The throbbing music had stopped. The lights were turned to their full brightness in the student bar. The last stragglers on the dance floor blinked blearily against the brightness to peer at their partners, seeing clearly who they'd be going home with for the night. Some were luckier than others. But few were as unlucky as Jeremy. Jeremy drained the last of his rum-and-coke and placed it on the bar. He'd struck out again.

The Analysis was the worst part of the night, but something of a compulsion, as he went over the women of the night. They'd started well, screaming simplified conversation starters at each other over the thumping bass. Then, at some point, they'd grown bored and moved on.

"Finally, I can hear myself think again," said Sarah from behind the bar, a friend from lectures who'd landed a job serving drinks. She was generous with him, turning single rum and cokes into doubles for free. "No luck?"

He shook his head.

"Don't beat yourself up. You might find someone in the most unexpected of places," she said brightly. She looked at the wreckage of the dance floor beneath the harsh light of the 2 am turf-out. "Ugh, this job sucks. If you hang around for me to sweep up, I can walk you home."

He nodded and zipped up his jacket, following the drunken patrons across the sticky floor to the exit. A gaggle of drunk freshmen were finalising pairing up outside the bar, and he lingered near them, feeling out of place beside their drunk giddiness.

"Would you like some unprotected sex?" said a voice.

Jeremy turned. In an alley beside the bar, his short skirt fluttering over bare thighs, was the Dean. He was posed against the wall, one hip thrust out, his plump lips caressing the head of a lollipop.

Even drunk, the crowd of students was giving him a wide berth, ignoring him studiously, such that the surgically altered man had a two-metre aura of empty space around him. The Dean had been a woman since the start of the semester. He hadn't, however, been a convincing one. His act had become ever more flagrant as he grew desperate to lure a young man into an important life lesson.

"Uh..." gulped Jeremy. "I.... dunno..."

"Go on. Take me home tonight," urged the Dean. "You can do whatever you want with me. What's the worst that could happen? It's consequence-free sex, after all. Just don't cum inside me and I can't get pregnant! At least, that's the rumor I heard."

A cold sweat trickled down the back of Jeremy's shirt. "I shouldn't..."

"Why not? It's not like you can throw away a promising future by filling my fertile uterus with a lifetime of obligation, is it?" cooed the Dean, squeezing one of his silicone breasts invitingly.

Jeremy hadn't noticed he was moving closer until Sarah's hand grabbed his arm. "Are you crazy?! That's the Dean. Ignore him and he'll go away," she hissed. "He only wants you to fuck him so he lecture you in the morning. Don't tell me you're that desperate?!"

"“No- yeah, you’re right. I’m not- I’m not that desperate,” Jeremy stammered. "You go on. I'll catch you up."

She rolled her eyes and headed back towards the dorms.

The Dean's predatory smile widened as Jeremy stepped into the alley. He moved closer, grinding his feminized crotch against Jeremy's erection. He pressed his painted lips to Jeremy's ear. "Do you have a condom?"

Jeremy swallowed his pride and uttered the three special words the Dean had been longing to hear. "I'm all out."