I'm late to school as usual. The subway was fairly empty on my way to High School an hour away in the middle of Manhattan this particular morning. The train is loud riding on the metal tracks. The stops seem quick and meaningless with the doors opening wide allowing the cold air to enter. Few people embark on this journey
with me until we go underground. At about midtown the subway turns into a sardine can and I get crushed near a pole and the doors as people crowd in as tightly as they can. We are all trying to make it to our destinations on time, all except for me today. This day I decided not to go to school. I go to art school for architecture. It was a choice I made to be sensible. I was a girl who was good at math and art. I hated it. I rode the train for hours reading Catcher in the Rye. Back and forth the trains ran the tracks. I got off on a couple of random stops I'd never seen before outside of the underground rat infested urine tunnels, but I had to use the bathroom a couple times myself. Many wasted hours of people watching and the hard seats on the train encouraged me to go walk around a bit. It was a crisp fall day with the sun out. I took the Bleeker Street stop in the Village. I was excited to see the galleries and pop into some of the odd shops with ambiguously androgynous salespeople. It was the late 80's when Madonna, legwarmers, banana clips, Doc Martens and gay men were at the top of their game. It was a time of integration. Spike Lee films were sparking some controversy. All gender and racial stereotypes were getting cracked open with goth, punk, rap and pop music. The art was incredible. Graffiti art was in every crevice of every wall space. The galleries had contemporary pop art mostly with some neo conceptualism and close up conceptual photography sprinkled among some of the more expensive galleries. The installations were priced according to Reaganomics consumer driven inflated price structure. In the art genre it was a time of elitism propagated by how withdrawn from society, coked out or smelly the artist seemed. That's who art collectors wanted to buy from. The narrow sidewalks were packed with people of all colors. I walked around for hours. I wore an unusually bright green shorts suit. It was a woven, double breasted sleeveless number I wore with stockings and sneakers. Yeah I was an artsy kid. My Aunt gave me the suit and I bet it was actually pretty expensive but it made me feel like I had a spotlight on me the entire time. That was not a good feeling. I walked up and down these streets with small cube shaped stark white galleries filled with large colorful paintings, some of which were grotesque just for shock value. Dead babies, women with their heads cut off, erections, sexy Jesus, just to name a few. The day was turning out to be pretty lovely. I stopped by a small deli and ordered a seafood salad. I ate it across the street
sitting on a park bench. I spent a long time chewing the octopus tentacles. It was now early afternoon and I started to head back to the train station. I had to be home around the time that school let out as not to arise suspicion. On my way there I walked by a tall, angular, flamingly gay black man who yelled “nice suit... but you have panty lines”. Fucking jerk! That's when I decided to experiment with thongs and move progressively out of the cotton full figured fitting underwear my mom purchased to cover my entire butt. I saved for a week and got the balls up to go out an actually purchase a pair of thong underwear. The problem was that was all the money I had. I only had enough for 1 single pair of panties. I rushed through the store so quickly. Finding the bins of undergarments way in the corner, thank god. I balled one up in my hand and popped them out on this expansive runway of a conveyer belt at the cash register. Luckily the cashier was a woman, however she did give me some disapproving looks of shame. I paid as quickly as I could and dashed out of there. Walking the 3 blocks home felt like 30. Surprisingly my embarrassment was quickly diminished by the fact that I now had a thong panty in my OPINION: possession. I was so excited to get this floss wrapped around my butt. I threw it on as soon as I could get into my room. It felt so weird. Is this what being a woman feels I am convinced that like? Maybe I had it on backwards. I even took it off and turned it around more than g-strings cause once because I couldn't imagine wearing this contraption all day. But that is exactly yeast and urinary what I did. I wore it all day under my pants. I convinced myself I just needed to get used to it. I was a thong virgin and needed to pop that cherry. tract infections, but I’m not a doctor. The next day I was still wearing my thong. I met up with a few new friends, some boys in fact. We merged together at Sean's apartment. He was a very tall, very skinny, blonde long haired boy who was a few years older and wiser. His mom worked a lot. He listened to heavy metal music loudly and had a slightly pervy vibe about him. He invited a few people up to his place for a game of strip poker. I
barely knew what poker was, let alone taking my clothes off in conjunction. There were 6 of us, 3 girls and 3 boys. We sat vibrating at the idea of being undressed in front of the opposite sex on cheap black sofas next to people we barely knew. The game starts and I assess the situation. I knew I had to win or create some kind of diversion so I would never be subjected to let anyone see my butt floss. A few hands I left the room and pretended I needed to use the bathroom but that only works twice. One hand I lost and I removed shoes, next was socks, then I took off my bra but left my shirt on. I knew this was my Thelma and Louise moment. Luckily Sean lost more consistently than myself because the next hand I won and he was down to his tighty whities. He was so skinny. Skinny and pale enough to want to force feed him a ham and cheese sandwich or throw a telethon to show how people in the East Bronx are starving. The whole group prodded and joked about the fact that he would be a big pussy if he didn't get completely naked. It was fun. A few minutes later Sean runs out of his room with a bright blue frisbee covering his penis then turns around and moons us. We laughed so hard at his boney butt. The game ended there and no one ever had to see my panties. By the end of the day my ass hurt, my vagina was red and sore and I was miserable. What I did not know at the time was that thongs, especially cheap $3 thongs SUCK! They are uncomfortable. They get into crevices that almost nothing should ever get into and after wearing them as a semi-active teenager your ass really hurts among other things.