Posts Tagged ‘schoolgirls’

Schoolgirl Issues

Tuesday, August 6th, 2013

schoolgirldress

A few days ago, I went out with my husband to look for shoes. While he looked, I headed for the kids section to look for a schoolgirl skirt. Just like all normal people, I have a fetish for pleated skirts, especially tartan ones. My personal excuse, if confronted about this, is that as a jew, I am fascinated by all things Catholic. Catholic things have the allure of forbidden fruit. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I couldn’t find a skirt in my size but I did find a dress among the school uniforms, priced right at $7.99. I showed it to my husband who patted me on the head, with either affection or pity or both. I interpreted his gesture as “Awww, you’re nearly sixty and you still like to pretend you’re a schoolgirl!” He told me to go try it on.

The dress was a good fit but when I took it off, I saw to my horror that is was made in Bangladesh. There is no way I’m going to buy a dress made under terrible conditions, maybe even made by someone who perished in the Rana Plaza factory collapse.

I don’t regret my decision to pass on the dress, but now people are scolding me for a position that will only hurt people in Bangladesh who want factory jobs. “Those poor people are grateful to work in sweatshops, bla bla bla!”

Fuck! I can’t indulge in my fetish and I’m increasing poverty in Bangladesh.

Opinions, ridicule, advice, anyone?

 

Girdles Part 2: True Fiction

Tuesday, May 12th, 2009

At thirteen, I still had braces on my teeth but I wore a ton of eyeliner to compensate. I was looking for trouble and I found it in an attic apartment occupied by a pair of Dirty Hippies.

The Hippies were both nineteen years old and mine had a handsome baby-face with a goatee. The other one had long stringy hair and a suede fringed jacket that he later gave to my sister. It stunk of tobacco and sweat, and I was always begging to borrow it.

The Hippies taught me how to smoke pot, but I don’t think I did it right. They entertained other middle-class schoolgirls, some in their uniforms, all hoping to establish their coolness in the smoky attic, under the tutelage of the Dirty Hippies, who hung a sheet up to separate their mattresses.

For a while, I struggled to maintain my purity on the filthy bare mattress, but my Hippie found the way to my heart, or I should say girdle, by offering me a cheap ring.

When it happened, it was all about dealing with the girdle. I think I wore the girdle to hold up my stockings, but it’s still a bit of a mystery to me. All I remember was some pain and embarrassment, and his parting directive: “Next time, don’t wear that contraption.”

A few days later, I realized he had given me crabs.