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MidReal Story
Smoking Hot
Scenario:My name is John. On day, my wife Sarah told me that she wanted to pierce her left ear while keeping the right ear unpierced and also start to dangle a lit cigarette from the corner of her mouth all the time, even during lovemaking.
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John
He is a devoted husband and father. He is accommodating, loving, and slightly oldfashioned. John learns about his wife Sarah's desire to get her left ear pierced and dangle a lit cigarette while smoking. Initially concerned for her safety, he struggles to understand her unconventional wishes. Despite his reservations, he decides to support her, even if it means embracing these new aspects of her personality. His love and commitment to Sarah are evident as he navigates this challenging request.
Sarah
She is John's wife and the mother of their child. She is assertive, unconventional, and confident. Sarah reveals to John that she wants to get her left ear pierced and enjoy smoking a lit cigarette while doing so. Her bold demeanor initially shocks John but her persistence eventually wins over his reluctance. Her desire for change indicates a growing independence and willingness to express herself differently. This transformation challenges John's perception of Sarah and their marriage.
My name is John, and this is the story of how my wife Sarah changed her life and mine forever.
One day, my wife told me that she wanted to get her left ear pierced and start to dangle a lit cigarette from the corner of her mouth while she did so.
I was shocked.
I had never seen anything like that before, and I didn’t know what to make of it.
At first, I was worried about her safety.
I didn’t want anything to happen to her, and I didn’t want her to get hurt.
But as I watched her face light up when she talked about it, I knew that I had to let her do it.
I didn’t want to lose my wife.
I loved her too much.
So I agreed, even though it went against everything that I believed in.
I didn’t understand why she wanted to do it, but I knew that it made her happy.
And that was all that mattered to me.
As the days went by, Sarah changed before my very eyes.
She got her left ear pierced and started to smoke a lit cigarette from the corner of her mouth.
At first, it was awkward and uncomfortable for both of us.
But as time went on, she became more confident and natural.
She started to dangle the cigarette from her mouth while doing everything—cooking dinner, watching TV, even making love.
I sit at our kitchen table one evening, watching her cook dinner with the cigarette dangling from her lips.
The smoke curls up past her newly pierced left ear, which still looks red and tender.
She stirs the pasta sauce, humming to herself as she works.
She seems more relaxed than I have ever seen her before.
My hands grip my coffee mug tightly as I gather my courage to ask her the question that has been on my mind since this all started.
"Sarah," I say, my voice cracking slightly, "why did you want to change like this?"
She freezes mid-stir, the cigarette wobbling precariously in her mouth.
The kitchen is silent except for the bubbling sauce.
She turns to face me, the ash from her cigarette dropping down onto her shoulder.
Her eyes narrow as she considers her answer.
I can see her left hand trembling slightly against the wooden spoon.
The kitchen light catches the new earring, and I can see that it is still inflamed and sore.
She opens her mouth to speak, but instead takes a long drag from her cigarette.
She holds the smoke in her lungs for a moment before exhaling it towards the ceiling.
The familiar scent of our dinner now mingles with the acrid smell of tobacco.
She reaches up to touch her piercing, wincing slightly as she does so.
Her words hit me like a slap.
I grip the edge of the kitchen counter, watching as she turns back to the stove.
She stirs the sauce mechanically, the cigarette bobbing with each movement.
The smoke trail follows her motions like a ghost.
I step closer, noticing how her shoulders tense at my approach.
My hand hovers near her back, but I don’t touch.
The pasta water boils over suddenly, hissing on the stovetop.
Sarah jerks away from the splash, her cigarette dropping ash on the floor.
She bends to wipe it up with a paper towel, keeping her face turned away from me.
I step forward, my socks sliding on the kitchen tile, and reach for her hand.
It’s trembling as I wrap my fingers around hers.
The wooden spoon clatters against the pot as she releases it.
Her cigarette droops, threatening to drop ash again.
"Let's sit down," I say, tugging gently on her hand.
She follows me reluctantly, her steps dragging.
The sauce continues bubbling behind us, and I can smell it starting to stick to the bottom of the pot.
I lead her away from the smoking pot, my hand still gripping hers.
We weave through the small kitchen, past the table and chairs, and into the living room.
The smell of burning sauce follows us, clinging to our clothes.
Sarah’s cigarette continues to dangle from her lips, dropping ash down onto her blouse.
As we reach the carpet, she stumbles slightly on the edge where it meets the tile.
I steady her with a tug on her hand, and we make our way to the couch.
I let go of her hand long enough to reach back towards the stove and twist the knob off.
The metal clicks into place, silencing the bubbling sauce.
Sarah sinks into the cushions, her body tense as she stares at some point on the wall.
Her fingers fidget with her earring again as she avoids my gaze.
I sink into the couch cushion next to her, keeping a small gap between us.
The burnt pasta sauce smell fills the room, and I can hear the sizzle of it cooling on the stovetop.
Sarah continues fiddling with her earring, wincing each time her fingers brush the tender skin.
Her cigarette has burned down to a long cylinder of ash, threatening to drop at any moment.
"What’s on your mind?"
I ask, turning my body towards her.
She drops her hand from her ear to her lap, crushing her fingers together.
The ash finally breaks and falls, landing on her skirt and leaving a grey smudge.
"I got the results back," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
My heart skips a beat, and I lean closer.
"And?" I prompt gently, bracing myself for her answer.
She leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees.
The cigarette dangles from her lips, and I watch as it trembles with each word.
"I’m…"
She takes a deep drag of the cigarette, blowing out the smoke in a long stream.
The smoke curls around the redness in her earlobe, and I can smell the acrid tang of it mixing with the burnt pasta sauce.
She stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table, then turns back to me.
Her fingers twist together in her lap, smearing the grey ash stains on her skirt further.
I wait for her to continue, but she remains silent.
The only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant hum of traffic outside.
I lean forward, my hands gripping my knees as I wait for her to speak.
The burnt pasta sauce smell fills my nose, and I can feel my stomach twisting with anticipation. Finally, I can’t stand it anymore.
I reach for her hand again, wrapping my fingers around hers.
She squeezes back hard, then opens her mouth to speak.
But she closes it again without making a sound.
I stand up from the couch, still holding her hand.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide and unsure.
I give her a small smile, then tug her to her feet.
She follows me to the front door, lighting another cigarette with shaky fingers.
I grab our light jackets from the hook by the door, then turn back to her.
She’s fiddling with the buttons on her jacket, trying to fasten them with one hand while holding the cigarette in the other.
Ash drops down onto the welcome mat, adding to the pile already there.
I open the door, and the evening air hits us like a slap in the face.
The porch light flicks on automatically, making Sarah’s new earring glint.
She hesitates at the threshold, her free hand gripping the doorframe tightly. I place my palm on her lower back, feeling the warmth of her skin through her blouse.
We step into the night, leaving the burnt smell and unspoken words behind.