Yes, kind of

You're restless all day Saturday, trying to hold off from talking to Eve, make her really worry. Halfway through dinner you check your phone and see an update on social media by Eve. Worry and jealousy worm their way through your stomach as you click on the notification. You brace yourself for...what is this?

It's selfies Eve took, in a gorgeous dress, looking sober alongside what you assume are a bunch of art snobs. No nudity? Is that only on campus? You can't recall the details of those laws. You sit on your feelings before shooting off a text to Eve, *hey sorry I lost it earlier, I just needed to cool off*.

Your worry grows that you've done something you can't take back, that Eve is going to dump your ass after your freak out. That thought and the fact that there's no reply for hours fuels your worry until you can't take it. Just when you're about to implode, you receive a request to video chat from Eve. Your apprehension reforms as quickly as it dissipates. The screen resolves itself, momentarily blurry, before focusing in and you can see your beautiful girlfriend...sloshed. She tries to talk to you but you can't make out any words, between her heavy slurring and what sounds like a club, she never stood a chance to communicate. The camera glitches or something and you think she falls, but it looks like she's fallen onto a chair or something. You can barely make out something that sounds like "oh thank you" in heavily **** speech. When the camera refocuses, you're absolutely stunned.

The strap on her right side has fallen and her right tit was completely out! As you stammer and try to shout through the phone, which she doesn't notice, the camera pans and you see she's actually fallen onto Professor Miles' lap! She continues to spout nonsense, you think you hear her say she loves you so much, but she's not holding the camera up enough for you to see her lips. It's aimed off to the side and down, a perfect view of her chest with one tit handing out, and the professor biting his lip looking at her chest up close. Worse - the lecherous bastard uses one hand to hold her steady (too high on her leg) and the other pulls the other strap off her shoulder. Now both her tits are out and free, jiggling plenty with her drunken hand motions. The camera blurs some more before abruptly closing.

Your anxiety is even worse than before and you repeatedly call over the next hour, worried, before eventually falling asleep.