She swept her arm across the conference table, scattering rubrics with wild abandon. “Take me,” she cried. Like a pedagogical panther, she climbed on the table and spread her body across the painstakingly collected papers. She licked her lips, which tasted of Burt’s Bees. “I want you to use me until I’m as raw as this data.”
Her colleague grinned lasciviously and undraped her pashmina. “I love a woman who makes her goals explicit.”
“Do you remember the safe word?” she asked as she tightened the last of the leather straps binding him to the bench.
“Yes,” he said, shivering with anticipation. “Do it. I want you to hurt me.”
“Oh, I will,” she smirked. She reached into her tote bag and removed a spreadsheet, holding it tantalizingly out of his reach. “Do you see this data?” she demanded. “It’s a mess.”
“Ohh. How bad is it?” he gasped.
“So bad. Very, very bad. See this column? Several departments were not in compliance with the strategic plan. And this? These outcomes aren’t remotely quantifiable.”
He groaned with delight.
“But the worst of all,” she purred, striding closer on her sensible Clarks, “is the feedback we received from the Humanities. Some of the older faculty… tenured, full professors… refused to perform an assessment at all.”
“But!” he gulped. “But they put everyone’s accreditation at risk!”
She shook her head. “They don’t seem to care. In fact, do you know what they said?”
“No, mistress!” he panted.
“They said…” She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “They said, ‘Isn’t that what grades are for?’”
“Ooooooooooaaaaaaagh,” he exploded in a climax of ecstatic pain. “Stop! No more! Trivium! Trivium!”
At the committee retreat, all the way across campus in the alumni pavilion, the air was sultry. The social scientist’s shirt clung to his chest as he reached for a cherry scone.
“Are they worth the calories?” asked a deep voice behind him.
He turned and saw a colleague from another division, a devastatingly handsome man from a STEM department. He’d noticed the STEM guy, his physique barely concealed beneath his Gap shirts and chinos, at faculty meetings, but had been too shy to speak to him.
STEM hottie smiled coyly. “Sorry, I should examine my assumptions. You just look like you take care of your body, just like you took care of those criteria this morning.”
“Well,” the soc replied, his hand lingering on the pastry, “carb consumption has been shown to improve performance.”
STEM guy leaned forward, close enough for the soc professor to inhale his scent of grant money and dry-erase markers, and their hands briefly but deliberately stroked one another as he took a bear claw. “I’d love to see your documentation on that. Maybe we could collect some systematic evidence together later. Say, back at my place? I have LaCroix.”
With each PowerPoint slide, his subcommittee partner’s caresses became more and more aggressive. Everyone’s eyes were riveted to the presentation; no one noticed her hand in his lap.
“Finally, we developed the following best practices,” said the presenter, gesturing to a list of bullet points just slightly too small to read. Her fingers gripped him tightly and he suppressed a moan.
The presenter reviewed each point; each time she said the words “actionable” or “quantifiable,” his partner’s strokes became faster, more urgent. The presentation was building, building. He squirmed, barely able to contain his pleasure.
“In conclusion,” said the presenter, clicking to the final slide, “we recommend that these practices become mandatory.”
He bit down hard on his mechanical pencil to stifle his cry as he achieved full compliance.
She broke off their kiss and leaned back on the mattress. “It’s time to implement an action plan. You’ve been thoroughly evaluated and accredited. Now, at last, I want you to embed your values within my institution.”
He unzipped his pleated khakis slowly. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to operationalize your body,” he murmured.
Just then, the door opened, and another woman entered, wearing nothing but a lightweight J. Crew cardigan. “I hope you haven’t convened without me,” she cooed.
He looked in confusion at the woman on the bed. “You don’t mind, do you, that I invited a friend to join us?” she asked. “Think of her as an external consultant.”
He grinned and gestured the newcomer toward the bed. “Please, I welcome your input.”
Their lovemaking was a purposeful, integrated, and collaborative process. They clutched at each other as they neared climax. “Close the loop! Close the loop!” the external reviewer cried.
Together they expressed their outcomes, over and over, all night long.