“Man and woman are not created equal,” I began, these words taking on a different meaning in front of these straight, strong, virile men, whose superior bodies were designed for the collisions of sport. I estimated twenty of them based on their outlines, could only see shadows between my pool of light and their darkness, yet somehow perceived lines of bared teeth ready at any moment to laugh, hurl insults, devour.

There was an instant, just a sliver of time, when I felt fear and my voice nearly faltered, as I declaimed about the ability of creativity and technology to surmount gender inequality, how we needed to take shame out of sex and the body to make this possible. In that moment, I heard naiveté in my words, absurdity in trying to redefine my gender, while these normal men who performed their sport in front of thousands looked on. But I knew so well how it was only my conviction that could withstand them, just like my conviction that I needed to be seen as white to be worthy, seen as a woman to escape those men who would have beaten me up had they realized they desired a man. Trained to survive, there was no need for me to turn on the switch of bravado that I prayed would render those young men mute, because my mind and body knew how to work on their own. They had no words for me when I began to undress. By the time I stood before them naked, I could tell that I would, by the end of the night, earn not just their silence but their respect.