Class Presentation

* * * * *

1) This is not a 'hard' non-consent story, but it does involve themes of power, manipulation, and transactionality, so here it is. Please be warned.

2) It is a work of sheer fantasy in all respects, and is intended for the purposes of erotic entertainment only. In real life it is incumbent on all of us to ensure consent in any situation, and to show respect and empathy to those around us—not just with regard to sex, but in every aspect of life.

3) All characters are over the age of 18.

4) I appreciate positive feedback and constructive suggestions. I hope you enjoy it.

* * * * *

This was so humiliating.

Not so much that I'd been caught cheating. Oh, it was inconvenient, for sure. But I supposed the odds had been against me. After all, I'd cheated on pretty much every assignment since I came to this mediocre party school. At some point it was bound to catch up with me.

No, what was humiliating was that I'd been caught by that overstuffed buffoon Zack Baines, and in a class like "Intro to US Media & Culture." This was the easiest of easy A's—basically, university credit for watching TV. And I'd been caught cheating.

To be fair, I had my reasons for cutting corners. First off, I really did need the A's. My parents are shit, and expected a perfect GPA. Anything less, and I knew they'd haul me back to University of Hong Kong and keep me under their thumb until I'm 30.

But I'm smart, and I could have earned my 4.0. Certainly in "Boob Tube 101." To do that, however (second point), I would have had to work—at least some. My written English was solid enough, but it took a lot of effort! And honestly, after spending my whole life as mom and dad's obedient little puppet, I was having way too much fun at Sun & Suds U to waste any time studying!

Now, however, I'd been caught, and I had to put my damage-control plan into action. I'd already tried to butter up Zack—lots of eyelash batting and brushing my fingertips on his forearm and 'barely being able to hold back the tears.' The fleshy TA was so shy and awkward that I found the whole scene a little nauseating. But at last he'd mumbled out that he'd already reported the issue to the prof, and it was beyond his control.

So, here I was at the door of Professor Shafer, ready to reprise my helpless Asian girl routine. Suffice it to say, there was a reason I made sure all the classes I signed up for had male instructors!

I moistened my eyes, brushed glossy-black bangs down over my forehead, and knocked softly on the door.

... Apparently too softly.

I knocked again, slightly louder. "Yes?" came his voice from inside.

I peeked my head around the door-frame, acting as bashful as I knew how. "Hello, sir?"

"Yes, come in!" He sounded irritated. I couldn't really blame him. Honestly, If I'd spent years getting a PhD, only to get stuck at a third-rate school teaching five-hundred bored students about the finer points of

The Bachelor

, I'd be pretty irritated too.

I shuffled into the room, staring at the linoleum-tiles on the floor, and trying to look meek and pitiable. I'd worn my best Asian-student-girl outfit—sparkling white button-down blouse (one-too-many unfastened at the top so my white bra peeked out), very short plaid skirt, shiny patent pumps. I allowed my English to slip a few notches too. White guys loved this crap, I had no idea why. But, it had gotten me out of scrapes before.

"Well, what is it?" he snapped.

I jumped, slightly for real, but mostly for effect. "Sir, I... I want to talk about my paper?"

He turned back to his computer screen, as if dismissing me. "You need to meet with your TA—they graded the papers."

"Yes, but sir, I already talked to Mr. Baines, and he said I needed to come to you."

He glanced up at me again, eyes narrowed. "What's your name?"

I couldn't blame him for not knowing who I was. True, I always tried to sit in front and paste a worshipful look on my face during his lectures. (Well, at least whenever I managed to roll out of bed in time for class.) But to be fair, there were 500 students in the hall. "I'm Lisa Xiao."

He nodded to himself. "Ah, Lanfen Xiao. Yes, Zack emailed me about your situation."

"Please, sir, call me Lisa."

He sighed. "Well, Lisa, here at Oceanview State, we take academic integrity very seriously. Whenever there's a case of..."

He trailed off mid-sentence and looked to the side, as if debating something with himself. Then, abruptly, with an air of 'fuck it!,' he threw out his bland, dean-friendly script.

