Page 3 of Teach Me (Deviant Players #1)

Chapter Two

I sat on the table in the last row, dangling my feet as I waited while Dr Braithwaite put his things into his leather satchel.

I knew his routine well. Too well, perhaps.

Not because I was a struggling student in constant need of his guidance, but because knowledge was power.

He’d taught me that on my first day at university.

The worn leather satchel once belonged to his father, a renowned psychiatrist still based at the University of Cambridge. It was sentimental to Dr Braithwaite, just as I treasured the ‘Psychologist in Progress’ coffee mug my grandmother had bought me when I was accepted to university.

There was still information I refused to learn about Dr Braithwaite, such as details of his personal life. Seeing him only as an academic authority figure made the time we spent in the same room almost bearable.

‘Are you going home for Christmas?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I grumbled.

‘Not a fan of the holidays anymore?’ He laughed softly. ‘Last year, you were quite excited about Christmas dinner.’

I leaned forward. ‘Why is everything a lesson with you?’

‘Life is full of lessons, Ophelia.’ He rested against the desk, his long legs only a few feet from my fuck-me boots. ‘What did Joshua say to you?’

I tugged on my short skirt. ‘He asked if I worked at a strip club.’

‘I see.’

His dismissive answer stung more than it should have. I stared at my lap. How stupid was I for dressing up for a man who took no interest in me?

‘Ophelia?’ His deep voice lifted my chin. Dr Braithwaite smiled. ‘Do you understand why I said your hypothesis is flawed?’

‘It’s not based on an opinion.’

‘It is, and there are two issues we must address before you make amendments. Firstly, why can’t you interview female participants?’

‘Because I’m studying the effect of pornography on men ?’ Sarcasm rarely worked on him, and I cringed inwardly from his stern stare. ‘You asked me to specify a form of sexual deviancy to narrow my research. I did what you wanted, but it’s still wrong?’

‘Because your hypothesis is based on a misguided opinion. Don’t you see that?’

Annoyed with him and his insistent questions, I blurted, ‘Even if I can find a woman who claims she’s happy to serve a man no matter how depraved his demands are, her behaviour would be a cover – a coping mechanism because of childhood sexual abuse – and allowing for those factors will skew my data when my focus is on the harmful effects of pornography.

’ I paused, breathless. ‘Its effect on men . Not women.’

‘Are you claiming childhood sexual abuse is the only reason a woman could enjoy acts such as degradation?’ He tilted his head, his probing gaze daring me to reveal old wounds I wanted to pick at with this deep dive into abnormal sexual behaviour.

‘No, I’m saying men’s sexual deviancy is shaped by early exposure to hardcore pornography.

Women’s sexuality is limited by societal norms and gender roles enforced upon us since childhood.

The world wouldn’t let us be sexual deviants.

’ I huffed, looking around the empty auditorium. ‘Not for long, anyway.’

‘How so?’

I crossed my legs and smirked. ‘Do you remember our discussion about Freud, the founding father of fake orgasms?’

That earned me a tiny smile. ‘We have come a long way since then. Orgasms – whether clitoral, vaginal, or otherwise – are recognised as an important part of a woman’s health and well-being.’

‘Maybe we don’t lock away women for their sexual urges anymore, but pornography, strip clubs, prostitution, and even phone sex lines are tailored to men, Doctor Braithwaite.

They’re the largest consumers. Men are exposed to content depicting unhealthy, even dangerous sexual preferences and consequently act them out in the real world. Women don’t do that.’

He pursed his lips in thought. ‘Why do you believe they don’t act them out?’

‘Why?’ I laughed in disbelief. ‘Because we don’t. Men do. Men can . They don’t face the same consequences we do. Even if there is a woman with no history of sexual abuse who willingly allows a man to perform degrading sexual acts on her, she’d be a unicorn and impossible to catch.’

‘A unicorn.’ His low laugh spread warmth through my body, and I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my face.

I often tried to make him laugh, wanting him to see me as more than just another psychology graduate student thirsty for the most controversial research topic.

Lord knows I had tried to make mine as contentious as possible to get his attention – a decision I sometimes regretted since it meant talking about sex when we were alone together.

But I enjoyed our conversations. I looked forward to them, even when he challenged me.

He was open-minded, and no subject was off-limits with him.

He handled discussions about the criminal justice system with the same professionalism as deep conversations about rough sex.

