"Gynodynamic conflict theory."

“...and so I hope this close reading of the scene in The Master And Margarita where the Devil tricks hundreds of beautiful women into running stark naked across Moscow while everyone laughs at them, and its subsequent film adaptations, has been fruitful,” says Lily.

She’s standing in front of a projector screen in a small seminar room on the seventh floor of the Arts Building, a magnificent red-brick nineteenth-century edifice overlooking the Old Quad. On the screen is a gif of an attractive young lady suddenly realising she’s completely naked in the middle of a crowded theater lobby, looping on repeat. She does her best to sound formal and dignified, as befits a teaching assistant at one of New England’s most prestigious universities. “Any questions?”

One of the students raises a hand.

“Excuse me, Lily,” she says as the other students snicker. “Why are you naked?”

“Ah. Well, that’s a very good question.”

“None of our other TAs are naked,” points out the student, who’s a curvy punk with a green mohawk named Ki. “You’re the only naked one, Lily. They could call you the T&A TA.”

“There’s a very good explanation for that,” says Lily, struggling to maintain her awkward smile as the other students eye her naked body. There’s around nine or ten students in her exclusive symposium on Sapphohermeneutics 101, available only to the top gender-studies majors in America. A good grade practically guarantees a lucrative career in the thriving gender industry. Curiously, they all happen to be hot lesbians.

“What is it, Lily?”

“Well… I could tell you that it’s a brilliantly subversive and boundary-challenging pedagogical technique designed to subvert the student/educator binary and revolutionise your understanding of gynodynamic conflict theory. But actually, I lost a bet.”

The room dissolves into laughter. “I knew it,” says Ki, taking a snap on her cell phone. “You look cute, Lily. Isn’t it embarrassing to have to stand naked in front of all us gorgeous lesbians? You must know we’re all pretty hungry for your luscious body.”

“It is very embarrassing, yes.”

“Are you a lesbian yourself, Lily?”

“It’s complicated. Anyway, could we try to focus on the classwork, please? I want you all prepared for next week’s mandatory viewing of Zapped! (1982).”

“Will you be teaching that class naked as well, Lily?”

“I don’t know yet. Depends if I lose another bet. Okay, okay,” says Lily, coldly, doing her best to ignore the stifled giggles and flashing cell phone cameras. “I can see I’m not getting any more work out of you today. We have to clear the room, anyway, for Dr. Mungus’ introductory seminar on elementary figure photography. See you all here next week.”

“Hope to see all of you as well, Lily,” says Ki, a huge grin on her face, rising from her seat. She’s one of those women who look just a little bit masculine, though not so much that she’s not conventionally attractive, although there’s nothing wrong with not being conventionally attractive. Also, though the students are all lesbians, that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re not attracted to men. It’s complicated. The point is, they’re a bunch of hot alternative girls with tasteful tattoos and dyed hair and interesting piercings, who enjoy eating pussy and seeing women naked, but other forms of gender expression are also completely legitimate. “Oh, and nice tits! Haha!”

She takes a step towards the door.

Meg, who’s hanging out with you invisibly in the corner, nudges you. She and you didn’t mean to stay to watch the whole class, but it turns out sapphohermeneutic theory is actually really interesting and has you thinking about your own gender identity in ways you’ve never previously considered. “Should we mess with them?”

“Who? The lesbians? Is it okay for a man to do that kind of thing to lesbians?”

“Well, technically it doesn’t mean they don’t… don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, and snap your fingers. Ki pauses, her hand on the doorknob. She’s got a lovely figure, her full, heavy breasts and strong round backside perfectly balancing each other. She has, in a heartbeat, been stripped down to nothing but her black Doc Martens boots.

“Um,” she said. “What just happened?”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Excuse me?” says the sardonic voice of Dr. Mungus, as the naked lesbians look at each other with dawning horror. Every last one of them is nude except for her boots, socks, piercings and tasteful tattoos. “I told you what would happen if you ran overtime again. Let me in. I’ve got some photographs to take.”