The Experiment

Fair warning: this story revolves around a discussion on feminism between a sociology and a philosophy professor inspired in part by a real discussion I've had with a colleague. This is a long story and this stuff plays a big role in it. If that's not your cup of tea, I suggest you try some of my other stories. On the other hand, it is one of my personal favorites.

Edited by: Pope1944. Thanks!

*

"At least you have to agree with me: everybody should be a feminist!" said my sociology colleague.

"No, I don't think so" I replied, sitting at my desk and looking at her with a small smile on my lips.

Heather, my colleague, sighed. "You know as well as I do that the goal of feminism isn't to give women more power than men. All feminists want is a world in which gender isn't a factor influencing the amount of power a person has. Feminism wants equality, no more, no less." Heather was now slightly flushed. She was taken completely by surprise by my position, and was gesticulating as she talked. I love taking people by surprise, and was enjoying the moment intensely.

"I do know that." I said. "But you're confusing two things here: feminism and feminists." I paused, taking a sip of my tea, trying to hide my grin. I knew I was going to win this and I could see in her eyes that she knew I had something up my sleeve.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to ignore the fact that she was stunningly beautiful. Her flushed skin only enhanced her beauty. I said "Look, it's the same issue with communism. Who doesn't want a political and social system in which everybody has equal rights and in which inequalities in circumstances from birth are balanced out by the system? Then again, look at how actual communist individuals have acted and communist states have turned out... There's a big difference between an idea, feminism or communism, and the people that try to make that idea a reality, feminists and communists. And so, while everybody should believe in feminism, not everybody should follow the feminists."

Heather remained expressionless as I stopped talking, but as I saw her slowly sitting back against her chair, I smiled, knowing I had won. She stared at the window for a few moments and I could see that she was furiously trying to find a way out of my argument. I could also see the shape of her breasts under her shirt, her superb breasts as they rose and fell with her deep breaths. I forced my eyes shut momentarily, not wanting to risk being distracted, and looked elsewhere.

Then Heather shifted on her chair, pushing her very generous breasts outwards, and my eyes darted back. I was 99% convinced that she was not, in fact, doing it on purpose. She was after all a hardcore feminist and would never try to use her physical gifts like this. Even though it was obvious that she had large and remarkable breasts, she never dressed to show them off. Even for cocktail parties here at college.

Looking back at her face, it was clear that she couldn't counter my argument. There was a very small fallacy in my last sentence, but she had missed it. Instead of leaving her stew like this for too long, I decided to let her off the hook and said "In any case, we've strayed from our initial question: is feminism, despite all its strengths, guilty of stifling romantic relationships, especially the early courting phase?"

Heather looked at me, a faint smile on her lips. She knew I had won, but saw that I was gracious enough to move on. "I still don't think so Jeremy. I know you think that it somehow shuns basic male instincts and forces men into weaker stances. I don't agree. In fact, I think that what you've called a weaker stance is only a stance that makes men focus on less vulgar aspects of women."

"Less vulgar?" I laughed. "Physical beauty isn't vulgar! There isn't a single part of the human body that is vulgar in itself, you know that!"

"Of course I do! But some cultures will make it so, and ours isn't an exception. So if men are allowed to comment on the big three, breasts, asses and genitalia, it will necessarily reinforce the poisonous idea that women are objects of desire."

I grinned. "Oh... you and the black & white arguments! Be careful Heather. First, it will not necessarily reinforce that notion. I will grant you that it could, it does for many men, but not always. Also, what if I compliment a woman's wit, creativity, intelligence, humour, or confidence?"

"Well, that's all very good!" she replied. I didn't know if she realized that they were all bright aspects of her own personality.

"Ok, then what if I find those traits highly desirable? What if I'm really turned on by intelligent and confident women? Wouldn't that also strengthen the idea that women are objects of desire?" Heather paused, a small smile on her lips. Before she could reply, I added "If you were single and a man courted you by complimenting these aspects of your personality, would you feel objectified?"

"No. Of course not."

"Even if that man found these qualities very desirable?" She just shook her head. "Now, what if a man courted you by complimenting your physical beauty?"

