Karen Taylor, a student at Maplewood College, a small liberal arts college, looked at her outfit in the mirror. She thought she had done pretty well. She hoped Dr. Love would be pleased, even though she fantasized about the teacher being very displeased indeed. Had she mistaken the look in the professor's eyes when she had admitted she had a fantasy about being spanked in public? She knew she was inclined to wishful thinking.
It was the second day for Gender Studies 107: Subverting Regressive Paradigms, better known as the slut class, and today's assignment was to come to class dressed as a slut. Karen was sure that for lots of girls that would mean deep cleavage, but she wasn't exactly big up top. She thought she had a winning smile, she was slender, and she'd been dyeing her hair blonde since her Sophomore year in High School. She took advantage of what nature gave her, or hadn't. She didn't have to wear a bra. Her nipples poked against her pink halter top. She'd rolled up her shorts, which were in a slightly darker shade of pink than her top, so that every inch of leg was shown and you could almost see the bottom curve of her ass. Normally she'd wear tennis shoes with such an outfit, but she'd gone shoe shopping and had on pink sandals with a three-inch heel.
Trashy, but at least I match.
For the walk to class, however, she slipped off the heels and put on the sneakers. She rolled the shorts back down. She still attracted some looks as she crossed the quad, and she got to class five minutes early.
Dr. Nikki Love was outside class, next to the door. She stood in hooker pose, one foot propped against the wall, and her presence alone had attracted a number of onlookers. Wearing a corset that made her large boobs look even bigger, a short leather skirt, four-inch heels, and fishnet stay-ups whose lace tops left several inches of skin between hem and stocking.
If that's the standard, I'm going to have a tough time, thought Karen. She popped into the ladies room to put on her heels and roll up her shorts, and then slipped back out. She liked being noticed, but she didn't want to be
too
noticed. The stares she'd gotten as she walked to class had both excited and unnerved her, and she knew the excitement only made her nipples harder and more prominent. It was a small school, and people would talk. There were twenty students in the slut class, and only a thousand or so at the school. Gossip traveled fast. There was a crowd pretending not to ogle Dr. Love, and they stayed as the students trickled into class. Karen joined the crowd, getting a few stray glances.
Pink-haired Stella sauntered by wearing even less than the teacher, her belly ring catching the light as she walked. She had on a mini-skirt, a black bra, and a crop top that would have exposed some underboob if it weren't for the bra. Flora, who Karen was sure would drop, showed up wearing a short cocktail dress, with a v-neck deep enough to make it clear she too hadn't bothered with a bra, and heels. She had her nose turned up and was studiously avoiding making eye contact with anyone. Rachida wore a gold shoulderless mini-dress that snugly fit her curvy figure and made the most of her full ass.
I think I might be outclassed.
Then Abigail showed up. She, too, Karen had expected would drop. Abigail had gone with the schoolgirl look—plaid skirt, black patent shoes, white ankle socks, and a thin white button-down shirt. But the skirt wasn't very short, and the shirt's translucence only revealed that she was wearing a fully covering white bra.
Pervs with a schoolgirl fetish might dig that look, but it's hardly slutty.
There was a man dressed in a suit, about thirty years old, who looked like that kind of perv. He had a book in his hand, and was trying to chat the girls up as they approached the door, but none of them talked back.
Karen shrugged and walked into class. She was sure word had gotten out that this was the slut class. No doubt some of the people outside were mentally cataloging the people who went in it.
"Hell is real, and Jesus is the answer," said the man with the book as she passed by.
It had been tough going for traditional religions since the foundation of the Church of Gaea. The Church offered real, verifiable miracles; the church's acolytes could heal any communicable disease with sex or even a blowjob. They didn't place any demands of abstinence on their followers, and "Hell" for the Gaeans was global climate change. Karen had attended a few services herself, and imagined saying something witty like "Hell is real, and less plastic is the answer," just a few steps too late.
"Nice, Karen," Nikki Love said as Karen passed.
"Thank you Ma'am," Karen said. She glanced around at her fellow classmates, and then took a seat.
At three after ten, Nikki entered the classroom herself, and locked the door behind her. She walked to the front of the class, and asked, "So, would anyone like to talk about how walking to class made you feel?"
Flora's hand shot up. Flora was the type of person whose hand always shot up.
"Flora?" asked Nikki.
"I felt like everyone was staring at me. And talking about me."
"Sure," said Nikki, "and how did that make you feel?"
"Violated."
"Because people were looking at you?"
"As if my body was for their entertainment," Flora explained. "Rather than being mine, people were acting like it was theirs."
"Your feelings are valid, of course, but how did you know what they were thinking?"
