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MidReal Story
My Retired Teacher Crush
Scenario:Could you write a dialogue scene where a 54-year-old African-American
woman is on a romantic date with an 18-year-old Caucasian boy whom she used to teach in the past?
Create my version of this story
Delilah Palmer
She is a retired high school teacher and principal. She is introspective, witty, and cautious. Delilah is enjoying a dinner date with Mason, her former student, which leaves her questioning their age difference and her own feelings. She struggles with the potential consequences of being seen with a younger man, given her professional background and personal history. Delilah is determined to savor the moment, despite internal doubts and external challenges, as she hasn't felt this attracted in years.
Mason
He is a high school student nearing his 19th birthday. He is charming, ambitious, and respectful. Mason has developed a close relationship with Delilah Palmer, his former teacher, after she helped him secure a summer internship. Their friendship blossoms into a romantic connection, leaving Mason eager to deepen their bond. He is thoughtful and considerate, bringing flowers on their first date to prove his sincerity. Mason navigates the potential challenges of dating an older woman with grace and determination.
I never thought I’d be on a date with someone who could potentially be my son.
Okay, that’s not entirely true.
I did think about it.
More than once.
Okay, fine.
I obsessed over it.
Because, well, the whole situation is just a little unconventional, don’t you think?
A 54-year-old retired teacher and principal on a dinner date with an 18-year-old Caucasian boy who used to be my student.
Talk about a recipe for disaster.
But here I am, anyway, because sometimes you just have to roll the dice and see where life takes you.
And if that means I end up on the evening news as the crazy lady who’s dating a boy half her age, then so be it.
At this point, I’m willing to take that chance.
Because Mason is different.
He’s special.
And if you’d seen the way he looked at me across that crowded diner the night we met, you’d probably agree with me.
There’s something between us.
Something real.
I lean back in my chair and watch him fidget with his napkin.
The restaurant is dimly lit, and the soft glow of the candle on our table casts shadows across his young face, making the sharp angles of his jawline look even more dramatic.
He ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu, but he hasn’t touched it.
I’m not sure if that’s because he’s trying to impress me or if he’s just not much of a drinker.
I take a sip from my own glass and wait for him to answer my question.
"Why didn’t you reach out before now?"
He straightens his tie, a blue silk one I remember him wearing on graduation day, and then looks up at me.
His eyes dart to mine and then away again before finally settling back on my face.
"Well," he says, "I was going to. I mean, I wanted to. But I wasn’t sure if you’d want to hear from me."
"Of course I would have wanted to hear from you," I say.
"You were always one of my favorite students."
He smiles and reaches across the table to touch my hand.
"I was?"
"Yes," I say.
"You were always so smart. So eager to learn."
"I was eager for something else, too," he says, giving me a wink.
"Something else?"
I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Yeah," he says, leaning forward and lowering his voice.
"I was eager for this."
His fingers slide between mine, sending shivers down my spine. "Mason," I say, pulling my hand away from his.
"We’re in public."
"Oh, right," he says, looking around us at the other diners.
"Sorry."
"It’s okay," I say with a smile.
"But maybe we should save that sort of thing for later."
"Later?"
"Yes," I say.
"After dinner."
"Oh," he says with a grin.
"Okay. Sure. After dinner."
He takes another sip of his wine and then clears his throat again.
"So," he says, "where were we?"
"You were going to tell me why you didn’t reach out before now," I remind him gently.
"Oh yeah," he says with a sigh.
"Well…"
But before he can answer me, there’s a voice behind me calling out my name.
"Ms. Thompson? Is that you?"
I turn away from the familiar voice, pretending not to hear.
I don’t want to ruin this moment with Mason.
Not now, when things are finally starting to get interesting.
Luckily, the waiter is approaching our table at that exact moment, and I use his presence as an excuse to turn away from the voice behind me.
I smooth my burgundy wrap dress down over my thighs and then fold my hands in my lap.
The waiter pulls out his notepad and pen and then looks at Mason expectantly.
"Are you ready to order?" he asks.
"Yes," Mason says, his voice steady and mature sounding.
"I’ll have the ribeye, medium rare."
The waiter nods and jots down Mason’s order before turning to me.
"And for you, ma’am?"
I take a deep breath and let my heel slide down the side of Mason’s ankle under the table.
He sucks in a sharp breath, and I know he’s going to be putty in my hands tonight. I lean forward slightly so that the light catches the gold necklace around my neck, and then I give the waiter a smile.
"I’ll have the salmon," I say, proud of how confident I sound.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way on a date.
The waiter nods again and jots down my order before turning away from us and heading back toward the kitchen.
Mason leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you think they know?" he asks, glancing around the restaurant nervously.
I shake my head, trying to reassure him. "No, they don't. But we need to be careful."