The Elbow Clutch

Growing up in the sixties and seventies had it’s own ups- and downs. My father believed that good girls needed to attend a girls-only school. I think this is just wrong. To say the least. My own experience proves it. But when you are twelve, you kinda don’t have a choice. My family is strictly Calvinist. There is no choice. Happiness comes after guilt. Anybody who has every survived a conservative school will tell you: rules are there to follow without asking questions. There is no reason or logic. Just do it. Feed the teacher’s power trip. Rules are there so that it is easier to control the masses. And this is also why one should wear a uniform. Uniforms are the ultimate controlling device. With uniforms inevitably comes inspection once a week. Monday mornings just before first break. Here, the old maid teachers checked, with some hidden glee I have always suspected, every little millimetre of all their favourite private fixations, as well as glossing over the other girls who just had to get the message that the eye is watching them. Always. We were also checked for school regulation panties. These panties, usually the colour of the school uniform, thus royal blue or maroon, or maybe black if you were lucky, were pure plastic-nylon; enough to start every teenage girl on a solid track of lifelong vaginal infections. The pantie was upheld by a standard white elastic; those types of elastic that one can to this day, buy over the counter or find in the supermarket’s emergency needlework section. My friends and I found those packets of elastic much more exciting to use for elastic jumping games in primary school. But I digress.. How can one ever forget the mixed feelings of elation and consternation while sitting in class one morning; it usually happened quite early in the day when the angels of mischief are at their most active; when one wonders whether you have lost a bit of weight. As a teenage girl, this is good news. One is always glad for a flatter stomach. It then dawns on you that the reason your pantie is suddenly giving way more than normal has nothing to do with weight, but everything with the giving power of elastic: your pantie’s elastic has snapped. You make your sums: how many periods before short break, and how many towards long break. And then there are two more before you will be able to crawl towards your bicycle. If this has happened to you before, you will have perfected the art of the Clutch. Let me explain this movement: while you sidle out of the cramped school desk, you already prepare to use your right elbow to clutch your waist so that the now-loose pantie would be securely pressed to your hip. Even though you are only surrounded by girls, you cannot afford to lose face. The loose pantie is your very own secret. This is where your schoolbag comes in handy. If you clutch it in your hand, you might appear for all intents and purposes as just trying to handle a very heavy load by using your hip as additional support. So this leaves you shuffling down the corridor looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame with your schoolbag bumping awkwardly, swinging from your right knee; bumping up and down as if you are guarding the most precious loot. And while you shuffle past all the cool groups huddling next to the main stairway, you suspect, just know what they are thinking: Why, oh why is the poor creature not prepared? Why does she not have a spare one in her bag? In hindsight I could have made it much easier: just chuck the pantie. Nobody will know. Your dress goes no further than two finger widths up your knee anyway!