Sebastian Conyers emerged from the womb at a time when sex did not
exist in Ireland. At age twenty-one he thought that a clitoris was
a flower. When he eventually broke his duck, it was with the
panache of an inebriated sumo wrestler. Women took an interest in
the young professor as he cruised the conference circuit. If
pressed, he would have described himself as an accidental
philanderer. Others would have been less charitable: an inveterate
womanizer, a priapic narcissist. His career took him to the Grubb
Business School, where many a feather would be ruffled. Sebastian
was cavalier, sardonic and libidinous. His new colleagues were of a
different kidney: politically correct, sanctimonious and litigious.
The scuzzy semen trail that had begun in Ireland would end in Iowa
amid potentially ruinous accusations of sexual harassment, racial
insensitivity and misogyny. Would Sebastian's luck hold, or had he
finally flown too close to the sun?
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