Join Date: Jun 2022
Location: England
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Contains bullying - Flashbacks to school bullying
I'm new here and I suffer from occasional flashbacks relating to a difficult time I went through in my teens. Apologies in advance for the length of this post - while what I went through could be summarised in a couple of sentences, it wouldn't really convey how difficult it was to handle, nor explain why my flashbacks are so troubling.
As a teenage boy I was a bully magnet. Quiet, studious, excused gym on medical grounds…and a bit overweight. On that last note, bullies would often taunt me about needing a girdle. This was the late seventies, when “real” girdles were still commonly advertised. At the start of the new school year I was on my way to school in my new uniform when I was attacked. I was told my uniform was missing something, and was handed a box. It was a brand new panty girdle. I tried to get away but a struggle ensued. I was scared of damaging my new uniform, so I told them to stop. And, as they laughed and taunted me, I struggled into it, bawling my eyes out as I did so. Photos were taken. I've never felt so sick as when I was told the price of their silence – it was to be a permanent addition to my uniform. If I got caught once at school without my girdle on, the photos would go public. And the fact that I was excused gym class meant there was nothing to stop it happening - I'd be able to wear it five day a week.
I spent four years as an otherwise normal teenage boy having to wear women's underwear at school. Not only did I have to deal with the shame of it (along with the self-loathing that I was too weak to do stand up for myself) but it was a girdle! For anything up to ten hours a day, five days a week through every school term, I had to cope with the sickening sensation of being firmly held in by the damn thing. (The girdle was a firm control, high-waist, long leg panty - this was long before the days of Spanx. I imagine the sickos chose it specifically to maximize my discomfort as well as my humiliation. I can only guess the older sister of the ringleader had sized me up for it to make sure it was a good snug fit - any time I passed her in the hall she'd look at me and smirk, so she definitely knew.)
Adjusting to having to wear a heavy-duty panty girdle was hard going. The first couple of weeks I was pretty much in a state of shock. Many's the morning I'd spend the early hours crying into my pillow in anticipation of another long day. (Eventually I got into the routine of closing my eyes, pulling it out of its hiding place, getting dressed, and only opening my eyes again once I had my uniform on - that way I didn't have to look at it or see myself in it.) But I couldn't ignore the feel of it on me - by mid-day I'd be fit to scream. I'd spend the lunch break in the toilets sobbing in a cubicle, girdle round my ankles. And after school I couldn't get home fast enough to be free of it - hurrying to my room to get my uniform off, I'd almost be crying in frustration as I frantically fumbled with my belt to unfasten my trousers and get this awful thing off me.
As things settled down to business as usual, that's when it really hit me. This was for the long term. Even if they'd decided to let me stop, some people at school had already asked if I'd lost a bit of weight over the summer. I'd hardly be able to let my belly reappear overnight - how would I be able to explain it? So I was stuck. Anyway, at some point in the day I'd be checked by one or other of the bullies who had landed me in this nightmare. This was what I've read air hostesses from back then describe as the "girdle thump" - a tap on the backside to ensure things were nice and taut.
I lived in terror of discovery, convinced that my smooth backside and the slight indentations mid-thigh where the legs ended were glaringly obvious give-aways. So my pullover was always pulled well down to cover my "monobuttock", and I never sat down other than at a desk, where I could get my legs under the desk and not have anyone see my mid-thigh "girdle rings". On the school bus I always had my bag on my lap or my hands covering the rings. I lived in a state of perpetual paranoia. I swear my mother suspected - I'd catch her glancing at me when I had my uniform on, but she never mentioned it. Either she was embarrassed or she didn't want to embarrass me - looking back, it might have been better if she had. It would have taken the decision out of my hands and it would have been an end to it. But at the time, traumatic as it was to be stuck in women's foundations, I was relieved that she let it pass.
Now, all these years later, I can still clearly recall the experiences, but they're exactly that - memories. Time has taken the raw edge of it. But recently I heard the ABBA song “Money Money Money” for the first time in years. I swear, it nearly brought me out in a cold sweat – my hands were shaking and my mouth went dry. I remember the first morning after these bullies had given me my ultimatum, lying in bed in a state of near panic, asking myself if I could really go through with what they were demanding of me. I was nearly in tears as I realised I couldn’t face having anyone see these pictures, as that left me with only one option. Meanwhile, I could hear the radio on downstairs - Abba singing “Money Money Money”.
Hearing that song recently took right back to that moment, fighting to hold back the tears as I dressed for school, then trying to compose myself so that I could go down for breakfast with the family. In my mind I was right there at the top of the stairs, fighting to keep my emotions in check, hating the feel of the firm foundation on me, knowing if I went downstairs like this then I was committing to wearing this awful damn thing every day from now on. Words can’t really convey the horror I felt. It was holding in my belly, firmly squeezing my backside, the legs were gripping my thighs...I just could not get my head around the fact I really was contemplating wearing a panty girdle on a daily basis. Was this really going to be better than reporting the bullies and enduring the public humiliation of everyone knowing what had happened? I could hear my mother's voice calling on me to hurry up, feel my heart pound in my chest as I knew this was the moment I had to decide. Then I took one step, and another, and another, heading downstairs and into the kitchen, trying desperately to act as if everything was normal and frantically hoping they didn’t notice my flatter stomach, smooth backside or thigh rings. I was just 14.
It's crazy how something as simple as a piece of music can cause such intense flashbacks. A lot of pop tunes of that era can set me off. Thankfully they don't do it every time, but the flashbacks are so damn vivid when they do happen. And, as I get back in control of myself afterwards, I find myself being eaten up with resentment of the morons who put me through this. I bet they haven't given it a second thought in decades never mind years. I know it's totally pointless stewing in my own juices over long-ago events, but I can't help it. I'm hoping that, in these forums, I can get some insight in how to handle these flashback events.
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