"Nah, that wouldn't work. I'm not just a slab of meat to be looked at and eaten!"

We both laughed at her accidental double entendre, but as I did an image quickly flashed in my head: Heather was sprawled on my desk, naked, and my face was buried between her legs, voraciously devouring her pussy. Before that image could unbalance me, I said "Isn't that just because you place your spirit above your body?"

"Of course! I was born with that body, but I cultivated that mind!"

"Yes, of course. Although I do see you at the gym often enough, and I know you eat very well, are careful to maintain a healthy diet. Also," I kept going, not letting her enough time to reply "I know of another system of belief that also decrees that the body is mere chaff while the spirit is the only thing that matters: the catholic church!"

Heather laughed "Ha! So that's why you used the word 'spirit' earlier... And I guess you used the catholic church because they're anti-women?" she laughed again as I nodded. "Well played, dear philosopher, well played. Nevertheless, in most cultures including our own, it's always demeaning to compliment a woman's body, however well intentioned the suitor, man or woman, may be."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"What?"

"I mean, I know you firmly believe that and that many men are actually very demeaning if not offensive and vulgar when complimenting a woman's body. But are you sure that it's always the case?"

"Oh damn, I said 'always', didn't I?" she smiled. "Actually I do mean it."

"Every time?"

"Near enough as to not make a difference."

"So you're convinced that all the men who compliment your body are treating you like an object and wanted nothing more than sex?"

"Oh yes. And you're not going to change my mind on that, mister."

When I paused, staring at her, Heather's head turned slightly. She knew I had something in mind and was curious. She let the silence hang a while longer, waiting for me to talk. It was a very peculiar silence, during which we stared at each other, small smiles all around. Finally I said "I propose an experiment. A socio-psychology experiment. Are you up for it?"

"I'm intrigued." she said cautiously. "What do you have in mind?"

"I'll grant you the fact that most men that compliment women on their bodies are in fact demeaning and contribute to the problematic issue of sexual objectification."

"Thank you." Heather said, still unsure of where I was going.

"Then again, it's not always the case."

"How do you intend on proving that? Want to recruit hundreds of students and try it out?"

"Not at all. Disproving an 'always' is a lot easier than that. All I need is one exception." As I finished, I realized that I was getting more and more nervous. My idea was a good one, and would be a lot of fun if she accepted, but it was still very unconventional.

"Find one girl who likes being told she's pretty? Pfff!" Heather laughed. "That won't prove anything Jeremy! Girls can be the victims of our culture in more ways than one, and being convinced that these compliments are important is one example of it."

"Ok then," I said, "what if I find a woman who is in fact convinced of the opposite? What if I can convince an intelligent feminist?"

"Convince such a feminist that compliments on physical attributes isn't objectifying?"

"Yep."

Heather looked outside again, thinking about my proposition. As she did, I added "Tell you what, I'll even go further. I'll also convince her that such compliments are a healthy part of courtship."

She looked at me, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Well I see one problem with your experiment. I think you could convince the desert that it's a sea."

I laughed. "What?"

"You're a very good debater! I wouldn't put it past you!" she laughed with me.

"Ok then, no arguments. No rhetoric either."

Heather frowned, trying to find what she had missed. "What are you going to do, then?"

"I told you! An experiment!" I grinned.

"On one woman?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And that woman would be me, I guess?" she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Heather and I disagreed on many thing, but she was clever.

"If you want, yes."

"What's the experiment?"

I took a deep breath and sat straighter in my chair. I took another sip of my tea and looked at her. I tried to gage the silence, and her expression as I made her wait a few moments. As I started talking, I wasn't sure if she would be up for it. "For one month, you'll allow me to make you all sorts of compliments. All sorts. In private of course. Now I know you have a boyfriend and in no way is this an attempt at a real seduction. But for the next four weeks, you'll let me make you the types of compliments that are now socially unacceptable. And you can end the experiment at any time."

"What? Are you serious?" Heather was clearly taken by surprise. "But that won't work at all!" she laughed. "While I'll be aware that this is just for the experiment, all it will achieve is that I'll try to avoid you, or else start to actually believe you're a pig!"

