The Girdle
"Schools are cutting 'physical education' and sports, says here," growled Dad, his nose buried in the morning paper.
"They're just saying that to scare people," said Mom.
"They'll hold fund raisers or something, won't they?" I asked.
"That might save the sports," Dad said. "But I don't know about P.E."
"Don't they have to have gym classes?" Mom said. "I thought there was a law requiring it."
"There are laws that kids have to be able to read and write before they graduate, but that doesn't mean they learn how to do that," Dad snarled.
"But they still have to have the classes, don't they?" asked Mom.
"I guess not, if they really go through with these cuts they're talking about."
I sat down to eat some pancakes. They were a bit fattening, but I was wearing a girdle, so I knew I'd still be able to fit into my dress. I felt the trolley garters flopping against my legs. I'd have to put on my stockings before I left, even though it was a sunny day and I could go bare-legged. Besides, I was wearing a slip and a long dress.
"Damn fools on the school board . . ." mumbled Dad.
"They can't spend money they don't have," said Mom.
"I'm sure they'll find the money somewhere," I said--though I secretly hoped they wouldn't.
"Yeah, I guess they will," said Dad.
"Are you taking the city bus?" Mom asked.
"Yes," I said. They made you pay to ride school buses where we lived, so I sometimes went to school on the city bus rather than walk or ride there with Mom. "It'll be here in about ten minutes. It's on a new schedule."
I finished my pancakes and headed to my room to get my backpack. I also put on my new nylon stockings and hitched them up to my girdle. I then headed out to the bus stop and had to only wait a minute till the bus came. I flashed my new bus pass at the driver and took a seat at the back. Twenty minutes later I was at school. As it was the end of the school year, the budget cuts for the P.E. program had not yet been put into place, so my first-period was still a gym class; however, all we were doing was cleaning up the gym and putting away the volleyball nets and other equipment.
"Coach, is there gonna be P.E. next year?" asked Butch McCullough.
"Sure there is," said Coach Guthrie. "Why you askin'?"
"Paper says you ain't got no money for P.E.," said Butch. Butch sounded like an idiot--and, for the most part, he was one--but he was at least as smart as Coach Guthrie.
"They'll find the money, Butch--but ain't you graduatin'?"
"I'm a coupla units short, they tell me. I got all my requirements, though. But I was gonna take P.E. to get some 'lectives in. It's all I need."
"Don't they have classes over at Winston Valley?" said Coach, referring to the local junior college.
"College classes?"
"No, no, no. High-school completion courses. There should be somethin' you can take for high-school credit."
"I dunno . . ." Butch mumbled.
"I'll find out what you need, Butch," I said. I had helped him pass a remedial math class that he needed to get into algebra, so I knew he'd trust me to help him.
"Can you do that, Kristi?" he said to me.
"Come with me to the guidance counselor's office and we'll see what they have."
At lunchtime I was able to show him a couple of classes that he could take for high-school elective credit. "This fine-arts class is required at Douglas Mountain--unless you take Spanish." Douglas Mountain was a high school about twenty miles away. "But you can take it as an elective. There isn't any homework. And you might want to take a look at this weight-lifting class. You'll take these classes on Monday and Tuesday mornings for six weeks each."
"How much do they cost?"
"The arts class has a 'materials fee' of ten bucks. The other class is free, I think."
So Butch signed up for the two classes and managed to graduate from high school only a couple of months after his friends did. But back to me . . .
Wearing a girdle every day for a year is something that nobody would do nowadays, though it used to be women wore a lot more undergarments, rain or shine, hot or cold. I didn't really like the girdle, but I didn't hate it either, unlike many girls my age. I actually had four girdles, all of the open-bottom style. One was long and had a bra attached; in fact, it was really a bra-slip. The others were shorter; two were white, while the last one was black. I only wore the black one with black dresses.
Even though I dressed as a girl, I was born a boy. A few years ago, I had tried on the girdle for the first time, and realized that I liked girls' clothing. Soon I was wearing girls' stuff most of the time, but I wasn't ready to have surgery and become a girl. I found out one day, however (and I don't remember how), that if I were to ever wear a bra-girdle-slip with a full slip and a petticoat, along with knee-highs, ankle socks and boots under a long dress, I would permanently become a girl, and my plumbing would change without the need for expensive and uncomfortable surgery. Unfortunately, I would never again be able to wear anything with a crotch, except for underwear. Even my girdles would have to be of the open-bottom kind. I wasn't prepared to give up pants just yet. I sometimes wore shorts under my dresses if I thought it was going to be a cold or windy day.
