In any social system there are rules that have to be respected or everything goes all pear-shaped. The pleasure of a love affair can turn to pain quickly enough under optimum conditions, but when you factor in a serious power differential, there is no way to tell how badly things can turn out.

When it comes to the subject of “unprofessional” relationships between professors and students, I am so conservative that I make Newt Gingrich look like Hanoi Jane by comparison. I am absolutely convinced that it is always wrong. The only exception would be if Shannon Tweed started teaching at ISU and developed a sudden craving for fat guys with beards.

Far be it from me to curse Michael Simonson’s darkness when I can make light of it, but any professor who runs around trying to get some from students has as much right to leniency, graciousness and empathy as the Marquis de Sade has to be considered for sainthood. Call me a stodgy, old traditionalist, but unless they are making a donation to science, professors should keep their genitals to themselves.

Confused? Here is how you tell the difference. It is pronounced “TA” not T ‘n’ A. The average syllabi does not list “Pleasuring the Prof” as a legitimate extra credit assignment. The University Bookstore does not sell marital aids. And every hour, the Campanile chimes classical, belltower ditties, it does not blast cheesy porno music. When it does, then you can whip it out because THEN it will be open season on co-eds. Okay, Wilt Chamberlain? Put the Sta-hard creme back in your briefcase and step away from the T ‘n’ A. Keep that little beast zipped, Herr Doktor!

I will try most anything once. Nothing wrong with taking the road less traveled. I can dig an “anything goes” philosophy with respect to a wide variety of escapades. But no matter how wild or liberal you profess to be there are always limitations. Even the most perversely wild, sado-masochistic relationships use code words to draw the line between “acceptable” and “out of line.” I like “meatloaf.”

If we lived in a more sophisticated time or place, like the court of Caligula, then maybe a professor could pull off preying on students. But it is not possible to have a normal relationship with someone you ultimately hold sway over. The line between being in authority and lording that power over them is so fine that you would need an electron microscope to detect it. And anyone who actually goes looking for that kind of relationship by showing up uninvited on your doorstep with booze to tell you about his sexual fantasies is a perverted piece of detritus and should not feel free to describe himself as a hapless lovelorn fool … ever!

Maybe most of us don’t care if professors walk around like Superfly TNT, corralling young vixens for nefarious purposes, but we should. These guys create enormous problems for the university, especially if the university can’t hush it up. What respectable family would want to send their precious offspring away for four years if they thought there would be even the slightest chance that they would be preyed upon by sexual deviants?

And just when you get used to losing women to jocks and guys with cool cars, along comes some disgusting character from a Guy de Maupassant novel to coerce the few remaining women away and traumatize them so they never trust another man again.

It is hard enough to meet women on this campus without rampant Don Juanism among the professors. If you are a young woman far from home looking for a relationship, who would you rather go out with: some spotty-faced junior with a question mark for a future whose idea of romance is splitting a pie and going dutch on a pitcher or a “real” man with several degrees, a steady job and a comparably huge salary who is “so much more mature” than the boys in your dorm?

Here is a tip for the ladies about masculine maturity. Men DON’T mature. Our libidos wane and that is the closest we come to it. Occasionally we get a clue. But given even a normal sex drive, we will remain forever horny. It is a curse and a blessing. Basically the world looks like one great big opportunity to score for most men. And some of us don’t know when to turn it off, unless we had it blown off in an accident or a war or something.

No matter how mature we THINK we are, if a woman comes near us and we get the idea that we might be able to have sex with her by simply applying ourselves, we will. No matter how ridiculous we look doing it. We could be 90 years old, sitting on a park bench with a nurse. If a cute, little 19-year-old sat down next to us just to be friendly, our minds would race trying to think of just the right way to get her back to our room at the nursing home to look at our collection of erotic lithographs.

You would think that as a self-protective measure, professors would strongly discourage this kind of predatory activity amongst their own numbers, especially with the obvious detriment to careers. Somebody had to have seen this coming. You know a guy like Simonson, with balls the size of church bells, had to have been bragging to his buddies about all the tail he thought he was scaring up. I know every stupid thing my friends have ever done from the age of 12 up and they know my record, much to my shame.

I applaud all of the women who came forward to expose Michael Simonson for abusing his authority. They yanked that bad boy’s leash and snapped his head back like the out-of-control rottweiler he was. Because of them, the next trouser snake will think twice before he decides to act on his persistent chubby. That takes guts and they deserve our respect. They have done us all, men and women alike, a great service.

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Greg Jerrett is a graduate student in English from Council Bluffs.