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https://www.dailycal.org/2014/12/02/slept-professor/ 1/4
7/3/2019 So, I slept with my professor | The Daily Californian
I n her seminal essay, “Feminist Accused of Sexual Harassment,” prominent professor and
feminist Jane Gallop offers an explanation of the sexual harassment charges brought upon her by
two female students. She argues that current conduct codes existing in U.S. universities enforce a
CAMPUS, NEWS
UC Berkeley increases Cal 1
Card replacement fee to help
policy of silence and restriction that thwart all potentially meaningful sexuality between students
cover operational costs
and teachers. In attempting to justify her own sexual relationships with students, though, Gallop
ignores the ultimately protective function of such policies.
CITY
The inherent power dynamics involved with any master-apprentice relationship are such that some Berkeley raises minimum
erotic advances may only be accepted out of intimidation or fear of negative consequences to grades. wage to $15.59, citing
People can hardly handle sex with peers, let alone with authority figures, so this impediment to employment statistics after
“natural sexuality” is an obvious side effect of larger security measures against sexual harassment. In previous increase
many ways, Gallop embodies a characteristically French sexuality that is unfortunately and
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impossibly lost in translation in the United States.
Year in review: Cal men’s
Her notion of the eroticism of education, however, is a fascinating one and is an arguably universal basketball alumnus Ryan
phenomenon. While navigating positions of power and dom-sub dynamics can be tricky, a sexual Anderson faces uncertain
relationship between consenting adults can be incredibly fruitful when teaching and learning are future
also involved.
STOPPAGE TIME
W hen my professor walked in on the first day of class in all his statuesque glory, wearing a
half-buttoned Oxford shirt and chalk-covered slacks, I nearly dropped my pants on the
spot. “Love at first sight,” I claimed — I’m that type. Flash forward four months:
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“Being with you is a gift,” he said as he stroked the hair that fell down my naked back. I lay on my
stomach as we both looked out onto the street at the unfortunate passers-by who weren’t lovers like
us. “You’re perfect.”
I knew it was in the cards for me when our knees touched during office hours. I asked him about
Hegel, he got up to close the door — not all the way, but ajar. “Go on.” He walked me home after our
second meeting. By the third, I was dreaming about him. I’d come to class far past Berkeley time,
visibly sulking, “Sorry.” He’d send emails, “I appreciate how your mind works.” I’d reply, “I need to
see you outside of class.” Never once did I feel sexual pressure on his part; every one of our intimate
encounters, I initiated.
I’d had one too many glasses of wine the night I fell into his lap. He drove me home, we kissed on my
sofa, went back to his later on. I never expected that a one-night stand with my professor would turn
into something so spectacular. “Our bodies were made for each other,” he’d tell me. We could talk
for hours and never sleep. We’d talk about love and death and literature, and it was beautiful. Our
secret bore so much wrong from the outside but was so perfect from our perspective.
Yes, he was in charge of my grades, but we both knew I’d have gotten an A regardless. What started
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out as a typical teacher fetish turned into one of the deeper relationships I’ve ever sustained with a
Confused
person. The age difference didn’t pose a problem for us beyond Twitter and Bruce Springsteen.
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found that the power dynamic I was initially attracted to quickly dissolved in favor of a deeper
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understanding of him; I grew attracted to other things, and we grew connected on a level beyond a
student-teacher relationship.
We could discuss the same topics as in class but without the nagging sexual tension that existed
previously. “Making love” allowed us to integrate the erotic and the didactic into a single force that
hit me like a ton of bricks. “I miss you,” I wrote him when I eventually left the country. It was
fleeting, but it might have been love.
Boni Mata writes the weekly Sex on Tuesday column. You can contact her at sex@dailycal.org or
follow her on Twitter: @yungEwaste.
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7/3/2019 So, I slept with my professor | The Daily Californian
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