Does my Openness Scare You? by Michelle Cristiani
Image from tumblr user martaasnotes
“What mattered to me then, and what matters to me now, is that women are allowed to be red and lacy without being disgusting.”
Youth, sometimes: wild experimentation, free abandon, headfirst dives into realms uncharted. Sometimes it takes a little longer. I bloomed late compared to some.
When I was 21, I was lucky enough to have a friend who was also a sexual tutor. We went on exactly one date, for which we were really just being polite, because we felt like we should. But really, there was no romance between us. We never kissed. We were good friends, and we also had a lot of sex. He was experienced, and I wasn’t. It was a beautiful way to experiment: I trusted him implicitly, and there was no shame between us.
The problem was that other people were ashamed for us. We were quite discreet. Sometimes I would creep into his dormitory room - I had a key – to surprise him upon his return. He did have a roommate, so we carefully worked around his schedule so as not to alarm him.
One particular weekend, the roommate was out of town, and I lounged in my friend’s room where he knew I would be waiting for him. I stripped off my clothes, and hung my red, lacy bra on the doorknob outside (not necessarily in that order). He was on his way, and we could be as alone as we wanted, for as long as we wanted. I slid under his covers, closed my eyes, and daydreamed.
My eyes jerked open when I heard a small commotion outside: confused and very grown-up voices and jangling keys. Certainly this wasn’t police or security – it’s not illegal to hang a bra on a door. Besides, this was his college. I couldn’t have been the first or the last.
But the door opened anyway, and in stormed the roommate. He was back early – a full 36 hours early. With his parents. Into his dorm room. A dorm room that contained not his roommate but an unknown girl, whose (admittedly gorgeous) bra was hanging outside.
What would you have done?
I pretended I was asleep.
They weren’t in the room long – my presence ensured that. But I was awake, and to tell the truth I was a little angry. I wanted to jump up and yell, so what! Am I supposed to be ashamed of playing a game? What if I left a chess piece hanging on the door? Or a Halloween mask?
But I didn’t. I lay there and let them judge me, quite openly, for the one facet they happened to see. I heard distinct muttering, of course. The only word I remember, repeated over and over, was “disgusting.”
Disgusting.
All right, I was indiscreet that time. But this word was a special sort of shock because with my friend, nothing we did was disgusting. It was, in fact, quite the opposite. No power plays, no emotional withholding, no jealousy, no games. It had a charming sort of purity that seemed at odds with a public, red lace bra. This was unexplainable, then. There was rage underneath that shame.
What mattered to me then, and what matters to me now, is that women are allowed to be red and lacy without being disgusting. That they are allowed to broadcast desire without shame, and fulfill desire without incident. Red Lace is not all there is to me - I don’t have to choose between it and everything else I do while I’m wearing it (or not wearing it, for that matter). I didn’t owe anyone that explanation then - and I still don’t.
I don’t remember if my friend and I had sex that day – I was spooked, and worried about being startled again. But I do know that it didn’t stop us. And I hope there are thousands of pretty bras right now, at this very moment, strung across door knobs, without shame and without disgust. It is who we are, and it is not all we are. I am determined to live in a world where both of those statements are true.
Michelle Cristiani teaches reading and writing at Portland Community College in Portland OR. She won the Margarita Donnelly Prose Prize from Calyx Press in 2018 for her memoir of stroke recovery at age 42 and has another memoir excerpt in Inverted Syntax fall 2022 issue which was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She also has recent flash fiction in On The Run magazine.
You can find Michelle at heart-pages.com or on Twitter @heart_pages