"I'll take that risk." I paused. "Are you in?"

Heather laughed. "Oh my gods! Lucky for you that philosophers don't need to get funding to do experiments, otherwise you'd lose your job!" She was looking at me, shaking her head slowly. "You're on! But if ever I start to believe that you're actually a misogynist pig, I'll end this."

"Deal!" I replied, smiling. "So no deep conversations between us about this until next month, no debates online either. I'm not going to try and convince you with arguments."

"Alright." she said, getting up. As she walked towards the door, I stared at her legs and waited a fraction of a second before looking up when she turned around. She didn't seem to notice anything. "You've got four weeks mister. Good," she paused, looking left and right in the corridor to make sure nobody was around, then finished by whispering "fucking luck!". I heard her laughing in the corridor as she walked away.

Sitting back at my desk, Heather's beautiful and grinning face still in my mind, I knew I had to make a plan. I'd known Heather for about ten years now, after having met while we were both students in another college. Nothing had ever happened between us, not even determined flirting from my part. Younger she had already been stunningly beautiful and now that she was older, her beauty had grown even more.

I know that most women didn't like to be called mature, especially not when it came to their looks. And Heather was not mature in the conventional sense of the word, being in her mid thirties like me. In fact, we were pretty much the youngest among our colleagues here. But while I remembered Heather's body from our college days as being remarkable, she had now physically matured in the sense that her body had ripened. Some girls reach their physical beauty peak at eighteen, some even younger.

Heather was not one of those girls. She was now in full bloom, a ravishing combination of a solid core and generous curves. I did see her at the gym often enough, and knew what she was capable of both on the elliptical and in the weight room. Yet despite this strength, her breasts, hips and thighs were powerful in another way. Even her belly had a nice smooth curve despite her sit-ups. Like most men I loved Gal Gadot, but when I see Heather at the gym, she looks the living embodiment of what Wonder Woman should look like. She usually kept her long dark hair in a sever bun when at work, but I had seen them loose a few times in the past. Finally, while all this would certainly make most men turn around to watch her walk by, her pale green eyes would make their breath catch in their throat.

Heather had never had trouble finding boyfriends, but those boyfriends had been the source of a longstanding running gag between me and a couple of friends. Heather, systematically, chose weak men. She clearly had to be the dominating partner. I'm pretty sure the men in her life didn't mind. Heck, I don't think I would either! And her current boyfriend, with which she'd been for more than a year now, wasn't an exception. I've met him three times now, once during a dinner at Heather's place. Nice guy, sweet and quite handsome, but not the type to ever challenge her on intellectual grounds. In fact, he was the typical athletic type, spending more time in the gym than reading.

Finding compliments for her would not be hard, but I had to devise a plan to make sure I didn't spook her or go too far too fast. I was pretty sure my plan was going to work. Not because I was confident in my ability to seduce, but because I knew her very well. Some feminists truly believed, to their core, that a woman's body should only serve basic biological functions and nothing more. But even though Heather dressed very conservatively, both in and out of our workplace, I had seen her looking at herself at the gym. Just as I had seen her adjusting her skirt's hem or neckline, the first one upwards and the other downwards, when she thought nobody was looking at her.

I didn't doubt her convictions about the deep issues on women's rights in our culture. Nor did I doubt the fact that she was honest and authentic when she took part and even organized demonstrations about it. I simply thought, like I believed myself, that Heather didn't really believe that being a feminist automatically meant that a woman's body could never be a source of pride, or play a role in romantic courting. In my mind, any philosophy that forced you to repress or stifle an integral part of yourself was automatically suspect. Not wrong, necessarily, but suspect. And I believed, I hoped, that Heather felt the same way.

During the week following our conversation, I didn't say anything out of the ordinary. I could see that she was on guard, watching me, her radar on full alert for anything remotely inappropriate. I was very careful not to trigger that alarm. Instead, I took every opportunity I could to change how I moved around her. I consciously stood a few inches closer than I was used to, made sure to orient my body towards her when we talked in a group, sat closer to her, placed my knee very close to hers so that she would accidentally touch me when she moved, and so on.

