He waited outside of her apartment in his truck. She came out, nervous, deep brown hair with flecks of gray swept to the side and in a natural wave. She wore a vintage white tank top to accentuate her tan and confidence.The confidence she had little of so a white tank top was clearly the solution to her challenges with confidence. For as long as she could remember, she found most of her solutions and faux confidence in visual appeal and validation. In clothes. In lipstick. In the materials that covered her. In approval.
Read MoreShe grew tired of living a life of half truths. She sat on a park bench with her legs crossed underneath a royal blue floral skirt. The one with the pleats, scattered with large pink and white peonies. It was the fabric of spring, of rebirth; and she wanted to believe that was her truth - so she did. Less than one month earlier her father sewed the waistline of this very skirt, cinching it because it had gotten too big. Her father could no longer remember what he had for breakfast, but he remembered her name, the deep love he had for her and his gift of sewing. He learned how to sew from his mother, it was one of the many gifts he inherited from her.
Read More By the age of thirteen I had a growing girdle collection. The girdles hugged all of my roundness tight, so that my flesh would no longer jiggle. My young tummy was large and saggy and needed to be controlled — or so I was taught.
The first time I ever masturbated, I was wearing a girdle. I was girdled for all special occasions. I wore a girdle to my uncle’s wedding, and again to my aunt’s wedding two months later. Confirmation and junior-high-school prom: both girdled.