He had lost a bet to one of his rivals from the Galactic Mechanics League of the Milky Way. The punishment? Return to planet Earth and teach physics to the least intelligent students at a college. Of course, Tyler preferred that over being tormented by all the mechanics in his group, who would surely remember every single day, moment, and second that he made a promise and didn't keep it — which was precisely why he honored his word.
The sound of the marker sliding across the whiteboard filled the stuffy room with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. Tyler held the blue pen with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times, his movements firm and graceful, drawing curves and complex symbols that seemed to dance under the fluorescent light.
"So, if time slows down as we approach the speed of light…" — he said, his voice calm, laced with a natural confidence — "…that means, technically, if you run fast enough, you can escape a Monday. Too bad they haven't invented rocket sneakers yet."
Nervous giggles filled the room, breaking the kind of tension only a relativity equation could create.
Tyler stepped back slightly from the board, revealing the figure of a man in his late twenties. He had dark, sharp eyes and purposefully messy brown hair, as if defying the formality of his position. The stubble on his face and the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt gave him a careless, almost dangerous charm. He was the kind of professor who knew too much — and made a point of acting like he didn't care.
Before he could continue, the bell rang loudly through the halls, bringing with it freedom and relief for the students.
"All right, all right. You're free… for now," he said, raising his hands like a priest dismissing his flock. "But remember: space isn't straight. And neither is life."
The students began to rise, packing up notebooks and tablets, whispering among themselves. But one of them hesitated. A thin boy with round glasses and messy hair approached with his notebook in hand.
"Professor Tyler… can I ask you something? I didn't really get that part about spacetime curvature. Like… does it curve like a bedsheet? Or plastic?"
Tyler smiled, picking up the pen again and sketching a smooth curve on the board above the equations.
"Good question, Leo. Spacetime curvature is like… like jealousy in an open relationship. Invisible, but it affects everything around it."
The boy blinked, both confused and amused.
"Imagine the universe like a mattress with springs, okay? If you put something heavy on it — like a bowling ball — it sinks. That's gravity. Now, if you try to roll a marble across it, it won't go straight. It'll spiral around the depression. That's spacetime saying, 'Hey, no straight paths around here.'"
"Oh… so planets don't orbit by magic?"
"Exactly. It's just the universe being lazy. It doesn't want anything moving forward without drama."
Leo laughed, relieved, and closed his notebook.
"Thanks, professor."
"You're welcome. And remember: if you think physics is complicated, it's because you've never tried to understand a human heart."
Tyler sighed, resting briefly on the eraser before bringing it to the whiteboard. His eyes followed the students as they dispersed, some still laughing at his last joke, others already glued to their phones, as if the universe out there were nothing more than an endless feed. He watched them until the last one disappeared into the hallway. The door closed with a soft click.
Silence.
He turned back to the board, slowly erasing the blue trails of his explanation. The dry sound of the eraser against the surface echoed faintly through the empty room — until something interrupted him.
Out of nowhere, warm arms wrapped around his back.
His body tensed instantly. A sweet, floral perfume invaded his senses like a forbidden memory.
"Were you going to leave me waiting again, professor?" whispered a soft, velvety female voice near his ear.
Tyler closed his eyes for a second. He would recognize that voice even in the middle of a hurricane.
"Helena…" he murmured without turning. "You're not supposed to be here."
"Oh, come on," she replied with a muffled laugh, sliding her hands across his chest over his shirt. "Don't start with that. We've broken that rule before."
He turned slowly.
There she was. Helena. His wife's best friend. Tall, dark-haired, with long legs ending in a skirt far too tight to ignore. Her black hair cascaded in waves down her back, and her eyes — as vividly green as the sins she insisted on committing — stared at him with a hunger disguised as defiance.
The white blouse clung to her body almost deliberately, accentuating her generous breasts that seemed to beg for attention — and he noticed. It was impossible not to.
Tyler swallowed hard, still holding the eraser.
"You're married. And so am I. This… this is wrong, Helena."
She smiled, tilting her head.
"Wrong?" She feigned surprise, walking slowly around him. "What's wrong is living a lukewarm life, Tyler. And you know it. Tell me you feel nothing when I'm near."
He hesitated, his eyes instinctively darting to the door.
Closed.
Of course it was closed.
Helena noticed the gesture and smiled even wider, her eyes sparkling.
"You always look at the door. Think someone's going to walk in? That excites you, doesn't it?"
"It's not that..." he lied.
"Don't be a hypocrite." She closed the distance between them again, placing her hands on his chest. "This isn't the first time, remember? And it won't be the last."
Tyler's heart pounded in his chest like it was trying to warn him of the danger—but the rest of his body wasn't listening. His arms moved almost on instinct, wrapping around her, pulling her closer. He felt the curve of her waist, the warmth of her body pressed against his.
Their lips met in a kiss charged with desire and guilt. A hungry kiss. Urgent. Almost feral.
He hated to admit it, but there was something there... something wickedly addictive. Betrayal had a flavor no other emotion could offer: the taste of defiance, of breaking a sacred vow.
And he loved it.
As Helena's mouth explored his, Tyler thought, for a brief moment, of his wife. Of home. Of promises.
Then he thought about how good it felt to ignore all of it.
The next few minutes were consumed by a silent frenzy, where reason dissolved in the heat of pressed bodies. Tyler felt Helena's fingers digging lightly into his back, as if trying to anchor him there forever. Their lips met over and over, ravenous, sliding, sucking, nibbling with the kind of intimacy that only comes from what is forbidden.
Their tongues explored each other like long-lost lovers reunited. Her taste was sweet, almost addictive—as if each kiss was deeper, bolder than the last. He gripped her waist with restrained force.
At some point, without knowing exactly when, he pulled back for a second, breathless, his chest rising and falling. He looked at her—at the half-lidded dark eyes, the parted, swollen lips still wet.
Between them, a thin bridge of saliva still connected their mouths.
She smiled when she saw the look in his eyes. That wasn't shame. It was pleasure. Pure, raw, shameless pleasure.
"Do you still think this is wrong?" she asked in a hoarse whisper, as if she had just read his thoughts.
Tyler swallowed again. He didn't answer.
How could he, with the blood pounding in his ears and his heart beating as if it wanted to rip his chest apart? That liquid bridge that connected their lips was almost a symbol — fragile, but real.
Tyler raised his arm and looked at his wrist where the clock was. There were still about 50 minutes left until the next class. So they had about 30 minutes to have sex in secret.
Looking at Helena he said. "Take off your clothes, you dirty bitch!"
Hearing this she smiled and began to unbutton her shirt, revealing a bra that held two tanned melons.
Tyler also wasted no time and began to remove his clothes, and then in a short time they were both completely naked.
"Did you bring the condom?" He said as he looked at Helena who in turn was smiling. "We don't need that, I want you to fill my brown womb with your white sperm, let's put a green hat on my husband's head."
...
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