Glancing back at me, his lip curled, and the disgust he felt for me became suddenly palpable. "Look, you want to know what really gets me? It's not even so much that you cheated—but that you copied your essay, word-for-word, from the most infamous paper-mill site out there! It's not only dishonest and lazy, it's goddamn insulting! Were you actually

trying

to give a big middle-finger to me and all the work we are trying to do here? Because that's what it seemed like. The truth is, Ms. Xiao, Zack took pity on you just giving you a zero—he really should have reported you to the international student office for honor code violations!" His face was red, his mouth set in a hard line.

My heart sank—this was not at all how I'd planned it to go. The quaver in my voice was a bit more real now. I shuffled closer to his desk, mustering all the deference I could. "But sir, couldn't you give me another chance? It's just... I really need to get an A in the course."

He snorted scornfully. "Your math skills need work too. The paper is 40% of your grade! You can't possibly get an A. In fact, unless you got a perfect score on all your quizzes..." He clacked at his keyboard for a moment. "No, I see you got 97%—cheated on those too, I suppose?" I bit my lip and looked at the baseboard. "Well, it's not good enough. You're looking at an F. You might as well take the hit and move on. Now then, if you're done wasting my time...?" He gestured toward the door, and fixed me with a withering stare.

Fuck, this was serious. All kidding aside, if I got an F, that was it. My parents would summon me home so fast my head would spin—there wasn't a doubt in my mind about that. True, I was technically an 'independent adult' of 20, but the more relevant facts were that (a) I was on a student visa, (b) they were insane, and (c) they also had all the money. This wasn't some zany rom-com where things would just all work out somehow.

And... ok this sounds stupid, but the thing is: I

needed

to be here. I felt like I hadn't really started living until I came to the States. Don't get me wrong, HK is great. But I just can't be there without being smothered by my family. There's no air to breathe. You know, there were lots of superficial things I loved about Oceanview State—beach bonfires; and bong parties; and awkward, slightly-stoned sex with pretty-boys I barely knew. But the deeper thing, the thing I really loved, was the chance to just be me. It seemed as if I had only just met myself—and if I went home that audacious young woman would be lost to me forever.

So, I gave myself a mental kick in the ass. 'Drop the self-pity and pull yourself together, girl! There hasn't been a man born yet that you can't handle, right? You just need to try harder.'

Unbidden, I sidled over to the chair beside Shafer's desk, and perched myself delicately on the seat, crossing one bare leg over the other. Blinking a couple of times, I looked up at his face through my bangs. I made my voice as soft and imploring as I could. "Please Professor, I made a mistake. I was just so

nervous

. American university is very hard, and I lost my self-confidence..." I reached over and placed four graceful fingers lightly on the exposed skin where his wrist emerged from his cuff. "You are the best professor I ever had since I came here. I've been working very hard to learn. Can't you please give me one more chance?"

He made no response to my touch. His eyes were hard, and betrayed no trace of empathy. "Ms. Xiao, you're just embarrassing yourself now. I can't help you."

Christ, this was not how it was supposed to work! Was this guy gay or something? No, I thought ruefully, a gay guy would give me more to work with than this.

Feelings of desperation were starting to rise up within me, but I tried to put them to good use—allowing my voice to break a little, and my eyes to tear up. I leaned closer to him so that my blouse would gap open. "But sir, you don't know how it is in China. My parents, they will be very harsh with me..."

He just stared at me, stone-faced, not even bothering to answer. I could feel my face flush, and heard the funereal tick of the wall-clock echo in my ears. Fuck!

And then, abruptly, a switch flipped in my mind. I had come to his office ready to flirt, but I hadn't given a thought to the nuclear option. To be honest, I'd expected the whole thing would be a cinch. But now... well, let's just say that if I had to blow the guy to stay in the States, I didn't view that as a deal-breaker. After all, Shafer may have been old—40 at least!—but he was still pretty cute. Hell, that was probably the main reason that I had ever made it to lecture at all.

I allowed the corner of my mouth to turn up, coyly, and gently shifted my hand to his upper thigh. The fabric of his slacks was thin and smooth, and as I ran my fingers toward his crotch, I had no problem feeling his cock beneath them. It twitched and swelled at my touch. (Involuntarily, my eyebrows rose a notch—he obviously had quite a package down there!)

"Professor, I know you are a kind man, and very powerful at the university. I just know you can do something to help me. And I would be really grateful to you.

So

grateful. And then maybe I could do something nice for you too..." I gave his manhood a little squeeze.

