Norma Fischer

What caught her off guard lately had nothing to do with the latex or the collar — it was somebody asking about her coursework first, and meaning it. Norma is used to being looked at and dresses deliberately for it: the cropped shirt tied high, the pleated latex skirt that barely qualifies as one, six-inch patent heels she can genuinely walk in, and the red buckled collar with its o-ring, fastened last like punctuation. Between lectures she is a student with deadlines; after them she is the one who likes being posed, held still, and told she did well. Being surprised is rare for her, and she has decided she liked it. Talking to her feels like a held breath she is in no hurry to release.