Page 9 of Teach Me
A parking ticket awaited me when I returned to my car. I threw it onto the passenger seat and stalled the engine twice before I could steady my trembling hands. Giddy excitement warred with nervous trepidation as I drove home. An entire month alone with him. I had to run the conversation over again in my mind to convince myself it was true, and nearly ran a red light when I got lost in my fantasies.
The university prioritised student accommodation near campus for undergraduate students, so I moved into a tiny studio flat on the east side of town last year. The rent was atrocious. Much higher than what I could afford, leaving me dependent on my parents. But there was a generous stipend for doctoral students, and I’d applied to be a research assistant, which would finally allow me to be independent.
Not that it mattered if anyone found out about Dr Braithwaite’s experiment. Even Carly couldn’t know the truth. She had returned to her family in Norfolk, giving me a few days to devise a plausible cover story for what had happened in the auditorium – and rationalise my reason for lying.
We had been friends since our first week at university, but this wasn’t something I could share with anyone, so I told her a fib about my interview schedule when she called to ask how the meeting went.
‘He’s concerned I can’t reject or accept my hypothesis if I don’t ask the participants more specific questions.’ I rushed through the words as I flung open my wardrobe, needing to distract myself. What did I wear to our meeting? Dr Braithwaite wanted me in the fuck-me boots, but surely didn’t expect me to show up only wearing those?
‘Specific how?’ Carly asked, sounding as suspicious as I’d expected.
I sat on the floor and pulled a cardboard box closer. ‘He thinks asking the participants what acts they deem degrading would be prudent.’
‘Prudent?’ Carly’s infectious laugh dispelled some of my concerns. ‘You’re starting to sound like him. Well, that’s not so bad. You must have some examples in mind.’
Plenty. But Dr Braithwaite would ask me to do these things, so I had discounted most of them. It was still easier to focus on my list rather than the guilt that twisted my stomach.
‘What would you see as degrading?’ I rummaged through the box, discarding dresses and tops as either too revealing or not revealing enough. Some still had tags on them, and I shuddered as I remembered why I’d made those purchases.
‘Umm…’ Carly paused. ‘Being pissed on? I wouldn’t like that.’
I made a face. ‘I can’t name that as an example. It has to be something less…’ I waved my hand.
‘Face-fucking? Being used as a toy by multiple men? Sex in a public place?’ She laughed. ‘Sounds like a good time, but you’re the researcher. What’s degrading to you?’
‘Being called a slut,’ I grumbled.
‘Ignore Josh. He’s had a thing for you for years.’
‘Has he?’ I burrowed deeper into my wardrobe, which unfortunately took me deeper into my past. One corner was crammed with boxes filled with items bought to please the wrong man. Why had I kept them? ‘If you like someone, you don’t degrade them. You don’t treat them like…’ I bit my tongue. Wasn’t that what Dr Braithwaite intended to do?
‘Like Luke treated you?’ she asked softly, and I loathed the sympathy in her voice. ‘He’s a dick, Ophelia.’
‘I know.’
‘He watched too much porn.’
‘Exactly!’
Someone called her name in the background. Carly groaned. ‘I have to go. Email me the revised questions. I can look over them before you resubmit.’
‘That’s okay. I’ll run them by Dr Braithwaite.’
She laughed. ‘No, no, no. Wait until I get back. I want to see his face when he reads them.’
‘No way.’ I fished out a pair of jeans. Maybe a sensible outfit was better. Dr Braithwaite was hot as hell, but he was also my lecturer. I could have misunderstood. The last thing I needed was to turn up in a revealing dress, only to learn he had no intention of peeling anything off my body.
‘What do you think he would find degrading?’ Carly asked, her voice teasing.
‘God, I don’t know.’
‘Being led around campus with a leash and a furry-tailed butt plug?’ she continued. ‘I can picture him with a stern but smoking hot Dominatrix.’
‘I’m hanging up now!’
‘Fine,’ she laughed. ‘Have a good Christmas.’
‘You too.’ I ended the call, tossed my phone aside, and put my head in my hands.
