"...Freud understood female sexuality through a separation between clitoral activity which he saw as masculine and vaginal passivity which he saw as feminine. The clitoris, for Freud, was a kind of mini-penis that might be nice to masturbate with, but the true worth of feminine sexuality lay in the passivity of the vagina. The vagina offered a pleasant nest for the penis, and it was the male organ which carried true sexual worth for Freud..."
Professor Elena Reid was lecturing for her class but it seemed, as always, like she was talking more to herself, immersed in her thoughts that were articulated for the education of her students but meant for her own reflexive entertainment. I sometimes wondered how many times she must have given these lectures to various cohorts taking the 'Gender and the History of Sexuality' module, yet she always seemed so engaged with whatever it was that she was talking about as if it was the first time she was thinking about it. Her voice carried effortlessly throughout the wide lecture theatre and I often found myself absorbed in it, losing myself in the sound of her thoughts voiced out for me to hear.
Although, it was not just her voice that made me lose myself. A woman in her mid-forties, she was as stunning as one could ever be. She had a toned, athletic figure (a rumour had it that this was the consequence of a rigorous daily yoga routine), and a buttocks to die for. I particular liked it when she wore one special dress that hugged her body in all the right places and that was just short enough to reveal an inch or two of her firm thighs. She had small breasts, so small that I thought she sometimes did not wear a bra at all. Indeed, during one somewhat cold afternoon when I was sitting on the first row of the lecture theatre, I thought that I could see her nipples through her dress.
"...but many feminist critics of Freud pointed out that the pleasure of the female body doesn't need to choose between the clitoris and the vagina, and clitoral caresses need not be substituted by vaginal ones, but each contributes to female pleasure. Indeed, they do so amongst other things... touching the breasts and the vulva, stroking the inner walls and brushing the mouth of the uterus... female bodies find pleasures in multiple ways."
The fact that she lectured on sexuality was sometimes very frustrating as I could not stop my thoughts from travelling from the general notion of female pleasure to me fantasising about her particular pleasures. I fully recognised that this was unproductive to my learning, but I could not stop myself from getting turned on by the sometimes highly explicit sexual language she used, especially when she also happened to turn around to point at something on the PowerPoint screen, providing me with a direct view of her spectacular ass. On several occasions, I found myself almost squirming in my chair as I felt my panties getting increasingly wet.
"...remember that next week's reading is Freud's piece on female sexuality. Also, the department has asked me to remind you that there is a public talk tonight on the impact of neoliberal changes on the welfare state, followed by us heading down to the pub for some drinks. I hope to see you all there, and if not, I'll see you again next week."
I had fully forgotten about the public talk and, to be honest, neoliberal changes were not on my list of special interests. I was much more interested in letting my eyes linger upon Elena as she gathered her things and leaned over the desk to shut down the computer. I could not help an image appearing in my mind, of her leaned over like she was, but with her dress around her waist, my hand grasping her firm ass, and my fingers buried inside her pussy. As my fantasy version of Elena cried out in orgasmic ecstasy, I suddenly crashed back to reality when my brain registered that the corporeal version of Elena had finished packing her things and was standing right in front of me.
"Sammy, is everything all right?"
I looked around me and realised that everyone else had either already left the lecture theatre or were making their way out the door. I jerkily begun putting my things away and pushed my laptop in my bag with what I regretted was a little bit too much force.
"Yes, everything's fine. Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts."
She looked down at me and I met her eyes. There is something I need to tell you about her eyes. They were the most fantastic and intimidating ones I had ever come across: dark brown and incredibly deep, with a kind of light in them that made me feel like she could see right through me. Whenever her gaze fell upon me I felt totally transparent, as if my skin provided no cover and she could see through it straight into my mind. I felt like I was bare every time she looked at me, like I could hide nothing from her even if I tried. I reasoned, of course, that none of this was true, but I could not stop myself from feeling utterly naked whenever her eyes gazed into mine. It was terrifying and intoxicating at the same time; kind of like looking into some deep abyss that looks right back at you. I thus tended to avert my eyes when she looked at me, which, I sometimes thought, was a bit more often than she looked at her other students, but I was simultaneously intrigued by how she made me feel. Her gaze frightened me, but it was also oddly pleasurable to be its object.
