The last two weeks of class were Hell. Blaine attended class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but he refused to look at Kurt even when called on. He muttered his responses looking at the floor. He was the last to arrive to class and the first to leave. Kurt wondered why he bothered to come at all.

Kurt would see Blaine elsewhere on campus and in town, and he felt a pang of jealousy when he saw Blaine laughing and flirting with Unique, their heads close together and sometimes arm in arm. Before their fight, Kurt's heart was warmed to see Blaine complimenting and touching Unique; he was proud that Blaine was going out of his way to reassure Unique and affirm her lifestyle. Now Kurt wondered if there wasn't more.

He had read the studies. It was a stereotype that all men who are attracted to transgendered women are chicks-with-dicks fetishistic tranny chasers. Many were just normal guys who like feminine men. These kinds of men sometimes happened to find themselves attracted to someone who was transsexual. Kurt was feminine in many ways, and Blaine clearly liked that. Kurt could easily imagine that Blaine could be attracted to Unique's gentle manner, and he certainly wasn't going to be turned off by her man plumbing.

It was too painful to think about.

Kurt threw himself into his end of the semester work, driving himself to exhaustion so that he wouldn't dwell on Blaine, wouldn't relive their moment in the meeting room, wouldn't remember how heart-stoppingly gorgeous he had been on that day. By the time finals week rolled around, Kurt's relentless push was obvious to all of his friends.  He was pale, shaky, and snappish.  

“Lady Lips,” said Santana, “if you don't get this boy out of your system, you're going to have wrinkles before you're thirty. You need to stop.”

“What do you suggest I do, Santana? Should I just throw him on the desk and fuck him right in class? I can tell my students it's a teachable moment. I'm sure they'll be okay with that.” Kurt had been in full-on bitch mode for days, and Santana didn't even blink.

“Okay. Wanky. But if that's what it takes…”

“Santana, the whole thing is ridiculous. For one thing, he's my student. It's not just immoral for me to sleep with him, it's also illegal. It's called sexual harassment. You were sitting right next to me in the seminar.”

“Yeah, but I was playing Minecraft the whole time.”

“Whatever.”

“Kurt, he's only going to be your student for, like, what? Three more days?”

“And then what, Santana? Then I have a summer fling? I fall in hopelessly in love, and then in August he's like, ‘Oh, hey, this has been fun, but I'm off to med school now.' He got into Harvard. Do you know how far away that is? And even if he was a hundred miles away instead of a thousand, do you know how crazy med school is? He's not going to have time to sleep; he's certainly not going to have time for a boyfriend. I don't need that kind of heartache.”

“There's an easy solution to all of this, Professor Porcelain…” Kurt should have never told Santana his students' nickname for him. “…just sleep with him, but don't fall in love. It's easy; I do it all the time.”

“Not all the time, Santana. I've seen how you look at Brittany.”

“Shut up, Kurt.”

Kurt elbowed Santana in the side, and she kissed him on the cheek.

Kurt was grading the last quiz of the semester before the final exam. His eyes felt gritty, and his stomach recoiled at the thought of drinking even more coffee to stay awake. He ran a hand through his hair and scribbled, “Adequately accurate; not particularly profound: B,” on Sam's quiz, and then he put it on the already-graded pile.

His heart stuttered for a moment when we recognized Blaine's handwriting on the next quiz to be graded, and his hand reached up to rub his chest. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began reading.

The quiz assignment was basic. Select three from a list of ten terms or concepts, define each, and describe their significance to the study of gender and sexuality. The students had answered similar quizzes all semester, and Blaine was good at it. Oh, Hell, he was good at a lot of things.

Kurt read the first answer.

Gynandromorphophilia: A technical (but controversial) term for men who are attracted to transwomen. In Diary of a Drag Queen, Harris notes that men who were interested in him when he cross-dressed fell into four categories: 1) those who assumed that transgendered women were women who—because they had penises—were really good at oral sex; 2) other transgendered women; 3) gay men who had a singular focus on the transsexual's male genitalia; or 4) men intrigued by a mixture of masculine and feminine. This last category is particularly important, since many men in relationships with transgendered women describe being attracted to that particular woman, rather than having an attraction to transgendered people in general.

Kurt banged his head on the desk. Blaine's answer was completely correct, and so, so not helpful.

He forced himself to read on.

Sexual scripts: The idea of sexual scripts suggests that sexuality is learned, rather than biological, behavior. Our sexuality is shaped by culture. Sexual scripts tell us what we should and should not do, think, or feel in our sexual roles. A current sexual script—and one that I think is a good one—is that both partners should learn each other's desires so that they can make sure that their partner's needs are being met. This takes time and careful attention. Unfortunately, there are many people who have sexual scripts that are debilitating. These scripts suggest that some people cannot be attractive because they are too young or that sexual attraction to someone over whom they have a position of authority should be denied. Society tells us these things, but society is wrong. Keep in mind that society also says that two men should not love each other. That is a common, but erroneous script. People who know better should recognize scripts for what they are, so that such scripts do not interfere with their emotional health or their sexual pleasure.

Kurt swallowed hard and had a few homicidal thoughts. Then he plowed on.

Dimensional discontinuity: Dimensional continuity occurs when sexual orientation (our sexual preferences), sexual desires (our attractions), and sexual behaviors overlap. Dimensional discontinuity occurs when they do not. Although studies vary, the more reliable ones suggest that four percent of men claim to be homosexual, while another five percent of men claim to be bisexual. These percentages probably understate the true numbers of gay men, since some closeted men are unlikely to report their true sexual orientation. However, only two to three percent of sexually active men are actually actively engaged in same-gender sex. I think that's tragic, don't you? It means that at least half of all gay men are having no sex (or having sex with women). That's sexual discontinuity, and it's terrible. I think that if two men are attracted to each other and know that they can be really good together (in fact, really great together), they should ignore society's sexual scripts. In fact, they should call (555-8740) or text or email or send a telegram to discuss how really great it would be to move from dimensional discontinuity to truly, truly continuous sex in all kinds of dimensions. I'm just saying. Im pretty sure this is correct.  

Kurt spontaneously combusted. When the flames finally died down, he calmly graded the rest of his quizzes. Then he hatched a plan.