Kara
I muddled my way through the parade portion of the pageant.
I lifted the weights I needed to lift.
I fucking nailed my talent act, and I’m pretty fucking sure the crowd has fallen in love with me all over again.
I honestly fucking think that, if I can manage to avoid making an ass of myself during this speech, I could really fucking win.
The topic I’ve got to speak on is close to my heart.
What does being naked mean to you?
I mean, how much more fucking personal can you get, right?
Chase, Eric, and I worked hard on the speech I’m supposed to give. We’ve crafted it to be perfectly Miss Sexy Universe-worthy.
It’s salacious, funny, and yeah—even a little dirty, because that’s what people seem to love about me. Who would’ve thought, right?
But the longer I stand naked before the microphone, the more I dread letting those prepared, polished words come out of my mouth.
The answer we’ve prepared…it just doesn’t feel like me.
I clear my throat, realizing that I’ve been standing up here way too fucking long without saying anything. If I don’t get a fucking move on, the judges might think I’m suffering from stage fright and disqualify me.
I take a deep breath and stare out into the audience. I know they’re all waiting for me to give them what they came for—blowjob jokes, sassy quips, and intimate details about my kinky sex life.
I hope they’re not too disappointed with what they’re going to get instead.
“What does being naked mean to me?” I start, repeating the question for the crowd’s sake—and my own. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious, right? Being naked means showing off my hot little body, flaunting how slim and slender and sexy I am for the whole world to see.”
The crowd hoots and hollers at that. I guess seeing me naked again is exactly what they showed up for.
“It wasn’t always like this, though. I didn’t always have a body that could be described as slim or slender,” I say. “I used to be fat. And when you’re fat, the world treats you differently. If you’ve never been fat, you probably won’t know what the I’m talking about—but anyone who’s ever been overweight can tell you that it’s true.
“Our society frowns upon fat people. We judge them, we criticize them, and we put them in a box. If you’re fat, then society says you’re all kinds of other things. You’re lazy. Hopeless. Unattractive.
“When you’re fat, no one is supposed to want to see you in swimsuits or skimpy clothing—and they certainly don’t want to see you naked.
“In fact, when you’re fat, sometimes it feels like you’re not allowed to exist at all.”
I set my jaw, letting that idea sink in. Nobody in the crowd is hooting or hollering for me now.
But that doesn’t matter. I’ve been given a platform, and I’ve got something I want to tell the world.
So I’m going to fucking use it.
“I wanted permission to exist,” I say into the mic. “So, I starved myself. I calorie-counted, crash-dieted, and deprived myself as much as I could for two whole years of my life—two years that I’ll never get back.
“It was a tough, terrible, and lonely time. And then I lost a lot of weight. Once I was thin, doors started opening for me—like the door that brought me here to this pageant where I’m standing naked before you tonight.”
I gave the crowd a small smile.
“I’m allowed to exist now that I’m thin—but at a cost, right? Because now, I’m photographed by a rabid paparazzi. My tits and ass and thighs are discussed on morning talk shows. And every time I log onto my social media accounts, I get to see exactly how much people love me, hate me, want to fuck me, or want me to go die in a fire—thanks, internet.”
I wink at one of the cameras hovering over the crowd. That’s a clip that will be on YouTube in the morning. I have no doubt about it.
I took a deep breath before continuing. “I didn’t lose weight for me. I didn’t lose it because I wanted to feel better or live a healthier life. I lost it because I wanted to look good naked—and look where that’s got me.”
I spread my arms out, gesturing to where I stand on the stage.
Naked in front of a crowd.
“For me, being naked used to mean being terrified. But now? Now I don’t even know what it’s supposed to mean. Should it mean feeling sexy? Feeling approved of? Feeling like I’m wanted or loved—or even just liked?”
I gave a low chuckle, looking at the silenced crowd.
“Should it mean feeling comfortable in my own skin? Or should it mean that I’m the best candidate to sell fitness products to people who are just as scared and sad and lonely as I used to be?
“The answer is different for everyone—and I think, more than anything, what being naked means to you...should be up to you to decide.”
My hands have stopped shaking, and my shoulders are pulled back. I know I look fucking fierce right now, but being naked has nothing to do with it.
“I’ve learned a lot on this journey. Of course, I have regrets. But my biggest regret of all is that I spent so much time agonizing over how good I looked when I was naked—when I could have been focusing on liking myself and not worrying so much about what everyone else thinks about me.
“But by all means,” I say, shrugging and staring my audience down, “let me keep baring my tits out for you all so you can jerk off to this footage while you decide how good I’ll be at convincing other women to buy into a fitness routine.”
The audience is silent. I swear, if someone were to drop a pin right now, I’d hear it. The calm that had settled over me during my talk is gone. I’ve blown it.
It was a lecture, I know, but I felt it needed to be said.
Will Eric and Chase be mad because I blew my chance at the crown with the speech?
They fucking helped me write the one I didn’t give. Of course, they’ll be mad.
I get off the stage and start looking for my men. I brace for the tongue-lashing they’re going to serve me when they find me.
I probably deserve it, but fuck it. I said what I said—and I meant it.