Page 4 of Teach Me
Dr Braithwaite hung his jacket over the back of his chair. The fabric of his blue shirt strained against his taut muscles as he dragged a hand through his short hair. He was often reserved and kept his emotions hidden during lectures, but a wry smile tipped his lips when his eyes found mine. ‘Let’s talk about sex.’
I dropped my pen.
He clicked a button on the remote nestled in his large hand. ‘Or should I say “gender”? Who can tell me the difference between these key terms and why it matters?’
My pen rolled onto the floor. I barely noticed its clang or Carly’s small giggle. The slide on the large screen behind him stated ‘gender stereotypes’, so my brain must have misfired. Dr Braithwaite hadn’t been flirting with me. He would never risk his career over a twenty-something student in fuck-me boots.
‘Didn’t we cover this as undergraduates?’ Carly whispered as I fished for my pen.
‘No one?’ Dr Braithwaite asked.
I straightened with my pen. Over twenty students were in the room, but none answered him, so I tentatively raised my hand.
‘Yes, Ophelia?’ His usual pleasant smile was back, a welcome sight after his earlier obvious disapproval.
‘Sex is biological. Gender is a social construct.’
He arched a brow. ‘A little simplified for my liking, but yes.’ He looked at another student. ‘Yes, Grace?’
Simplified? I sank back in my seat. Was he playing games with me? Dr Braithwaite didn’t believe in absolutes or certainties. Like most social scientists, he kept an open mind about everything. Had I missed something obvious in my ethics application?
I pulled the hard copy out of my bag, then skimmed the research aim and objectives. Everything was here. My interview schedule was good. The literature review was on point. The methodology was appropriate, and the hypothesis was?—
‘Ophelia, do you think gender stereotypes influence sexuality?’
Oh, hell. I forced myself to look at Dr Braithwaite. God, he had gorgeous eyes. Encased by dark lashes, the blue in them should’ve represented innocence, but like now, they often held a teasing glint. This was about my research, wasn’t it? I’d made a glaring mistake, but what could it be? It would be pointless to ask him. He wanted me to figure these things out on my own.
‘Umm.’ I licked my lips. ‘Gender stereotypes?’
‘Yes.’ He folded his arms again, and all my stupid brain could focus on was the flex of his muscles. I should’ve sat further away. I should’ve picked a different university. He was too distracting.
Dr Braithwaite dipped his head, peering back at me when I remained mute. ‘What traditional gender stereotypes do we have for men and women?’
‘Men are…’ I cleared my throat. ‘They’re seen as strong and assertive. Leaders. Women are passive and soft. We’re the weaker gender.’
‘And how does this influence our sexuality?’
An easy question, as I’d read hundreds of journal articles before formulating my hypothesis. ‘Men are more likely to be adventurous. They take more risks, like casual sex. They also face fewer consequences for exploring their sexuality.’
‘What consequences do you think women face?’
‘Is that a trick question?’
A ghost of a smile tipped his lips. ‘Not at all.’
Yes, it was. ‘Girls are raised to view sex as dirty, our needs as an embarrassment. We’re taught to protect our virginity – in some cultures, our lives depend on it. Nobody expects the same for a guy.’
‘And what happens if you deviate from this norm?’
He was toying with me, daring me to see his point. I still couldn’t. Joshua proved me right when he compared me to a stripper. I had never felt free to explore anything thanks to men like him.
‘Ophelia?’ Dr Braithwaite prompted, his voice softer.
I narrowed my eyes. Two could play this game. ‘Well, what do you call a woman who sleeps around?’
The room erupted in laughter. Joshua gave me and my fuck-me boots another appreciative glance. I gritted my teeth at his unwarranted judgement. I had only slept with two men, but it didn’t matter to Joshua. He’d made assumptions based on myclothes and the discussions I often had with Dr Braithwaite during lectures, wrongly labelling me as some wanton woman because of my interest in sexuality.
Dr Braithwaite chuckled. ‘I am aware of the slur you’re implying, Ophelia. Modern feminism still has work to do, but I want you to be more specific about how gender stereotypes affect our sexuality.’
