Pose Ch. 03

Melany looked me in the eye. "Either you ask your friend to delete these pictures right now, or we'll revoke your win. Because this is horribly contradictory. People will think we're hypocrites."

I knew my face was red. There was rage boiling inside me now. "There. Is. Nothing. Contradictory. What the fuck do you think those pictures mean? That they're a political statement on how women should be treated? What next, everyone who uses whips during sex is stating support for torture? Calm the fuck down, Melany. It's one raunchy photoshoot where a girl expresses her submissive kink, not a fucking law that states women can't have careers."

"You've said it yourself," Melany declared proudly, as if the argument was won. "Submissive... You parade yourself in front of that podium with speeches about female strength and yet you kneel in front of men."

I actually had to shut my fist. That last comment was too much, way too fucking much. It made me feel just as shitty, just as degraded and just as humiliated as when I had heard the old man's comment—and when I say degraded and humiliated, I don't mean the enjoyable kind that makes me happy. I mean real, raw, disgusting humiliation. Getting spanked by respectful partners consensually wasn't actual degradation. Melany's comment was.

"I've been strong, I've been a leader, my ENTIRE life..." I groaned. "I've been mentoring, guiding and leading my entire group of classmates—all of them guys—for months. I've led them, taken every single decision on my own, and they've followed. I've made art, I've worked, I've done ACTUAL, meaningful things, things with REAL MEANING. And you're going to ignore them all and act like they mean nothing because I like to roleplay as a submissive in my private life?! Because sometimes, in a private setting, I like do to submissive things that have NO bearing, NO influence on my career and my real life?! Yes. I like to kneel naked in front of a man in a suit. I like him spanking me and calling me a slut. It doesn't suddenly make my career vanish out of nowhere. It doesn't make my photography skills go poof! It doesn't cancel all the things I achieved."

The utter condescension on her face was disgusting. Hers and the other judges' too. "You can call it a kink and BDSM all you want Chloe," Melany said. "But to me, BDSM is..."

I scoffed and laughed, cutting her mid-sentence. "Oh, I know what you're going tp say. I've heard it all, I've read the articles and the think pieces. I know how it goes: I don't actually like submitting, I've only been conditioned to like it. I've been brainwashed, I'm a victim of my society, I've internalized the oppression." I took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. "Fuck off." The directness of my language and the rage in my eyes made them shocked. I didn't care. "You know what sucks about being a girl like me, Melany? Either I have men calling me a fucking slut because of what I like, or I have people like you calling me brainwashed and oppressed! On both sides, I get judged!"

I took a deep breath in order not to burst. I felt like crying, but I wouldn't give them that. "Fuck off, all of you," I repeated. "I'm an adult. I know what I'm doing. I know what's good for me and what isn't. You don't get to tell me that I don't." I laughed, thinking of the irony. "Oh, and you think THAT is the worst of it? Me just posing nude around guys in suits? Oh, please... You know what I do with my classmates in the dorm? I have them keep me naked the whole time, on a collar and a leash. I stay on my knees and I suck their cocks. Every. Single. One."

I could see their utter disgust and shock, and I didn't care. "And they call me a good whore and a good bitch and a good girl when I suck their cocks, and NONE of that takes away from everything I've achieved. Yes, I worship cock on my knees. And I'm still the best photographer in the entire fucking college. I'm still one of the strongest people I know. Submitting to men sexually doesn't have ANYTHING to do with my strength as a woman."

I looked at my trophy. No... THEIR trophy. I threw it to the ground, right in front of their feet. "I don't want your fucking trophy. Revoke my win, I don't care. I am not censoring part of who I am because your mind's too narrow. There is NOTHING to reconcile. This trophy and the pics where I'm dominated... there's no contradiction between them, none. All you see is a girl on her knees. What you can't see is the happiness she feels, the freedom, the excitement, all the good it brings her... You see her on her knees but you refuse to see her CHOOSING to be on her knees."

"Chloe, we think you feel that because you were taught to. Conditioned to."

I sighed. I was tired. There was no use trying to convince them. "You're right. There's two possible versions. Yours or mine. But at the end of the day, no matter how much you sugarcoat it, no matter how much theory you build around it and how many fancy words you use... at the end of the day, Melany, your version demands that I don't know what I'm doing. That in the deepest level, I'm not making my own choice. That in the end, I'm a victim. MY version says that I know what I'm doing. My version says that its my choice. My informed, conscious choice. And I know it IS my choice... because I know how fucking strong I am."

They could keep their trophy. I didn't want it. I was who I was, and I liked the things I liked. And no amount of shame would make me bend to that. I entered the Uber car and gave the driver the address to the college. As the car moved through the city, I received a text from Julian. He was congratulating me for my win. Surprised, I went to my Facebook. The official page for the contest had tagged me and announced me as the winner—and my speech was written down and included.

I smiled. They hadn't revoked my trophy after all. In that photoshoot of me submitting, they had seen weakness and oppression, they had a seen a girl who didn't realize what she was doing. But speaking to me seemed to have caused a shift in their view of me. In my kneeling in front of dominant men, they had seen a vulnerable little girl. What they hadn't seen was the real me: not a vulnerable girl, but a strong woman.

My anger and tone, fortunately, showed them the strong woman. I still knew I hadn't changed their minds on the subject. I still knew that whatever I did, some would always see my submission as a contradiction. As incompatible with my usual, daily attitude. To those people, at worst, I was a brainwashed, weak little thing, and at the very best, an innocent victim of my world. Of course it was hard to see. How can you see strength in a nude girl worshipping cocks on her knees? It doesn't look like strength—of course it doesn't. But things aren't always as they look. Things are so, so much more complex... And that's the beauty of the world.

I paid the Uber driver. A few minutes later, I was knocking on my dorm's room. The boys welcomed me inside, congratulating me for my win.

"How do you wanna celebrate?" Noah asked.

Smiling, I took off my shoes and socks. "Isn't it Saturday? Tonight's slave night."

Once I was completely naked, I took a deep breath and smiled. It was going to be a fun night.