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MidReal Story
Frisky Business
Scenario:I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me, aparently I'm not good enough in bed for him. So in return I kissed a stranger in front of him. that kiss had been on my mind all week long, it was like a drug. I thought I never would have seen him again but sadly he's my new profesor
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Alex
She is a student with a passion for learning. She is determined, introspective, and adventurous. After discovering her boyfriend's infidelity, she feels vulnerable and unfulfilled in her relationship. Seeking validation, she kisses a stranger on impulse. This event haunts her as she encounters her exboyfriend again, who has become her professor in a subject she's passionate about. The tension between attraction, betrayal, and academic aspirations drives her narrative.
Ben
He is Alex's exboyfriend and a student in his late twenties. He is selfish, dismissive, and insensitive. His infidelity pushes Alex to act on impulse, leading her to kiss a stranger. His reluctance to communicate and lack of empathy reveal his true nature. Despite their breakup, he resurfaces as Alex's professor, creating an awkward dynamic. His presence reminds Alex of past relationships and the emotional scars they left behind.
David Fletcher
He is a stranger who kisses Alex impulsively after she confronts her exboyfriend at a bar. He is mysterious, confident, and alluring. Although their encounter is brief, David leaves an lasting impression on Alex, especially when she discovers he is a professor in her university. This coincidence creates an awkward tension between them as he remains confident and unapologetic in his actions despite the awkward situation.
I still remember that kiss, every second of it.
The way my lips touched his, the taste of him, the way my world turned upside down.
It had been on my mind all week long, like a drug I couldn’t get enough of.
I never thought I’d see him again, but today was the day.
I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me.
He didn’t even try to hide it.
Apparently I wasn’t good enough for him in bed, so he found someone who was.
I confronted him and then walked away, not because I wasn’t hurt, but because because of shame and pride I didn’t want to see him again.
I wanted to erase him from my life as fast as possible.
So I did what any normal person would have done.
I went to a bar and ordered a drink.
And then I went and slept with a stranger
It was almost dark when I got there, the sun hiding behind the tall buildings.
The bar was crowded and noisy, people laughing and talking.
A few men tried to catch my attention, but I ignored them until I saw him sitting by himself at a small table near the wall.
He looked lost in thought, staring at his beer.
My heart pounded as I walked across the bar, weaving between tables and dodging a drunk guy who tried to grab my arm.
The stranger looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine with curiosity.
He gestured to the empty chair across from him, a small smile playing at his lips.
I sat down, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my dress.
The air between us was charged, electric.
"Hi," he said, his voice deep and smooth.
"Hi," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I’m David."
"I’m Emily."
We talked about nothing important - the weather, the crowded bar, the mediocre beer.
But beneath our casual conversation, there was a tension between us that neither of us could ignore.
When our hands accidentally brushed as we reached for our drinks at the same time, I didn’t pull away.
"Why did you come over?" David asked, his eyes searching mine.
"I needed to forget," I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
"Forget what?" he pressed gently, leaning closer, and I knew then that he was more than just a stranger.
I sit across from David in his dimly lit office, my hands fidgeting with the paper coffee cup.
He had suggested this meeting to discuss my recent assignment, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it than that.
The tension between us is palpable, a reminder of our encounter at the bar.
As the evening shadows stretch across his desk, he reviews my work, his brow furrowed in concentration.
The soft glow of the lamp casts a warm light on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his features.
His dark hair falls across his forehead, and I find myself wanting to reach out and brush it away.
I shift in my seat, trying to focus on the task at hand.
David looks up, his eyes locking with mine.
"Your analysis is thorough," he says, "but there’s an error here."
He points to a line on the page, his finger brushing against mine as he hands me back the paper.
A shiver runs down my spine at the touch, and I feel a rush of memories flood back - our hands touching at the bar, the electricity that crackled between us. I take a deep breath and try to push those thoughts aside.
I’m here for a reason, and it’s not just to relive our past encounter.
I gather my papers, my hands trembling slightly as his words hang in the air.
The rational part of me screams that this is inappropriate, but I can’t stop staring at his lips, remembering how they felt against mine that night.
David leans back in his chair, watching me with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat.
He waits for my response, his eyes never leaving mine.