He grasped my wrist and transferred my hand to my own bare knee. His jaw muscles worked, and he forced the words out through his teeth, a slight rasp betraying the strain he was under. "Ms. Xiao, you need to leave."

I pitched my voice to be even more feminine, more harmless. "P-please Professor..." Placing my free hand atop his, I guided it up my inner thigh, pushing up my skirt. "Isn't there

anything

I could give you? Anything I have that you would want?"

He snatched his arm away. His face was flushed, and his voice rose. "Look Ms. Xiao, I won't say I've never slept with an undergrad, but never a student in my class, and never for a grade."

He was clearly agitated; and honestly, I was starting to get angry too. First I'd put on a damned fine song and dance, and then I'd even offered up the Xiao-family jewels! But here he was, acting like he was too good to dirty his dick with me. What was

with

this guy?! Just how exalted an opinion did he have of his precious media course?

I stood up and drilled him with my gaze, stamping my foot once in frustration. My voice was heated, and my deep brown eyes flashed. "Well, why do you say I can't pass the class anyway? I still have the final presentation. You said we could earn extra credit! Was that a lie?"

He chuckled derisively. "So, you think you're capable of not only acing the presentation, but earning extra credit as well? Did you even listen to what I said in class? To earn extra credit, students have to

immerse

themselves in their performances. They have to really touch the audience in some way. They have to build intimate connections with their fellow actors. They have to explore the social-relevance of the scene in a profound way. You, my dear, are nothing more than a lazy, manipulative cheat. Best face facts: you simply don't have that kind of depth."

"That shows how much you know, professor! Mr. Baines has been very complementary of my work. I know I can earn enough points!"

"Ah, so that's your game. Yes, I'm sure you have Zack twisted around your little finger. But I've got bad news for you. I've just decided that

I'll

be grading the presentations in your section. Zack's been working hard this semester; he needs a day off."

My blood was boiling. I didn't know what to say. He wasn't wrong—I'd always figured my ace-in-the-hole was that I could squeeze any extra margin I needed out of the weak-willed TA. But even so, Shafer's air of disdain and moral superiority was infuriating.

I choked down the tirade that I wanted to unleash on him. Anything I said or did now would only make it worse. "Well then, good! I will see you on Friday." I pivoted on my heel and fled the office.

"I just can't

wait

to see your performance," he called after me sardonically.

* * * * *

Friday came, and I found myself hunched down in the back row of the theater, wrapped up in my overcoat like armor, despite the balmy May weather outside. My chest was tight, and there was a lump in my throat.

The theater was small, probably used for drama classes, but there were more than enough seats for the thirty-odd students in our section to spread out in small clumps. I had the row to myself.

The room was dark, except for the brilliantly-lit stage, which projected out into the audience. A group was up there now, just finishing and taking their bows. True to his word, Professor Shafer had shown up in Zack's place to grade the performances. "Thank you...," he called out dryly, "that was an, ah, fascinating interpretation of

Keeping Up with the Kardashians

in all its sophistication and nuance... Now then, moving on to our final presentation, we have Lisa Xiao."

Pulling my hand out from under my coat, I rose stiffly and walked down the aisle. The big red globes of my pendant earrings bumped up against my neck, feeling cold against my skin. Erica Fan glared daggers at me as I passed. She and I had been planning to do a scene from

Sex and the City

, but I'd bailed on her after my meeting with Dr. Shafer. I knew that sketch just wouldn't do what I needed it to. She'd ended up having to beg her way into a part as the Central Perk barista in

Friends

and she wasn't happy about it.

Having mounted the steps, I dragged a cot over from the wings to the center of the stage. I positioned a small table and a folding-panel screen next to it. Then I rolled a prop-door over to one side of the whole ensemble. That done, I hesitated at mid-stage, feeling very alone.

Gulp. Was I really going to do this?

Shafer sat in the front row, looking a bit pompous. "Well, Ms. Xiao, what do you have for us? A one-woman show, I presume?" He played it straight, but I knew he was mocking me.

"Um, not quite. Actually, I-I need a partner. Would anyone like to volunteer? A guy?"

I stared out at the scattering of bored faces. They'd already done their bit—none of them wanted to get up on stage again. A few of the girls saw it as their job in life to be 'nice,' and they might have felt obligated to help me out, if I hadn't already let them off the hook. But none of the boys showed any sign of moving. Most of them were just waiting for me to finish so they could get a head-start on the weekend. The rest were too shy to put themselves out there unless they absolutely had to.