Heather was the treasurer in our union, and sat at the front table during our reunions. Usually when I needed to talk to her, I squatted down next to her chair, but this week I decided to sit on the desk. This change altered the dynamic of the encounter only slightly, but that's what I wanted for this first week. The only more overt move I made was a wink at the end of that union meeting.

As I was leaving she turned her head to look at me, and I winked at her as I smiled. Had I been sitting in the class and winked at her for no reason, that would have been a bit more obvious than I wanted to this week. But doing it while I was leaving, not letting her react before I was gone, was probably OK. Before turning at the end of the corridor, I looked back to see if she had come out of the room to look at me. She had not. I grinned as I headed up the stairs to my office.

The next Monday, I decided to step my game up. Once more I realized that I was more nervous than I would have thought. As I had said to her, this was not a genuine seduction attempt, but then again it certainly felt like it. And I couldn't deny that had she been single, I would have been a lot more nervous. Heather's beauty and body had fascinated me since the moment I met her, but as the years went by and luck placed us both in the same college, I discovered that my feelings ran deeper than her skin. Or her mind. Sure I enjoyed looking at her and fantasizing about her, and I genuinely enjoyed debating with her. But in the past couple of years I've had to come to terms with the fact that I wanted even more.

So as I walked towards her office just to say hello, and probably something else, I was acutely aware that my heart was beating fast. I hoped that my face wasn't turning red! In my mind I was picturing her sitting at her desk and was trying to find a subtle compliment about her breasts that would not be too heavy handed. However, when I stopped in the doorway, Heather was bent forward, her ass towards me, clad only with a relatively short skirt. I barely noticed that she was looking for something in a big box on the floor.

Heather heard me though, and she turned around quickly, aware of her embarrassing pose. "Oh, thanks god it's you and not the student I was expecting!" she said breathlessly.

"Heather... You make this experiment too easy..." I replied as she was laughing.

Her expression changed rapidly. "Really? You're actually going to comment on this?"

"Why not? I think I've just seen more of your legs than during the ten previous years!"

Heather placed her fists on her desk and looked at me with a semi-serious expression. "Is that why you came here? To talk about my legs? Was this planned out?"

"Nope... I was not expecting to see them... to see you in such a..." I grinned. "But now that we are talking about them," I said, walking closer to her desk, "you do have remarkable legs, Heather."

"Hmmm. Is that it? You think that compliments like this will make me change my mind?"

"Baby steps, my friend, baby steps. I still have three weeks left."

I winked at her as I left, staying around just long enough to see her smile. I knew I hadn't won anything. If I had made such an overt compliment outside of this special experiment, it wouldn't have turned out so easy. Ten seconds after leaving her, I turned around and walked back towards her office and peeked inside. I was hoping that Heather would be searching through her box again, but instead she was sitting in her chair with a book in her lap. Her legs were crossed, and she had thrown her shoes off. Seeing her partly sideways, I had the perfect viewpoint. "Really... Way too easy." She remained silent as she looked at me, and I looked at her legs for a whole second before looking back into her eyes. I made a slight growling sound in my throat, smiled and left again.

One second isn't a whole lot of time, but when you're looking at a woman, then deliberately stare at her legs and look back into her eyes... I growled again as I walked away. Heather's legs were pretty nice, but they were not, by far her best assets. She was curvier than the current waif-like standards, but I was one of the males that still like generous breasts, asses and thighs. Heather wasn't fat at all, probably not even overweight. But she was certainly curvy.

Back at my office, I saw that I had a voicemail. It was Heather, and she asked "Jeremy... I'll ask again. Do you really believe that this will work? You do not strike me as the type of man who likes to waste his time. I'm still trying to find out if this is just an elaborate setup to let you express your inner brute, or if you're actually convinced that this might work. Good luck, I'm eager to see what you'll come up with next..." Interesting... She's eager! I laughed at myself: I knew she wasn't eager in that sense of the word, but still, she did take the time to send that message.