Undressing Expectations

If anyone asks where I'm from, I usually just say Minnesota. It's technically true, my parents both grew up here, and I was born in Duluth. But most of the time, it feels like a lie. I haven't lived in the States since I was seven, which means all the stuff that's supposed to feel normal, like football games, Target runs, or even going out for ice cream with friends, still hits me with this weird sense of not knowing what people think I should be doing. Like I'm living in someone parallel world.

What actually feels normal is windmills and bikes and skinny old men smoking outside train stations. That weird fish smell in the Albert Heijn. Saunas with friends after swim practice, with steam fogging up the place and everyone perfectly comfortable when towels are absent, because nobody actually cares! My dad got a job teaching on NATO bases, and my mom's job allows her to work from anywhere, so we lived in different countries, on different bases for the last 12 years, but mostly in The Netherlands. For a while I was the American kid who didn't understand how everything worked, learning to curse in Dutch, and developing this unintentional habit of thinking it was ok to change shirts wherever I happened to be, locker room or not.

So when we moved back last summer, after Dad's contract was up, and Mom missed "real autumns," and apparently I was supposed to find myself at a "real" American college, it was like being dropped into a TV show I hadn't watched from the beginning. I go to a small liberal arts college here, and everyone's been nice enough, but there are so many rules I keep tripping over without even realizing it.

Like the sauna thing. The first time I went with some girls I'd met, I peeled off my clothes automatically. I wasn't even thinking about it. Suddenly, they all went weirdly silent. Later, I heard someone say, "She's just European, you know how they are," as if it explained everything. Which, maybe it does. Where I come from, it's what you did in a sauna. It didn't matter if it was me and friends, or me and family, it's just what I learned.

It's the same with changing clothes. After swim club or the gym, or even just trying on something in a friend's dorm room. Why would I worry about it? But apparently, if you swap your sports bra for a t-shirt and don't make a big production out of hiding yourself, people look at you like you've broken a commandment. I've noticed some guys' girlfriends glare at me. A few guys can't even look at me at all.

There's been talk, whispered and not-so-whispered. I know someone took pictures at the last dorm party, and I definitely heard my name mixed with the words "snap" and "group chat." It's almost funny. I'm not mad. If anything, I feel sort of amused that a blurry photo of me sitting cross-legged in my underwear can cause so much commotion, when I've spent years surrounded by people who'd sunbathe in the park wearing even less. I mean, it's not exactly the popular choice outside of designated nude areas, like certain beaches, but it's not illegal either, so it happens.

I think that's why people don't really know what to do with me. I'm not trying to shock anyone. I just don't understand why people are ashamed of something everyone has. And if people want to look, let them. I don't mind.

Ashley is the one I haven't figured out yet. She's kind of the ringleader of the friend group I've ended up in. She's blonde, always dressed perfectly, and always seems to know what's happening before anyone else. Some days she acts like I'm her latest social experiment, showing me off to new people: "This is Nina" (by the way, my names Christina, but everyone calls me Nina for short), "- she's basically Dutch, you know they're all topless over there." Other days she gets weirdly quiet if I mention anything about my old life, or if she catches her boyfriend looking at me for a little too long.

Sometimes I wonder if she wants to be me, or if she just wants everyone to look at her as much as they seem to look at me.

If I'm honest, though, the attention from guys my age feels...cute, but sort of empty. There's an art professor, maybe early forties, who I catch watching me sometimes when he thinks I'm not looking. He watches me in a way that's different, like I know I should probably feel weird about it, but I don't. If anything, I kind of want to see what he'd do if I stopped pretending not to notice.

Friends back in The Netherlands always ask if Americans are as wild in college as the movies make it seem. I never know what to tell them. Sometimes it's all a little over the top like you see on TV with solo cups and loud music, or guys chest-bumping, and girls in cutoffs giggling into their drinks. But nights like this made me think maybe those movies weren't that far off, after all.