Well, that was exactly what I'd planned. I didn't give them any time to change their minds. "So, Dr. Shafer, maybe you'd be willing to help me? It was really your book that inspired my choice of scene."

(In true douchebag-professor style, he'd assigned us to buy his own $60 snoozer—

Confidence: American Culture's Infatuation with Swindlers, Crooks, and Con-Artists

. Blah, blah, blah...)

The prof was taken aback by my unusual request. "Ms. Xiao, it's hardly appropriate," he replied defensively. "It was your responsibility to join or organize a group beforehand. I don't even know the part..."

"Yes, sir," I said buoyantly, "I prepared cards, but... actually, you

do

know the part! The scene is from

The Grifters

. You wrote about that film so masterfully in your book—I'm sure it would be easy for an expert like you..."

He looked torn. He didn't want to be seen backing down from a challenge. But obviously there were all kinds of reasons he should say no—for starters, because it really wasn't appropriate. No, he was thinking, he ought to just stick it to me, keep his hands clean, and be done with it.

Figuring I'd better give him an extra nudge, I addressed him again, this time with a note of exaggerated concern in my voice: "Oh, but if it would be, you know,

uncomfortable

for you, then... [subtext: ...then you're basically a pussy]."

The pause lingered, and I held my breath. Would he bite? If not, my F was assured, and my ticket back to Hong Kong was already punched.

But I thought he would say yes. First off, he's a professor—they love to ham it up whenever possible. Second, this was his chance to flaunt his precious 'expertise.' And most important, his ego was on the line. Surely he wouldn't want to look like he was too chicken to do the exact same thing he had just assigned his students to do?

At last he reached a decision: what harm could it be? He'd get to preen a bit before the semester was over, and then fail my ass back to China. Smiles all around. He stood and strode toward the stage, exuding a faint whiff of prima-donna,. "Fine, Ms. Xiao, although I expect this will negatively impact your grade. I'm playing John Cusack, I presume?"

"Um, not quite. You're the, uh, apartment manager, Joe."

I saw the wheels turning in his head at this one. A few snickers could be heard from the audience as well (I guess some ass-kissers had read the book). The casting had been rather cruel on my part, I must admit. Shafer had a bit of salt-and pepper in his full, wavy head of hair, and a few lines etched into the ruddy skin of his face, but otherwise he cut a rather pleasing specimen of brainy masculinity. He was nothing like the slobby super from the movie.

Anyway, none of that really mattered. The important thing was that he wasn't the star of this scene—I was.

I stripped off my long overcoat and tossed it onto the cot. Underneath I had on black panties and a lacy black push-up bra, covered by a gauzy black camisole. At this racy reveal, the other students sat up in their seats, eyes widening a little, boredom instantly dispelled.

It occurred to me that, now that the thing was actually happening, I had stopped feeling nervous. And really, what did I have to be nervous about anyway? I took a quick glance down at my body. I was young, trim, and fit. Not perfect, of course, but damn fine. Plus, I thought, Americans seem to think Asian girls are all tiny and flat-chested, but I fill out a bra better than Annette Bening.

Savoring this feeling of confidence, I gazed out at the audience again. Before acting the piece, we were supposed to comment on its cultural significance. "This scene is from

The Grifters

, released in 1990, directed by Stephen Frears. I am Lisa Xiao, and I will be playing the glamourous con-artist, Myra Langtry. Professor Shafer will be playing Joe the Manager. In this scene, Joe comes to Myra's apartment to collect the rent."

"Although it was filmed long, long ago," I continued, "I chose this scene because it speaks to the present moment of our society, and perplexing questions about power and agency. Youth, attraction, sex—are these a source of power, or victimization? Does everything have a price? Who is grifting who, and how can we tell? I hope you will find much to think about in this timeless story."

Then I turned to Shafer, all business. "So, we'll pick up the scene when you knock at my apartment door... Oh, and as director, I will let you know when to stop. Until then, I want you to go with it... that is, unless you find any part of it upsetting, of course."

The man was uncharacteristically mute. Setting his jaw, he crossed to the outside of the prop-door and rapped on it.