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?