I was gathering my gear and preparing to move to another session at an international conference of ecologists, when Dana D., an intriguingly attractive older professor on the gender and ecology panel that I had just sat through, walked straight over to me, stuck out her hand, and introduced herself.
She was a rock star in the field. I felt flattered and curious. Why was she approaching me? I'm nobody in the field, an unknown postdoc, still toiling away in obscurity.
"That was a really interesting paper," I said. "I'm pursuing similar research. I'd love to get your advice sometime."
"Really?" she said, with an ironic smile. "It looked like you spent the whole hour undressing me with your eyes."
"I, uh, um," I stammered, unable to come up with a quick comeback lie. I had in fact been undressing her in my mind. The other speakers were terminally boring. And I couldn't help but wonder what was under her tight black miniskirt and what was straining her white silk blouse and black vest.
"Meet me in my room in fifteen minutes and you can spend the next hour undressing me with your hands," she said quietly but deliberately, handing me her card, and shaking my hand.
"It was very nice to meet you," she said in a louder more formal voice. She turned and walked away and was quickly surrounded by other conference goers.
I saw that her card had a four-digit number in bold pen on the back. I put it in the pocket of my blazer as my heart pounded and a strange high frequency buzz filled my ears. What had I just gotten myself into? D. is a famous senior scientist in my field. She holds an endowed chair at a prestigious private university on the East Coast. I'm a lowly postdoc at a public university out west. I took a deep breath and counted to ten, and then did it again. I leaned against the wall and watched her work the room on her way out. I looked at my watch.
Should I actually do it? What if I didn't? Would she be mad? Take it out on me in some way? I watched her talking with a group of grad students. Probably not. She might even forget all about me in a day or two. But I'd die of curiosity if I didn't do this.
I saw her leave the room. I waited for a moment and then followed. I didn't see her in the corridor. I checked my watch. Twelve minutes had gone by. I saw some friends between me and the elevators, so I got out my phone and pretended to be on a call as I passed by them with a nod and stepped into an elevator going up. I punched the button for the thirty-fourth floor. I was alone in the elevator. I took a deep breath. I hadn't felt this nervous since my first date in high school. I checked myself in the mirror. I wondered what she saw in me. More likely she just picked up on my interest in her. I'd never had a conference affair before, though everybody talks about them so nonchalantly. I wondered how many she had.
Right on time, I knocked on the door of room 3415. She opened it and gestured into the sitting room of the suite. "Come in," she said brightly. There was a sweeping view of the city and the river to the west, clouds floated by in the golden light of late afternoon. I felt like I was floating among them as I walked into the room.
She gestured to a chair. "Take off your jacket and have a seat," she said.
"Um," I started awkwardly.
"Don't say a word," she said. "I've had enough talking for the day."
I draped my jacket over the back of the chair and sat down.
She walked over to the desk and opened a small pouch, the kind they give passengers in business class, and pulled out the sleep mask. She came back over to me and slipped it over my head, covering my eyes.
"Use your hands now," she said.
