Winging It

This piece was published in The Sun Magazine, Readers Write Section

Issue 449, May 2013

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.
When I was eighteen, I flew to Miami with my grandma, my grandpa, and my girdle to attend my cousin Anthony’s wedding. Do you know what it’s like to wear a girdle in the Miami heat? It involves an obscene amount of sweating and chafing. I arrived at the wedding hot, itchy, and uncomfortable. While my family members enjoyed cocktail hour, I found the nearest restroom.
In a stall I removed my dress and hung it on the hook. I stood there silently, thighs touching. Then I wriggled the girdle down my torso and legs and onto the floor. I sat on the toilet naked, rolled up my girdle, and placed it in my purse. Then I put my dress back on, opened the stall door, and took a long look in the mirror. Braless and without underwear, I rejoined my family.
That night I danced. My body moved freely. I didn’t mind how it jiggled. In fact, I welcomed it.
One month later I attended my high-school prom with a date and no girdle. I haven’t worn one since.