I walked down the hall of the literature building in my cutest outfit--a white button up blouse with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows, a short straight maroon skirt, white knee socks, and black ankle boots. The blouse was a bit see-through, and I was not wearing a bra. It had to be this way if my plan was going to work.
I turned left, passing a guy wearing headphones. He made eye contact with my nipples for a brief second before turning his head away respectfully.
When I arrived at my professor's office the door was closed. I took a brief moment to steel myself for what was to come. I just had to look cute, bat my eyelashes a bit, and he would change my grade to a C. Easy.
I knocked. "Come in," he said. I opened the door and stepped inside as confidently as I could. He sat behind his desk, a stack of papers in front of him. He held a red pen in his right hand. He was handsome, with a square jaw and a five o'clock shadow, maybe in his late thirties or early forties.
I stood there for a second, letting him take in my outfit before sitting across from him. "Hannah," he said, "I'm surprised to see you here given the fact that you haven't shown up for class in a week."
"Sorry, Dr. Smith," I said. "I was just embarrassed because I'm failing your class."
"Yes, I had noticed that. It seems you have a problem turning essays in on time."
"Yes, I do, sir. It's very hard for me. I was wondering if you might make an exception to your late policy for me?" I put my small breasts forward a little as I said this.
He looked right at them, and then up to my face again. "Perhaps," he said, "Your writing is very good, particularly that essay you wrote on your experiences being transgender." I smiled. "But I have to warn you, all this cutesy stuff isn't going to work on me, Hannah. Yes, I know what you're trying to pull. I'm very disappointed in you."
My stomach dropped. "I don't know what you mean, Sir."
"I think you need to be put in your place." He produced a piece of notebook paper and a pen and handed them to me. "You are going to write 'I will not act like a little whore' until this page is full, front and back, with neat handwriting."
"You can't make me write that," I said.
"Would you prefer I talked to the dean instead?"
"No, Sir." Reluctantly I started writing. He watched me like a hawk as I wrote.
When I reached the second to last line Dr. Smith told me to stop. "Sign it on the last line," he said. I did so and handed it to him. He set it on the desk facing himself.
"Can I go?" I asked.
