I grabbed some sushi and a cup, mingling for a bit.The RA joined me on his couch to chat, while constantly, constantly refilling my cup.The party started to dwindle, and I made to go, but he suggested that another student and I join him in his study to view some art.With the other student studying the painting, the RA started to snake his arm up my shirt and around my midriff, all while pontificating on the origins and meaning of the work.In some ways, sex between students and their professors is part of the mythology of academia. The scenario typically involves a young female student seduced by her older and more knowledgeable teacher.Historically, male professors have considered a campus full of available young women a perk of academia.
Understandably, I never returned to his room after that humiliation, and as he graduated that year and took a post-doc in a different city, I assumed I’d never see him again.
I returned to my dorm room on cloud nine—drunk on sake and proud that I had finally caught the unicorn of undergraduates: I’d gotten naked with an RA.
I spilled all to my roommates, who did not react the way I had imagined.
I agreed, and met him there, only to be turned down due to being nineteen.
We returned to his room to chat—a trek full of espionage and fire stairs to remain unseen—and I noticed a slew of text messages from my roommates.