I set down my cup of tea with a sigh as I logged in to the computer and opened both e-mail accounts - mine, and my adviser's, which I checked for him each morning. Another day, another pile of work. But wait - was there something here, something other than the usual spam and messages from colleagues?
Yes! I couldn't believe the news - the two e-mails we'd been hoping for, and they arrived on the same day. Not only had our paper been accepted by the journal, finally, after all those edits, but we'd also received an invitation to present at the upcoming national conference! Finally, some payoff for all the hard work, and something tangible to share with the friends and family who'd been mocking me and my work for the past year.
John wouldn't be in the office for another twenty minutes, so I had a chance to read the messages thoroughly, soaking in our success. Perhaps I should share a little background, to catch you up?
My name's Anna, and I'm a grad student, studying with one of the pre-eminent American sexologists. Yes, yes, I know. Go ahead and snicker, I'm used to it. But it's a legitimate field of study. Ever heard of Kinsey? Well, his work made a world of difference, bringing previously taboo topics into the scientific arena, and scholars today continue to expand on his work and branch out into entirely new areas.
But hey, who am I trying to convince? I'm proud of the work I've done, and the position I've found myself in at such a young age. By day, I'm surrounded by prominent scholars who treat me as an equal, and I am the only grad student John has ever taken on as a research assistant.
But, that said, it can be awkward. My friends tease me incessantly. My parents, while proud, don't like to discuss what I do, and blush whenever I talk about work. Trying to meet a guy is a crazy roller-coaster ride between two extremes: those who assume I'm a wild nympho, willing to try anything, to those who are afraid I'll whip out a ruler and laugh once I discover their dick is smaller than average.
Anyway, all that said, I was bouncing off the walls at this morning's news. Our paper, "Societal acceptance and pervasiveness of oragenitalism in America's cities: 1900-2000," would be appearing in print next month. John's name would of course be listed first, but I would actually be listed as a second author, not just in the footnotes.
Oh, and just in case I lost you with that title, it's basically an oral sex study. We compiled existing data from Kinsey and other historical sources with new research, from various surveys to interviews that John and I conducted ourselves. Our work analyzes both the societal attitudes towards certain practices, and also the practices themselves.
It was actually the interviews, and my transcriptions of them, which caused John to give me such a prominent role in this particular project. Once he trained me in his interviewing philosophy and methods, it was quickly obvious to both of us that many subjects felt more comfortable talking to me, a young woman, than to him, an older man. He was also very impressed with my writing, and since he didn't give such praise lightly, I was extremely proud of the trust he placed in me to actually write much of the paper once our research data was compiled.
Ah, here he was, finally. As John walked in, setting down his coffee cup and briefcase in their usual places, I couldn't help but notice how attractive he really was. He exuded confidence and brilliance, and his body revealed how he spent his time when away from his research - he was fit and tan from his love of all sorts of outdoor activities. He was 42 and married - to his work, that is - and our relationship was as professional as they come. Ironic, really, two attractive, single people working together on sex research, yet he never made a move.
"John, we got some great news this morning - the paper has been accepted, and you've been asked to speak at the conference in Chicago!"
"Ah, great news. Congratulations, Anna, your first major publication!" I half-hoped for a hug, but he interrupted that daydream with a gesture more typical of him, an enthusiastic handshake.
"I hope you don't think I'd leave you behind for Chicago? You'll come with me, of course?"
"Well, I was planning to attend anyway, to hear the presentations."
"No, Anna, I want you to be there with me to present the work. This project is yours just as much as mine. Now, I know I have a big ego, and I appreciate that you respect it, but I really do want to share the limelight on this one. You've earned it."
Giggling at his dry humor, I thanked him and immediately began work on the presentation we'd give at the conference. The next few weeks were spent pouring over my notes, pulling out a few particularly interesting interview subjects which John wanted to focus on in a panel discussion. He asked me to focus specifically on mazophallism and clitorilingus - I wasn't sure why he had picked those particular examples, but I'd long since learned not to ask such questions; I'm sure he had a good reason.
Oh - you need definitions? Mazophallism is masturbating the penis between a woman's breasts. Clitorilingus is oral sex performed on a woman, focusing on the clitoris. Forgive me, but I prefer to use the more academic terms. Otherwise, with my sorry excuse for a sex life, I tend to get turned on just thinking about these things, and lose my focus when I'm supposed to be working!
Anyway, the conference finally came. We arrived at the high-rise hotel just off Michigan Avenue, and lucked out with rooms on the 14th floor with a fabulous view of the lake and the city skyline - thankfully, because we hardly had time to leave the hotel. It was a flurry of activity as John and I attended a non-stop flurry of presentations, lunches, dinners, panel discussions, and finally, on the last full day, gave our own talk.
John introduced our work, explained the project, and then turned the microphone over to me and my pounding heart and sweating palms. It wasn't that I was a nervous public speaker, because I wasn't; I just suddenly felt the pressure of presenting our joint work. I handled it well, taking a deep breath and launching in to my prepared speech. I answered a few questions, John summarized our presentation, and then with applause and innumerable handshakes, I was back in my hotel room, changing out of my dressy clothes and packing for the flight home the next morning.
There was a knock at my door. "Who is it?" I asked as I approached the door, not expecting anyone so late.
"It's John."
"Oh, OK, hang on!" I made a quick decision that I would be decent enough to let him in if I firmly tied my bathrobe, and then opened the door to find him standing before me with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
