Page 5 of Teach Me
‘Why?’
‘Humour me.’
I blew out a breath. ‘Men are rewarded for casual sex and their countless conquests. Women are ostracised.’ I gestured in Joshua’s direction. ‘Gender stereotypes are why women still have to be careful about how they dress.’
Joshua laughed. ‘Hey, all I said was?—’
‘Let’s not get personal,’ Dr Braithwaite interrupted. He clicked the remote. ‘Stereotypes can have a particularly negative impact on those who do not identify as heterosexual. Joshua, why do you think that is?’
I fell back in my seat again. God, that man was exasperating. Why couldn’t he make his point without turning it into a lesson for the whole class?
Carly caught my eye. ‘Text me after your meeting,’ she whispered. ‘I want every detail.’
Chapter Two
I sat on the table in the last row, dangling my feet as I waited while Dr Braithwaite put his things into his leather satchel. I knew his routine well. Too well, perhaps. Not because I was a struggling student in constant need of his guidance, but because knowledge was power. He’d taught me that on my first day at university.
The worn leather satchel once belonged to his father, a renowned psychiatrist still based at the University of Cambridge. It was sentimental to Dr Braithwaite, just as I treasured the ‘Psychologist in Progress’ coffee mug my grandmother had bought me when I was accepted to university.
There was still information I refused to learn about Dr Braithwaite, such as details of his personal life. Seeing him only as an academic authority figure made the time we spent in the same room almost bearable.
‘Are you going home for Christmas?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I grumbled.
‘Not a fan of the holidays anymore?’ He laughed softly. ‘Last year, you were quite excited about Christmas dinner.’
I leaned forward. ‘Why is everything a lesson with you?’
‘Life is full of lessons, Ophelia.’ He rested against the desk, his long legs only a few feet from my fuck-me boots. ‘What did Joshua say to you?’
I tugged on my short skirt. ‘He asked if I worked at a strip club.’
‘I see.’
His dismissive answer stung more than it should have. I stared at my lap. How stupid was I for dressing up for a man who took no interest in me?
‘Ophelia?’ His deep voice lifted my chin. Dr Braithwaite smiled. ‘Do you understand why I said your hypothesis is flawed?’
‘It’s not based on an opinion.’
‘It is, and there are two issues we must address before you make amendments. Firstly, why can’t you interview female participants?’
‘Because I’m studying the effect of pornography onmen?’ Sarcasm rarely worked on him, and I cringed inwardly from his stern stare. ‘You asked me to specify a form of sexual deviancy to narrow my research. I did what you wanted, but it’s still wrong?’
‘Because your hypothesis is based on a misguided opinion. Don’t you see that?’
Annoyed with him and his insistent questions, I blurted, ‘Even if I can find a woman who claims she’s happy to serve a man no matter how depraved his demands are, her behaviour would be a cover – a coping mechanism because of childhood sexual abuse – and allowing for those factors will skew my data when my focus is on the harmful effects of pornography.’ I paused, breathless. ‘Its effect onmen. Not women.’
‘Are you claiming childhood sexual abuse is the only reason a woman could enjoy acts such as degradation?’ He tilted his head, his probing gaze daring me to reveal old wounds I wanted to pick at with this deep dive into abnormal sexual behaviour.
‘No, I’m saying men’s sexual deviancy is shaped by early exposure to hardcore pornography. Women’s sexuality is limited by societal norms and gender roles enforced upon us since childhood. The world wouldn’t let us be sexual deviants.’ I huffed, looking around the empty auditorium. ‘Not for long, anyway.’
‘How so?’
I crossed my legs and smirked. ‘Do you remember our discussion about Freud, the founding father of fake orgasms?’
That earned me a tiny smile. ‘We have come a long way since then. Orgasms – whether clitoral, vaginal, or otherwise – are recognised as an important part of a woman’s health and well-being.’