She smiled at me as I quickly finished packing my things and stood up to leave the lecture theatre. "I often get lost in my thoughts as well", she said, "it can be both incredibly helpful and highly distracting". She walked with me as I started to make my way towards the door. "Do you think you will come to hear the public talk?"
As we exited the building, I realised that apart from the pile of books that waited me on my desk I really had nothing better to do with my Friday evening than to go to the talk. This is one of the things that immersing yourself into the academic world in a top university does to you. Besides, how could I say no to her?
"Yes, I will I think", I said and she smiled again.
"Great. I hope you will also join us for some drinks afterwards. I'm sure the follow-up discussion will be very interesting. I'd be delighted to hear what you think about the topic."
We departed ways and she waived at me as she walked the other direction. My eyes lingered upon her ass and I loved the way her dress moulded itself around her firm butt cheeks as she walked. The image of her waiving buttocks loitering in my mind, I was simultaneously excited at the prospect of being in her presence in a more informal context and slightly annoyed at the fact that I now had to actually pay attention to the talk in order to discuss it with her.
The following evening, I found myself sitting in one of the uncomfortable seats at the back of the oldest (and draftiest) lecture theatre of the university, attempting to keep my concentration on the white middle-aged man talking monotonously in front of me. I also found my thoughts drifting in and out of focus. Not only did I think that the talk itself was rather dull but the man's voice was even duller, making it hard for me to be bothered to decipher the meaning of his individual sentences let alone to critically engage with them. I searched the sea of heads in front of me for a sign of Elena, but I did not spot her, although this was not surprising considering that the talk had gather a respectable size of an audience. I sighed in relief when the speaker finished talking and the audience gave him a comparatively lazy round of applause. After the sound of clapping had died out, the chair of the talk stood up and announced that he would like to see us all join him and the speaker for a more informal discussion about this 'extremely important and contemporary issue' in the large pub just down the street. As the sound of chatter filled the room, people begun to make their way towards the door and I followed the stream. I spotted a small group of students that I knew from my department slowly walking towards the pub. Catching up with them, I joined the unified lament over the utter boringness of what we had just heard.
The large pub was rather empty and I was, I must admit, not altogether surprised that only around thirty people had bothered to show up from the talk. I ordered a large glass of house red (I felt like I deserved it after suffering through the last hour and a half) and sat at the table with my group of students where a furious debate was taking place over the value of institutionalised queer studies. Sipping my wine, I looked over my shoulder and felt a sudden flash of heat travel through me as I saw Elena. She was standing right behind me, her perfect ass just below my eye level, and there was a clear tone of irritation in her voice as she argued against a homogeneous looking group of ageing men.
"...no, no, I disagree. The answer in not some decontextualized welfare reform. We must focus on the increasing influence of shareholder capitalism and the decrease in public institutions if we want to see any worthwhile change..."
She was cut short by a well-dressed, moustache endowed man who begun to lecture her on what he seemed convinced were the benefits of shareholder capitalism on the British service industry. I watched Elena as she took a large gulp from her glass of wine, rubbed her temples and looked over her shoulder. I quickly turned my head in an attempt not to be caught staring at her and swallowed more of my drink.
I spent much of the next hour or two distantly following the discussion taking place in my table and sneaking occasional glimpses at Elena as she got increasingly frustrated at the conversation she was taking part in. At one point I noticed her trying to leave to order a second glass of wine in a clear attempt to gracefully exit the conversation but the moustache man cornered her, sealing off her escape route, and had the waiter bring her the glass instead. She nearly downed her second glass on one go, gazing at the door as the man jabbed on, oblivious to her having lost all interest in what he had to say. When she finally managed to excuse herself, she headed directly towards the back door, pausing only say 'have a lovely evening' to a few of the academics, and exited the pub.
Barely listening to what was being said at my table, I felt stupid for being disappointed by the fact that I had not had the chance to talk to her. I did not know what I had expected, that she would spend her evening with me instead of the assortment of prestigious scholars that the pub was dotted with? She clearly did not get the change to pick her preferred company, but even if she had, it was foolish of me to think that she would have picked me. I drank the last of my wine, said my byes to the people at my table, and followed her steps out the back door.