It was past midnight at Ashley's off-campus house, and the place stunk of cheap beer and processed snacks. Somebody's music playlist played on a portable speaker, while I was sunk into a couch, pulling my knees up to my chest, completely unaware or even caring that my skirt was riding up. There were maybe nine of us scattered around the tiny living room made up of some of the soccer boys, and girls from my dorm, with Ashley's friend Riley pressed up on one side of me, Ben on the other. Everyone was a little drunk, and a little loud. I felt it too, that fuzzy, fizzy feeling when you're in that perfect spot of not quite drunk, but can't say you're sober.

Ashley called my name, her painted nails flashing as she pointed at me. "Nina, truth or dare?"

I smiled and stretched my legs, wondering just what she was going to try to get people to do this time. "Dare," I told her. I almost always picked dare. Answering questions about myself meant either making up something bland or explaining things nobody here ever seemed to understand.

Ashley's eyes brightened with that look she gets when she's trying to prove something. "Swap shirts with Ben. For the next round."

Ben's face turned nearly as red as his solo cup, but I just shrugged. This wasn't even a real challenge for me, but I imagine it had to have been worse for him. I grabbed the hem of my tank top and pulled it off in one smooth motion, only remembering after the fact that not everyone here saw bras as just another piece of clothing. My plain black bra probably covered more than half the bikinis I'd grown up wearing, but the room got quieter for a heartbeat.

Ben fumbled with his t-shirt, awkward as ever. Riley gave a wolf whistle. Then, someone snapped a picture. I could feel the girls watching, most of them amused or appalled or both, but Ashley was the one I noticed. She was watching me closely, lips twitching in a way that made it impossible to guess what she was thinking. I couldn't tell if she was fighting a smile, or a smirk

Finally, Ben handed over his shirt and I pulled it on, drowning in cotton that smelled like cologne attempting to cover sweat. He squeezed himself into my tank, which barely made it past his ribs, making everyone burst out laughing.

"You wear it well," I teased, bumping his arm. He went pink but smiled at me, looking both mortified and thrilled.

Ashley's boyfriend Tyler, who'd really had too much to drink, called out, "Alright, Ben- truth or dare?"

"Dare," Ben replied, maybe hoping for redemption.

Tyler grinned. "Give Nina a lap dance. Best effort. Thirty seconds."

The room erupted. Ben shot me a pleading look, but I just grinned and opened my knees a little, settling back. "Show me what you've got, stud."

He started out awkward, but I kept his eyes, laughing with him, letting my hands settle lightly on his hips when he got closer. The whole room was howling, and I could see Riley filming with her phone. I felt the thump of the bass in my chest and let myself get swept up in the moment, spanking his butt when he'd turn around, or feeling his warm hands, the brush of his thighs, and the safe ridiculousness of it all.

When his thirty seconds were up, he collapsed beside me, out of breath and looking proud of himself. I glanced over at Ashley, whose cheeks had gone pink as she poured herself another drink, not looking at me. I hadn't known her long, but it felt like she was either envious or jealous of me. Not sure which.

Tyler called out, "Alright, Nina's been the center of the first two. Your turn- pick your victim!"

I looked around the room, skating past Ashley and Tyler. I didn't want to make it feel like I was targeting anyone, so I landed on Riley, who was hugging a throw pillow from the couch and watching everything with a sly smile. "Riley," I said, "truth or dare?"

"Truth," she said after a second of thinking.

Everyone groaned. "Boo, boring!" Ben called, but Riley just grinned, clearly unfazed.

"Okay," I said, leaning forward so my elbows rested on my knees. "What's the wildest thing you've done since starting college?"

There were some oooohs and a couple of catcalls. Riley wrinkled her nose as if considering whether she wanted to answer, but then she shrugged, as her cheeks flushed.

"Fine. Freshman orientation week, I hooked up with a guy in the library stacks. I didn't even know his name." She gave a little smirk. "We were both just trying to figure out college, I think."

That got a real reaction. One of the soccer guys whooped and someone tossed a handful of popcorn at her, and Ben shook his head, saying he never would've guessed that from her. Even Ashley glanced over, a flash of genuine surprise in her eyes.

I grinned at Riley, feeling that fizzy charge. "Did you ever find out what his name was?"

She shrugged. "Nope. Guess it's one of those campus mysteries."

The game rolled on, dares and truths bouncing around the circle, where someone was dared to prank-call their ex, and someone else had to do their best fake orgasm impression. The room grew louder, making everyone a little more relaxed with every round.