I was the one who couldn’t stop flushing.

Feeling hot again under his blazing gaze, I studied the small tear in my sheer tights, reminding myself why I was staying on campus this Christmas rather than heading home to enjoy my mother’s cooking.

Since the start of the semester, I’d dedicated long hours in the library to studying gender roles, social norms, and sexual disorders before finally deciding to write my master’s dissertation on male sexual deviancy and its links to hardcore pornography.

I thought Dr Braithwaite approved my hypothesis and research methods the last time I saw him.

It didn’t appeal to start again, even if it meant spending time alone with him to work out these kinks in my study.

My goal was to get a distinction for my master’s and then move on to a doctorate, not to shag the hottest lecturer on campus and end my career before it started.

‘There’s no way I’ll find a woman willing to admit that she enjoys degradation,’ I said, twisting my hands in my lap. ‘She doesn’t exist.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because we just don’t get the same satisfaction out of sex as men.’

Dr Braithwaite laughed, low and deep, the sexiest sound I’d ever heard. ‘Is that so?’

‘I meant degradation!’ The last thing I needed was to end up in a debate with him about my sexual history. Again. ‘I’m not saying sex isn’t great for women as well, but we can live without it. We haven’t started wars because of it. Thanks to pornography, we’re often better off doing it?—’

I snapped my mouth shut. As always, I’d divulged more than I should have.

His brow lifted.

I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to shift the focus. ‘My point is that men are more distracted and controlled by sex. Pornography has taught them that their satisfaction is more important than ours.’

I uncrossed my arms and gripped the edges of the table. Why did he have to stare at me like that? As if he not only knew how often I’d been left hanging, but wanted to correct other men’s mistakes. He didn’t. It was all in my head.

‘The orgasm gap between men and women is huge, even today,’ I continued. ‘Men are also more likely to cheat because they need sex more than we do. Pornography is responsible for their behaviour and this trend of increased sexual deviance.’

He tilted his head, appearing amused by my rambling and fidgeting. ‘Women can also be unfaithful.’

‘Yes, but…’ I blew out a breath. Damn this man’s ability to scramble my brain. ‘We cheat for different reasons. Our emotional needs aren’t met, so we look for intimacy elsewhere. Despite what men believe, it’s rarely about the sex.’

He smiled. ‘Clever girl.’

His praise warmed my cheeks. My leg bounced nervously as I waited for his counterargument. He always had one.

‘But women can also cheat because their sexual needs aren’t met, Ophelia. They can also have a strong libido. They can enjoy pornography, casual sex, and even what you’ve dubbed sexual deviancy. There’s a whole lifestyle catered to those needs, one which is based on trust, consent, and?—’

‘And rooted in childhood sexual abuse,’ I interjected. ‘Countless studies have shown women seek out dominant, sadistic men because of unresolved trauma. It’s an attempt to “heal” old wounds, which ultimately only leads to more trauma.’

He folded his arms and ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. ‘Which brings us to the second issue with your hypothesis. Do you know what it is?’

He wanted me to think critically, to question everything, even my thoughts and feelings, but all I could do was follow his index finger as he slowly stroked his chin.

I had spent far too many hours fantasising about his hands.

What would they feel like against my skin?

What would he do if I took that finger into my mouth and sucked?

‘Ophelia?’

I blushed. ‘Yes?’

‘You have a misconception about BDSM. It’s not rooted in trauma, or pornography, for that matter. Have you considered that you might be biased because of your own sexual dissatisfaction and inexperience?’

The heat in my cheeks roared into a blazing inferno. ‘What?’ I squeaked.

‘Be honest, Ophelia. Do you feel you’ve had a large orgasm gap in your previous relationships?’

‘I-I am not – that’s not?—’

‘Have you been free to explore your sexual desires with previous partners?’ His voice dipped to a deep rumble. ‘Did they fulfil your needs?’

‘I-I don’t…’ My stuttering elicited another of his secretive smiles.

‘My sex life is fine,’ I snapped, no doubt revealing myself as a liar.

‘It’s just common knowledge that men are more likely to have and act out on sexually deviant fantasies.

If women display similar behaviour, it’s usually rooted in trauma. ’

‘But are you so sure women can’t enjoy such acts without adverse childhood experiences that you’re willing to dismiss a large demographic? Don’t you see the limitations with your research?’