It's strange because the poetry professor hugged me twice while I was having coffee with him, the Engl 201B professor hugs me whenever he sees me and insists that I call him by his first name (which I've gotten in the habit of doing), and yet, with the English instructor, whom I've had much more interaction with, well, he never hugs me, he never tells me to call him by his first name, and in the latest email he reiterated "the boundaries." He writes, "In terms of coffee, I am open to that as long as we both agree that we are meeting exclusively [my emphasis] for academic or intellectual discourse. I would like to be clear about those parameters and my desire to maintain them."
I get it, I mean, I understand I'm not to show up with one of those tops that makes your boobs sit up and beg (you know those tops, guys and girls). And after the conversation, I have to keep my panties on (it could be really difficult though). I can't slip a hotel key over to his side of the table, and then wink aggressively, all the while telling him that if he doesn't say anything, neither will I (famous last words, although I never said such to Morpheus). I can't wear heavy makeup, and one of those bright red bras beneath a light, white, flowing top (again, with the boobs), and I can't just claim I'm wearing stripper heels because later that afternoon, I have a "show to do." More winking. I can't bend my beautiful ass over, feigning to pick up a pen, so he can see my red (again) thong. Okay, I use to have a beautiful ass, but moving on--
Or get him drunk (I wonder what he's like drunk). Or slip my foot down the inside of his thigh, and then molest his crotch with my toes.
(I could go on. Should I go on? Is anyone else listening?)
Honestly, I wanted to tell him in an email (or I could just call him up on the phone randomly, that would freak his ass out) that if I really, really, really wanted to fuck him, I would have directly brought the topic up.
I understand that men don't like unwelcomed sexual advances any more than women do (there's some research to suggest that this isn't true, but let's pretend it's true). But reminding me that I'm on a short leash sort of pisses me off in a way that's hard to describe. I mean, I didn't bring the subject up (coffee, yes, sex, no). I didn't even flirt. I've been practically mute, and it's hard for me, really it is to not just talk about sex whenever I want to. I even said in my email that I liked having conversations with intelligent people, I did not say, "I like having brief conversations with sexy, married men, who I then fuck in strange, cheap hotel rooms."
I had a little bit of insight as I was debating my response. You see, the English instructor is like this toy I bought Beck. It's a big, red plastic ball with a little tennis ball inside of it, that rattles around whenever you play with it, and if you manage to clamp down in just the right spot, the ball lets out a squealing noise. But you can never get to the tennis ball that remains on the inside, you just just see it moving around in there, and no matter how many times you crunch on it, the yellow ball in the middle remains. It's unattainable, but fun to chase around the house.
I did respond, even though I had to will myself to say something polite. I mean, I could have been rude and frank, and then he would never have coffee with me--which is not the outcome I want, even if I have to feign not being insulted. I wrote back, "Perfect. This absolves me from directing the conversation. I will leave that in your capable hands."
Wink.
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