Ben's voice cut through the laughter, riding that wave of newfound confidence. "Alright, Nina- truth or dare?"

"Dare," I said before he even finished asking.

He grinned, "I dare you to make out with a girl for thirty seconds. Your choice of who."

I turned toward Riley, feeling it made sense after her story of making out with a stranger. She didn't even wait for me to say anything, just gave a crooked smile and patted her lap, surprising everyone again with her willingness. I laughed and didn't play coy. I swung one leg over and settled into her lap, straddling her without thinking twice. The group seemed to go a bit quieter, probably in anticipation.

Our lips met, and what started out playful quickly turned passionate. Riley's mouth opened to mine, as her tongue probed against my lips. Her hands came up to my waist next, then lower as she pulled me closer. Her fingers splayed over my hips, then slid down, cupping my butt. For a moment I thought it was just the way I was sitting, but when I felt her palms on my bare skin, I realized my skirt must have ridden up. Maybe from how I'd climbed over her, maybe Riley had helped it along, either way, I didn't care. Her hands felt good, making it clear she wasn't shy about what she wanted.

I leaned into the kiss, letting it go on, and teasing her bottom lip with my teeth. Riley's grip tightened, as I felt her fingertips slip under the thin band of my thong, tracing the crease of my ass right there in front of everyone. I didn't flinch. Instead, I let my hand tangle in her hair, arching my back and pressing my chest against hers, giving the room a show without a hint of shame.

The room erupted in cheers of encouragement and surprise, some people egging us on, others too stunned to say anything. For those thirty seconds, if not longer, I wanted to forgot anyone else was there except Riley and me, feeling her hungry mouth against mine, and her hands exploring with no hesitation.

When the timer went off, I broke the kiss, a bit breathless and a little giddy. Riley was flushed and grinning, her lips shining with our saliva.

I slid off her lap, finally tugging my skirt back down as I did, and shot her a smile. "Not bad," I said quietly, just for her.

The energy in the room had shifted and everyone seemed a little more awake, a little more aware. Even the way most the guys were sitting had changed, suddenly either hiding their laps, or trying to give them more room.

Someone tried to bring Ashley into the game- "Ashley, truth or dare?" but she just laughed and waved them off. "I think we've had enough for one night," she said, standing to collect empty bottles and plates. "Seriously, some of us have things to do tomorrow. Don't make me kick you out."

The group groaned but started to gather their things. The dares gave way to drunken goodbyes and inside jokes, and I watched Ashley slip into the kitchen looking annoyed. Riley nudged me, cheeks still pink, and mouthed, "Thanks," before heading out with her roommate.

By the time I walked home, I wasn't thinking much about the game. It felt like every other half-wild night I'd spent since coming back to the States. Everything always felt full of little boundaries to test and new rules that no one ever explained.

It wasn't until a week later that I heard about the video. Ben caught me after class, looking far too serious for him, and pulled out his phone. "Hey, did you know someone recorded you and Riley? I didn't notice at the party, because I was watching you, but it's... circulating. Just thought you should know."

He showed me a video that was grainy, and obviously taken from the floor in front of the couch, based on the angle, but the intent obvious. My skirt, my thong, Riley's hands. Our kiss. I watched it twice, then handed the phone back.

"It's not a big deal," I said, because it really wasn't, not to me. I'd done nothing I was ashamed of, and if people wanted to watch, let them. But when I saw Riley later, she wouldn't meet my eyes. She looked upset, and like she was trying to hide. "I didn't know they were filming," she said, almost apologizing. "I don't... I don't want people to think-"

I cut her off gently, stepping in until I could hold her. "Hey- If anyone wants to make something of it, let them," I said. "If they want a show, I'll give them a real one next time. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. I promise." I reached up and tugged lightly at a strand of her hair, making her smile in spite of herself. "Besides, if anyone looks bad in that video, it's me. You look hot, and your face is pretty much completely hidden. It's my tattoo on my thigh that gives me away."

She gave a deep sigh, but it seemed like her shoulders relaxed just a touch. I let the conversation move on, trying to figure out what I could do to draw the spotlight away from her and onto myself, letting her see that I really didn't care. If there was one thing I'd learned, it was that shame only had as much power as you let it.