Flora looked at a loss for words for a moment. "I don't. I just felt that was what they were thinking."
"I'm thinking they were thinking 'that's one hot chick' said Stella. "I know that's what I was thinking." She grinned over at Flora, and then, quite deliberately, raked her slowly from head to toe with her gaze.
"You're as bad as the men," said Flora.
"Men aren't so bad," Stella said. "I also felt that people were staring. In fact, I know people were, because when I caught them I gave them a little wink."
Nikki smiled. "Why don't you come up here and demonstrate that wink for the class."
Stella walked up with a little more bounce in her step than necessary, making her boobs bounce and her crop top bounce higher, and winked at the class.
"You'll all have a chance to rate the outfits later in the day, but Stella's getting an A from me," said Nikki. "Attitude is an important part of a slut's outfit, and Stella has it down. We'll have a whole class on that later, though—today's assignment was just to dress provocatively. Thank you Stella, you may go back to your seat."
Stella sashayed back, and Nikki pointed at Rachida and another girl, Valerie, a zaftig brunette with short hair. "Valerie and Rachida, you both chose very striking lipstick to go with your outfits." Rachida's was a deep purple, and Valerie's was a cherry red. "Why was that?"
Rachida shrugged. "That's what's sexy."
Valerie nodded. "It makes people look at your lips and think about kissing."
"Because men like it and the patriarchy dictates what people think is sexy," said Flora, who had worn a dark shade of lipstick herself, if not as intense as Rachida's or Valerie's. Karen had chosen pink lipstick, to go with her outfit. Had that been a mistake? She didn't think so. She thought her lipstick would make people think about kissing, too.
"Anyone else?" asked Nikki.
No one answered.
"A lot of what we think of is sexy is indeed a result of our culture, and it can be arbitrary. High heels were originally invented to make men taller and their legs shapelier, and yet they are now worn almost exclusively by women. They still make men taller, and they still do nice things for their legs, but it's considered unmasculine to wear them. But sometimes these things have some basis, too. One theory about lipstick is that it makes the contrast between mouth and face imitate the contrast between the vulva and the lighter skin around it, turning the mouth into a more sexual part of the body."
"Blowjobs," said Stella. Flora made a face.
"Sure," agreed Nikki. "But also cunnilingus, or kissing anywhere on the body, including, as Valerie said, the mouth. How many of you have kissed a parent, or an aunt, or someone else, completely non-sexually?"
Most of the class raised their hands.
"So kissing isn't inherently sexual. But it can be very intimate and intensely sexual. It depends on context. And lipstick might be part of the way we make context, whether it's an arbitrary cultural thing or it has something to do with our vulvas. Either way, lips are part of your sexual arsenal."
"Anyone else?"
Abigail shakily lifted her hand.
"Yes, Abigail?"
"I felt like a mouse." She looked like one, too, ready to curl up into a ball or run and hide. Karen suppressed a giggle and felt bad about it. Several people laughed, and Abigail looked like she was on the edge of tears.
"You are not a mouse, Abby," Nikki said firmly. "I will work with you, and I have office hours." She turned and wrote them up on the board, before turning back. Abigail looked a little calmer. "We are here to support each other, not to bring each other down. I will not tell you, Abby, that your outfit will get a good grade today. I do think you can get an A in this class, in fact, you
will
get an A in this class if you're willing to work at it."
Abigail nodded.
"We all want to help our fellow women become more sexually assertive and open, right?"
There were several nods.
"I have a video for you to watch. It lasts about ten minutes. It will be tempting to look at the hot young women in the video, but instead I want you to look at everyone else." She pressed a button to make a screen descend, flicked a switch to dim the lights, and then hit play on the remote on her desk.
The picture shown was the hallway just before class. The camera must have been right over Nikki's head. For ten minutes the girls watched themselves being watched. Heads turned as they went by. Karen was surprised at how many people were staring at her and grinning. She attracted nearly as much attention as Stella.
When the video stopped, Nikki turned the lights on and spoke. "You made those heads turn. Your bodies, and the way you dress, has power to grab attention. You can control that narrative—not absolutely, I'm not saying you're going to make a gay guy jump the fence if you just wear a short enough skirt, and god knows I'm not saying you're responsible if someone assaults you. But you have a lot of influence, and I bet you made people happy and horny today. You saw both men and women looking. They enjoyed the view. Some of those women will feel empowered to wear what makes them feel powerful tomorrow—instead of what makes them feel disempowered."
"Mousy," said Karen, and then realized she had used the same word Abigail had.
"That was unkind," Nikki said. "We lift each other up, remember."
"Yes. So people can look up our skirts," Stella said, causing most of the class to laugh and a few to glare.
