Page 3 of Tempting the President
The first page looks innocuous enough—standard header, title (“Psychological Dynamics of Power Exchange in Contemporary Relationships”), Annie’s name. Nothing alarming there.
Page two contains a fairly standard introduction about how relationships involve complex psychological interplay, how traditional gender roles are being reimagined in modern contexts, blah blah blah.
And then I flip to page three, where Annie Steele, my quiet, thoughtful student who always sits in the second row and takes meticulous notes, has written a detailed analysis of the appeal of “motorcycle club alpha males” and their psychological effect on “repressed academic women.”
Complete with case studies.
Detailed case studies that sound suspiciously like every romance novel I’ve ever read and every fantasy I’ve ever had and every reason I hide my Kindle when people come over.
“It seems she’s been interviewing women...” I manage to say, trying to sound professionally detached rather than personally attacked.
“What else?” Patrizio prompts, and there’s something in his voice that makes me glance up sharply.
“And asking them about their fantasies involving...dangerous men.”
“Apparently she finds the psychology fascinating.”
Ignore it, Jayne.
“Something about the contrast between public control and private submission.”
Ignore the way he’s looking at you like you’re someone so fascinating...someone to demand public control and private submission from.
I hastily flip through more pages, but this only backfires since I end up being confronted with even more of Annie’s mortifyingly accurate research about “intelligent women who present themselves as independent and self-sufficient” and their involuntary response to “alpha males in positions of authority.”
Every scenario his sister’s analyzed sounds exactly like something I’ve read. Reread. And possibly dreamed about on more than one occasion.
“I...I don’t know what to say. She’s never submitted anything like this—”
“Would you have accepted it if she did?”
Would I?
A paper this explicit, this detailed about sexual psychology and submission fantasies?
“I’m afraid it would have been inappropriate for undergraduate coursework.”
“Exactly. So she writes sanitized versions for you and keeps the real research to herself.”
‘Real’ is the last word I’d use to describe this kind of research.
Not because it’s inaccurate.
But because it’s exactly that.
Too uncomfortably accurate, especially for someone like me who can identify with every woman in every scenario Annie’s written about.
“Do you think she’s writing about what she’s observed?” I ask, trying to maintain professional composure when what I really want to do is slam the paper face-down on my desk and never look at it again.
“How would she—”
“Perhaps there’s a woman she knows who presents herself as independent and self-sufficient. A professor like you, for instance—”
“Excuse me?”
“Hypothetically speaking, of course,” Patrizio clarifies lazily.
Riiiight.