By the end of the week, most people had already moved on to the next drama. But Riley gave me a new kind of smile in the hallways, and I found I liked her the most, of all the girls.

A couple days later, I was on my way to the dining hall, weaving through the old arts building, feeling pleasantly light from having a few good classes. The hallway was quiet with nothing more than muffled voices through closed doors. I was almost past Professor Evans' office when I heard the faint burst of laughter, the background noise of music at a party, and then the unmistakable sounds of that video. My video. The volume dropped almost instantly, but not fast enough.

I stopped, my heart skipping in wonder of who could possibly be watching it here. I stepped back so I could look through the open office door. There he was, Professor Evans with his glasses sitting at the end of his nose, and right now just staring at his phone, wide-eyed.

When he looked up and saw me watching, he jolted, almost dropping his phone. For a second, all that careful boutique college cool was gone, and his face turned a quick, bright red. He fumbled to turn the phone over, hiding it under a folder like he could will away that I'd seen him watching it.

I leaned against the doorframe, fighting a smile, with my arms folded comfortably across my chest, just to tease him. "Anything good?" I asked, letting my accent come out a little thick.

He swallowed, clearly scrambling for words. "Oh- Nina, I- um- was just... grading." His voice cracked, and he actually winced at himself. "Sorry. Didn't mean to- interrupt your day."

I cocked my head, making him squirm for a second, before I spoke. "You didn't. If anything, I interrupted yours. Looked like you were enjoying yourself watching that," I said. "It's a funny video, isn't it? Everyone seems to have seen it," I finished, making it clear I knew exactly what it was.

He couldn't meet my eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's... not appropriate, I realize that."

The vulnerability in his expression almost made me want to let him off the hook, but some part of me enjoyed seeing someone older, someone in charge, completely thrown by me.

"It's okay," I told him. "If you have questions about anything, you can always ask." I grinned at him. "You know, for artistic expression, or something."

He laughed, but it was nervous. "Right. Of course."

I lingered just a moment longer, letting him sit with me smiling at him, then pushed off the doorframe. "See you in class, Professor."

As I walked away, I could imagine him just staring at the empty doorway. For the first time all week, I felt genuinely excited -- curious what might happen next time in class.

The next afternoon, Ashley and I had plans to meet at her place to finish our sociology project about cultural norms, which felt almost too on-the-nose considering the week I'd had. She was already surrounded by notes and color-coded tabs when I got there.

I flopped onto the floor with my laptop, kicking off my shoes, and started scrolling through our shared doc. The room was quiet except for the clacking of keys and the occasional huff from Ashley as she tried to decipher her own handwriting.

Having seen a super cute dress of Ashley's hanging over her desk chair, I'd asked if I could try it on.

"You want to hear something funny?" I said, holding the dress up to me in the mirror.

Ashley looked up, chewing absently on her pencil. "Sure, what?"

I grinned, waiting until I slipped the dress off its hanger before answering. "I caught Professor Evans watching that video from the party. The one of me and Riley."

She blinked, the pencil dropping from her lips. "Wait- are you serious?"

"Yeah. I heard it from the hall and looked in. He turned about five shades of red." I snorted, shaking my head as I tugged my shirt over my head, not really thinking about it. I stepped out of my jeans and peeled away my bra, tossing my clothes by my bag before pulling the dress over my head.

Ashley's eyes went wide before she quickly looked back at her notebook, pretending to shuffle her papers. "God, Nina, don't you care? About the video, I mean? Or that a teacher was watching it?!"

I tugged the fabric down over my hips to get it to sit right, checking the fit in the mirror. "Should I? It's not like I did anything wrong. If people want to stare, that's their problem. Besides, it's kind of funny. He looked so guilty, I almost felt bad for him."

Ashley peeked up again, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes darting away, as fast as they had found me. I was facing her while talking and had the dress bunched around my waist, tugging my panties down since they showed through the fabric. "I just... I don't get how you can be so- unbothered by things. I'd be mortified. Like, I wouldn't be able to show my face in class. And you just-" She waved a hand, vaguely indicating the half-pulled dress and my casual composure. "You just don't care."