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For
Mr. Goodyear
Pat Beckerman
On that sunny
Easter Sunday,
the Living Girdle
did not consume my thighs
to keep itself alive,
but merely contained them,
voraciously,
and shaped them to a narrowed gait.
And I walked so
proudly
in my celery-hued suit,
handmade, and so carefully,
stitch by stitch by steady stitch,
down to its A-line skirt.
Yes, I walked
proudly
to church then home again,
alone, but for one friend:
my living latex underling,
the Playtex living underthing,
that choked my pubescent thighs
with my passionate permission
to a meek yet firm submission.
Mimicking the
flawless fawns
I’d seen in "Seventeen",
I was but thirteen, and yet
was vying with my close companion,
my Goodyear support system,
for my each and every breath.
I didn’t know
that I was beautiful…
so ripe, so sensual….and so
alive!
within my blooming hips and thighs;
I didn’t know I…..could
be
beautiful
without compression!
Copyright
© 2002 Pat Beckerman
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