Submission

In the hotel mirror, that bikini did not fit me. Nothing fit me since they decided what kind of body I deserved.

That night they shot me up with the first hormones and made me throw out all my men’s clothes. “You’ll see how pretty you get,” she said, smiling.

When he turned around in that little town store, I thought he was a woman. He wore white jeans, painted nails, and a secret I wouldn’t discover until we were stranded on the road.

—Today we’re just going to take care of you —she whispered, and I understood that after being her slut all night, it was time to be her girl again.

Only one name was left on his patient list, and when he called it, he had no idea who would walk through his consulting room door that afternoon.

I shaved everything, wore stockings and garters in secret. I never imagined a company conference would end with me giving myself to another man.

Adrián walked into that office as a senior analyst and knew, from the director’s smile, that he would leave as something else: something pretty, docile, and nameless.

Tied to her sofa, in a princess dress and with my face made up, I heard someone knock at the door. And I understood that night I would stop being only hers.

She brought down the stuffed animal from the highest shelf, chose the right video, and prepared for a session no one else would ever know about.

The park was empty at nine. When the three dark silhouettes appeared at the end of the path, I knew I wouldn’t get home the same person.

I’d spent weeks showing myself to her on camera. That night, with one whispered sentence, she asked me for something that changed forever what I thought I wanted.

Octavio strutted naked along the pool’s edge like he was a prize, never suspecting his wife and her friend already had a plan for that afternoon.

In front of the screen, with a cloth between my teeth so I wouldn’t scream, I obeyed every order from a man whose face I never saw. And I’d do it again.

Eight years had passed since the last time I undressed in front of that camera. That night I turned it on again, and on the other side the same man was still waiting for me.

I had never touched myself. That afternoon, behind a poorly closed door, I understood why my body had spent years asking for something I was afraid to give it.

No one knows what I do in the dark, with the door shut and the bottom drawer open. That night I decided, for the first time, to leave proof of it all.

She imagined herself in the dark, with her robe open and unknown hands moving over her without asking permission. And for the first time, she didn’t want them to stop.

That early morning, when he tore away the sheet, I knew there was nothing left to hide: he knew, and I wanted him to know.

I closed my eyes to imagine a stranger, but when I opened them I found half the site watching me from the scaffolding. And I didn’t want to stop.