You walk into my office clutching your lecture notes like a lifeline, the little jade bracelet on your wrist clinking as you nervously fidget with it. A rural university is a long way from the metropolitan East Asian landscape in which you grew up and the urban, Western European world of your university years. I can see it in your eyes: culture shock, bewilderment, the quiet fear of not belonging . . . You stammer as you report on your first week of classes as a new adjunct professor. Your voice tightens when you mention your research grant application stuck in red tape.
I lean back in my leather chair, boots propped on the desk, and let my eyes drag up your body: the blouse straining over your slight breasts, your slender hips silhouetted under your pencil skirt . . . You shift your weight uncomfortably as if trying to hide. You flinch almost imperceptibly when I call you over to the desk, but you come, your shoulder brushing mine when you lean in to look at the forms I’m pretending to review. I murmur that I can fast-track your grant, if you’re willing to put in a little extra effort. I watch you swallow hard. This is not about the grant, and we both know it.
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Looking for an Asian woman to play the young, isolated adjunct desperate to prove herself to the burly, much older, slightly bigoted, laconic dean who’s never been with an Asian. Power dynamics, slow consensual manipulation, and steamy age-gap tension — shoot me a message if you are ready to dive in.