Not that it seemed to make any difference to Professor Jones. He ushered her into his office, and directed her to sit. He took the paper from her and busily started to read. A smile seemed to creep across his face, and he quickly began scribbling some notes in the margin.
“Is something wrong? Or funny?” she asked uneasily.
“On the contrary,” he quickly replied, “I think you’ve done an excellent job developing that theme we discussed last week.”
And with that, he began to analyze the work, offering critiques, commentaries, cautions and congratulations. He seemed very enthused.
“But, having said all of that,” he continued, “Your conclusions leave me totally confused.”
This sudden criticism caught her by surprise, and for once she let her seductive demeanor slip.
“What do you mean? The way I see it…” and she launched into a lengthy exposition of her ideas, carefully qualifying and clarifying her statements in response to his questions and suggestions. She supported her arguments by referring to various hypotheses and analytical frameworks they had studied in class as though this was the most natural thing in the world, and she added perspective with examples she drew from class readings.
“I see,” said Jones, staring vacantly at the ceiling. He blinked, and turned to her suddenly. “Well that makes perfect sense. Why didn’t you just write that in the first place?”
And faced with that simple question, she found herself lost for words.
Eventually she stammered, “I…um…I did write that. Um…didn’t I?”
But Professor Jones smiled, shook his head, and handed back her paper.
“Bring me the final draft on Monday. Oh, and don’t forget: you are an extraordinary student, and an extraordinary woman.”
Saturday night was a tense one. This last opportunity to write the paper, and to meet with the professor, was upon her. Her recent efforts with the paper had obviously fallen short of the standards her professor set, but at least she seemed to have made some progress in that direction. Her seduction attempts, however, seemed an unmitigated failure. Nevertheless, she was pretty sure she would still fail the class unless she was able to give the Professor some additional “encouragement” to pass her.
Despite all of this, there was another issue that kept gnawing at her. The criticism Professor Jones made of her paper had seemed unfair. For all his kind words and gentle encouragement, the guy just wouldn’t give her credit for any of her insights or arguments. With a jaded sigh she reread the previous draft to confirm her suspicions.
As she read her paper, however, something unexpected began to happen. Immersing herself in the process, she soon found that her focus improved. In no time, her mind was whirring at millions of miles an hour, reworking phrases, refining her logic, tightening her arguments. And the criticisms Professor Jones had made became clearer and easier to understand. It was true, the arguments she was presenting were good; but her conclusions were loose and poorly presented. There were gaps in her logic. She often failed to produce convincing evidence. But remarkably, all these issues she confidently addressed, correcting and improving the paper markedly before sleep finally took her in the early morning hours.
On Sunday she spent the day relaxing with her children for the first time in months.
Monday saw her rise early to prepare for her final meeting with Professor Jones. She wore open toed shoes this time, and stockings that were admittedly slightly slutty. A garter belt couldn’t hurt. And a short, tight-fitting dress with a low neckline. Her paper lay on the table, printed the previous evening.
“Professor Jones, I can’t begin to tell you how overwhelmingly grateful I am that you’ve given me the opportunity to rewrite my paper,” she gushed as she entered his office. “It means the world to me. You’ve been so kind, and so encouraging, and I don’t know how I can possibly repay you.” Her eyes were locked on his, hoping to discern whether he was finally going to show any kind of appreciation of the way she was dressed, or the way she held herself out to him, or of the desperation in her eyes.
But Jones was as implacable as ever. He reached for her paper, saying, “You’re an extraordinary student, and I’m anxious to see what you have been able to accomplish.”
It seemed like hours that he spent pouring over the paper. He made an occasional mark, a note or two in the margin. But eventually he came to the end of the paper, closed his eyes for a moment, before scribbling a final few words and a grade at the end of the paper. He handed the paper back to her.
She read the note. The words were familiar. “You are an extraordinary student, and an extraordinary woman. And you have written an extraordinary paper. Grade: A+.”
She felt elated, jubilant. She wanted to scream. She was tempted to throw her arms around the professor, to share her joy, but something in his reserved, though friendly, demeanor calmed her. She simply chanted a litany of thanks.
Jones seemed oblivious to her gratitude.
“Before you go, I wonder if we might discuss another rather…ah…delicate matter?”
Immediately she fell silent, listening intently for the delicate matter to be named.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Her brow wrinkled, and she wondered whether she was about to be subjected to some religious propaganda. But the professor pressed on.
“Seriously, why would you come to college at all, if not to challenge yourself, to challenge your mind, to think in new ways?”
She nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of his statement while struggling to understand its relevance.
“And yet,” Jones continued, “When I asked you to rework this paper, your inclination was to shy away from that challenge, and to rely on familiar strengths to carry the day. Your thought that your beauty, your intense sexuality, your seductive, sensual nature were more likely to earn you a passing grade than your brain.”
She knew his statement was true, but she longed to deny it. Nevertheless, the professor’s voice projected the truth in a tone that defied contradiction.
“So, what have you learned?”
She hesitated, impulsively shrugging her shoulders in the hope of avoiding the professor’s scrutiny. It didn’t work. He fixed his eyes on hers and repeated the question.
“What did you learn?”
Under his steady gaze, she worked up the courage to offer a shaky-voiced reply.
“That my ideas, my thoughts, my arguments…my MIND…are worthy of respect… DEMAND respect…”
As an enormous smile broke across her face, and a real tear welled in her eye, she couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Professor Jones congratulated he once more on an excellent paper, and bade her farewell.
It wasn’t until later in the evening, after her children were in bed and she’d treated herself to a couple of glasses of wine, that she reflected on the morning’s events. Foremost in her mind was the relief that she’d avoided the threat of academic probation. But this thought was currently being overshadowed by the pride she felt in her paper, and in the praise she’d received from Professor Jones. She laughed. Somehow, he had known she had it in her all along. He had appreciated her ability even before she had, and he’d prodded her and pushed her and encouraged her to discover that ability. Maybe it was the wine working it’s magic, but she was beginning to feel a real affection for her instructor.