University of New Mexico, sometime in the early 1990s:
It happened during a midterms study session. The TA for Marshall's Logic and Critical Thinking class reviewed truth and specious arguments, surrounded by overloaded students fulfilling philosophy requirements. He loved the switch between inductive and deductive reasoning, and the constant drilling of each and every concept until only the most solid construction of thought could remain. He dreamed of using those skills in politics, or perhaps even teaching the arts of critical thinking himself. It was sexy, forbidden, a little fantasy he held dear where he went into something other than the law. Marshall's study group did not share his passion.
That night, stress spread through the assembly and felled each member, one by one. The first, a tense and reedy-looking blond man also in Marshall's social psychology class, threw his books and papers in the air, then ran out of the library screaming. When discussion moved to Venn diagrams and inference, a solid-looking dark-haired man that played for the hockey team made eye contact with the blue-haired punk girl that spit at the guy a week before as her response to a failed argument demonstration. He jerked his head towards a study room. She shrugged, and shortly thereafter they disappeared behind the door with a click, neither bothering to make excuses. Not long after a bluish smoke appeared from beneath the crack of the door, and through the window Marshall could only see fog. Evidently someone else's midterm meltdown involved removing all the batteries from the smoke detectors in the library. A passing security officer sniffed, muttered "midterms" and shrugged. The last to go down was the chubby brunette that Marshall suspected of cheating off him; she collapsed face first into her textbook, pleading "Someone, hit me with a brick. Hard. If I am hit with a brick, I will be unconscious, and therefore I will feel better." A moment later she passed out with a line of drool underlining a passage about syllogism in the text. Marshall leaned over and sniffed her sixteen ounce bottle of Sunny Delight: its scent resembled a citrus lighter fluid.
Dana Collins, the TA that he joined the group for, smiled at him. "Last one standing, Marshall. We could go into sophisms but I suspect that you would probably school me."
He smiled back. "But I so enjoy your perspective, Ms. Collins."
She took off her glasses and rubbed the back of her neck. "Please, call me Dana."
This was Marshall's first look at Dana without her glasses, and the ambient hormones of stress and release lurking in the library air finally overtook him. His sexy librarian fantasy came to life. He wondered what she looked like with the cardigan off. He wondered what she looked like with her pants off. "Dana," he said, walking around the table behind her. "May I do that for you?"
She made a sound of assent and he placed his hands on her shoulders. He gently brushed her neck with his fingers, appreciating the curve of her neck and the smoothness of her skin.
Dana shivered, and dropped the cardigan off her shoulders, revealing a thin pearl-colored camisole beneath. She reached behind her and stilled Marshall's hands, then stood up, loosening her hair from its scrunchy. She took Marshall's hand, and without a word, led him to a nearby broom closet. She switched on the light, shut the door behind them, and guided Marshall's hands sensually beneath her shirt.
For the rest of the semester, Marshall's study sessions were followed by tutoring in the broom closet. Never was a man more passionate about logic.