I decided to try to go for one year without wearing pants. If I could make it when I didn't have to, I might be able to survive the rest of my life when I would not have a choice in the matter. I wore one of the girdles most days, but wore a variety of slips. The petticoat wasn't all that fashionable, of course, so I wore it on only a few occasions. It was about eight months into the year when I had my first temptation to wear pants. It was snowing outside, and I had to go through it to get to classes. I was about to put on some leggings (which some girls wore under the dresses) when I realized I had some leg warmers instead. I wore them with a full slip under a wool skirt, nylon blouse, and wool jacket. I then decided that I could make it through any kind of weather in a dress or skirt.
My last day before the year was up was one in which I decided to go as casual as I could. I put on one of the short girdles along with a short half slip and a denim mini-skirt. It was not a really warm day, but I knew other girls would be dressed as I was. I didn't have any classes, but did need to go to the library to study. Other than keeping my legs crossed more than I usually would, I didn't feel too uncomfortable. I arrived home late at night and told my parents that tomorrow would be the day.
"The day what--oh," my mom said. "If you need anything . . ."
"I'll be fine," I said, though I wasn't sure.
"You don't have to . . ."
"Yes, I do. If I don't do it tomorrow, I never will. And I can't be in this in-between place all my life. I can't."
I went to sleep in a long nightie, though I didn't sleep much. I kept imagining situations in which I would need to be a male to survive. But when I woke up in the morning, I knew I had to do what I had to do. It's now or never, I said to myself. I found a pair of pink bikini panties. No flowers, polka-dots or butterflies, but feminine enough. I put on the long bra-girdle-slip, one of my knee-length full slips, and my ankle-length petticoat. I put on a new long dress that I was sure would look good with the petticoat and headed downstairs.
"You look very nice. It looks like the transition has been successful," said my dad.
"Thanks, but I'm not all the way there yet," I said. I was still barefoot. I had a light breakfast before returning to my room. Putting on the knee-highs wasn't all that hard; I often wore them instead of my thigh-high nylons that had to be held up with garters. It took me a few minutes to find some ankle socks, and I was about to give up when they showed. I put them on my feet and looked at myself in the mirror. Well, I said to myself, here come the boots. As I always did when I wore boots, I put the right one on first. Both boots had zippers on the outside, so I put both of them on before I pulled up the zippers. I pulled up the right boot's zipper first, took one last look in the mirror, then bent over and pulled up the left boot's zipper. This would take a while, I realized. This was really the point of no return. I can't do this, I said to myself. No, I have to. This is what I've always wanted. I looked at myself once more in the mirror, grabbed the zipper with my left hand, and pulled it up as fast as I could.
My legs were numb. I sat down on the bed. I couldn't feel anything below my butt. I tried to move my legs and was surprised to find that I could move them. I stood up and walked slowly back out into the hallway. I walked back into my room and found a jacket. I put it on. I now had no feeling below my waist.
Mom said, "I'll take you to school," when she saw me. I must have been a white as a sheet. She thought I was going to faint, and helped me to a chair. As I sat down, I noticed that my legs were starting to feel tingly. It soon became almost unbearable.
"Oh my," I said, trying to drink some water. The tingly sensation was now up to my waist, then into my chest. It felt like being pricked in a thousand places by sharp, tiny needles.
And then it was over. "It's okay, Mom, I can go by myself. In fact, I have to."
I walked so I wouldn't have to mess with going up the steps and getting on the bus. I had only one class, but planned to study for an hour or two in the library. The class was uneventful, basically a lecture with a hundred or so other students, some of whom were dressed even more outlandishly than I ever could have been. I studied for about an hour and a half in the library, then came home for lunch. I was tired after studying, and decided to take my chances with the bus after all. The bus route used some low-floor buses, and I was lucky enough to catch one.
"How was your class?" Mom asked as I got home.
"Boring," I said. The prof was an old retired guy who taught only one or two classes a year. I wasn't taking the class to learn anything; rather, I just needed the credits. Pity those students who were planning to use the course as an introduction to anything else; they'd go into their next classes just as ignorant of biology as I had been at the start of the year.
A few hours later, we ate dinner. I was relieved that I had gotten through this first day as a genuine female. What would tomorrow be like? That night, I slept better than I had in some time. It was really the first day of the rest of my life. Why had I waited so long? Oh, well, better a little late than never.
The next morning, I got dressed, then looked in the mirror. I was wearing a white blouse and a long, full tan skirt. My blouse wasn't tucked in like it should have been, but this was my casual look. I had on three slips, including the bra-girdle-slip. The next one was the full slip that ended just above my ankles. It showed whenever I walked. My last slip was a petticoat that kept my skirt from falling off. I looked down at my knee-highs and pumps. This is it, I said to my reflection. She merely smiled.
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