms—or her bed—and do everything that I could to get lost inside of her again as quickly as possible so that I could forget about everything else that had been bothering me before as quickly as I could.
But another part of me knew that I couldn’t do that—that I shouldn’t do that—that I wouldn’t be able to do that—and that even if I could somehow manage to force myself to go after her again now after all this time, I would never be able to get what I really wanted in return, either.
Because no matter how badly I wanted her—and no matter how badly I wanted to believe that this was what we both needed more than anything else in the world—I knew that it wasn’t true.
I knew that it couldn’t be true.
去和她做爱
I lay there for a long time staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything she had just said to me in that message.
Trying to figure out what it all meant.
Trying to figure out what she really wanted from me.
What she really wanted me to do.
What she really wanted me to think.
What she really wanted me to feel.
Because when I looked at it—and when I thought about it—it almost seemed like she was trying to tell me something else entirely.
It almost seemed like she was trying to tell me something more.
Like she was trying to tell me exactly what she needed from me in order to find herself again—or in order to find her way through whatever it was that she was going through now, too, whatever it was.
It almost seemed like she was trying to tell me—like she was trying to ask me—to give her something that she needed more than anything else, too.
Because it almost seemed like she was trying to ask me to give her a piece of myself.
A piece of my heart.
A piece of my soul.
A piece of my love.
And for a moment—just for one single, solitary moment—I thought maybe that’s exactly what she was doing, too.
I thought maybe—just maybe—that’s exactly what she needed from me now—that’s exactly what we both needed from each other now—and that’s exactly what would finally bring us back together now, too.
Because for a moment, it almost seemed like the answer had been right there in front of my face the whole time—the entire time—the whole way through.
It almost seemed like the answer had been right there in front of me—right there in front of her—the whole time—and that we had both been too blind to see it—too stupid to take it—together—the whole time through.
But then—just like that—all those thoughts—all those feelings—all those hopes were gone, too.
Just like everything else.
Just like always.
And I was left alone in the dark with nothing else to do but wonder what the hell it was all supposed to mean instead.
Because as soon as those thoughts started to form—as soon as those feelings started to come—as soon as those hopes started to build—I was already starting to feel like they weren’t true—that they couldn’t be true—that they wouldn’t be true—either.
I was already starting to feel like it was all nothing more than a dream—a fantasy—a delusion—an illusion—a lie—that would never come true either way.
I was already starting to feel like once again, nothing would ever change between us—that nothing would ever be different between us—that nothing would ever be better between us—that nothing would ever be enough between us either way.
sex
“Rough sex,” she said.
“Real rough sex,” she said.
“Even if it’s only once,” she said.
And for a second—just for one single, solitary second—I thought maybe she was finally saying the right thing at last.
I thought maybe she was finally saying what I’d been hoping to hear all along—I thought maybe she was finally saying what I’d been waiting to hear all along—I thought maybe she was finally saying what I needed to hear all along—at last—I thought maybe just for once she was finally saying it out loud.
I thought maybe just for once she was finally admitting it out loud, too.
I thought maybe just for once she was finally telling the truth, too.
Because for a second, it almost seemed like that’s exactly what she was doing, too.
But then—just like that—I remembered.
I remembered who we were.
I remembered who we are.
Because we both know that’s not true, she said next, too.
We both know that’s never been true, either, she said next, too.
We both know that’s never going to be true, either, she said next, too.