The clock on the wall ticks loudly, marking each second of silence between us.
I clutch my bag tighter, take a deep breath, and finally meet his gaze.
I shift in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me.
My fingers trace the edge of my assignment papers, the question burning in my throat, demanding release.
The room feels smaller now, the walls closing in with each passing second.
David continues grading, his red pen marking deliberate strokes across another student’s work.
The steady scratch of pen on paper fills the silence between us.
My mouth goes dry as I watch him, remembering the taste of whiskey on his lips that night.
The clock strikes seven, its chime startling me into action.
I shift in my seat, and his pen pauses mid-stroke on the paper.
The fluorescent light overhead flickers, casting harsh shadows across his desk.
My throat feels dry as I force the words out.
"Professor David," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He looks up, setting his pen down deliberately.
The metal clicks against the wooden desk, echoing in the quiet of the office.
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flash of recognition, maybe even warning.
The professional mask he’s worn all semester cracks slightly.
"What is it?" he asks, leaning forward so that his elbows rest on the desk.
I catch a whiff of his cologne - familiar and intoxicating.
I shift in my chair, inching forward until my knees nearly touch his desk.
He continues grading, but his movements are slower now, more deliberate.
The scratch of his pen on paper grows irregular, as if he’s lost focus.
My hand rests on the edge of his desk, fingers spread mere inches from his.
Neither of us speaks.
The evening shadows deepen around us while the desk lamp casts a warm glow over our hands.
My breath catches when he sets down his pen, his fingertips sliding across the wooden surface.
I lean forward in my chair, my fingertips brushing against a stack of papers on his desk.
The office feels smaller with each inch I close the gap between us.
My heart hammers against my ribs, threatening to betray my composure.
His pen hovers over the last paper he was grading, his knuckles white from gripping it too tightly.
The desk lamp casts harsh shadows across his face as he turns to face me fully.
His cologne fills my lungs with each shallow breath I take.
My throat feels dry as I try to form words, knowing I’m about to cross a line we should never breach.
The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence between us.
I slide my chair closer to his desk, the wooden legs scraping against the floor.
My sweaty palms leave faint marks on the surface as I lean forward.
His eyes follow every movement, a mixture of curiosity and caution in their depths.
The office feels smaller than ever before, the air thick with unspoken tension.
I watch him gather the papers into neat stacks, his movements precise and controlled.
But I notice the slight tremble in his hands as he places them back into the folder.
He adjusts his tie, a nervous gesture I’ve seen before in our interactions.
The desk lamp casts harsh shadows across his face, accentuating the lines of concentration etched into his features.
The ticking of the clock on the wall echoes through the room, each second feeling like an eternity as I gather my courage.
I grip the edge of his desk, my knuckles turning white as I watch him organize the papers once more.
His hands tremble slightly, betraying his composure.
The office feels smaller than ever before, with only the desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls.
The scent of his cologne mingles with the musty smell of old books that line the shelves.
When he reaches for his coffee mug, the sleeve of his shirt brushes against my arm, causing a shiver to run down my spine.
The ticking of the clock on the wall grows louder in my ears as I count each passing second.
My throat tightens as I try to find the words to break the silence.
They sit heavy on my tongue, refusing to be spoken.
He pretends to read the same paragraph over and over again, his eyes scanning the lines but not registering a word.
I grip my textbook tighter, watching as he reviews another student’s paper, his red pen moving mechanically across the page.
The office feels smaller than usual, and I can’t stop staring at his hands.
When he reaches for his coffee mug, the sleeve of his shirt brushes against my arm, sending a jolt of electricity through me.
The contact is brief but intense, reminding me of the way our bodies touched that night at the bar.
His cologne fills my nose, the same intoxicating scent that lingered on my skin long after our kiss.
The ticking of the clock on the wall echoes in my ears as I inch forward in my chair.
My heart pounds against my ribs, threatening to break free from its confines.
He pretends to read, but I notice his eyes aren’t moving across the page.
"Are we really going to ignore what happened?" I finally ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He sets the paper down, meeting my gaze with a mixture of regret and longing.
"We can't afford to let it happen again," he replies, his voice firm but laced with an undeniable hint of sadness.