My first time

How was it, your first time?
When you slipped into something a little more snug,
a little more comfortable.
Did you pose in front of the mirror, turning this way and that,
thinking, would he like me in this?

Did it feel weird, that first time?
Like a betrayal,
like you were in someone else's skin,
Or did it feel natural,
as if your whole life led up to this moment.

Did your heart beat fast
when you stepped outside,
did you wonder if the whole world was staring at you?
Did you feel the empty space between your legs,
and try to cover up?

With your converse sneakers
and ripped skinny jeans
you kept walking
and never looked back.
Tell me that I'm wrong.

"You didn't tell me that you went tznius," she said to her friend.
I wonder if she realizes how fat her thighs look in those leggings.
And not just her, but all legging clad women.
Her friend said, "yes I did! They wouldn't accept me otherwise.
So I put on a skirt."

So it's all about acceptance, then.
Otherwise you'd be showing off your be-
hind like every other All-American girl.
Was that your dream, when you were little?
To grow up and show it all off?

There was a store in LA
with half-naked models outside,
and so we went in,
even as we scoffed at how crude it is
to lure people in with naked men.

It was dark inside.
I could barely see in that dressing room,
but somehow I managed to take a picture of my reflection,
in form-fitting jeans
that looked great on me.

We giggled,
oh wow look at us wearing pants,
so scandalous,
what if we could actually go outside like this,
and hey, we look good.

But then it was back to our skirts
that just covered our knees,
and who would know
that for just a moment
we wanted to be somebody else.

I think how fitting it is that today
as I walk behind these girls
I'm wearing my skirt that actually covers my knees,
instead of just brushing them,
as 'bad' as that sounds.

I don't look down on them.
I feel bad for them.
That they had to look outside
instead of inward
to find what they were looking for.

I can still see the inside of that dressing room
and the way those jeans looked on me.
Even stepping outside for a second felt weird,
like the whole world would know
my dirty little secret.

Fortunate am I
that something inside me
kept me straight all these years.
Call it my 'pintele yid'
or just dumb luck.

But hey,
Skirts look great on me.
And besides, 
I can walk much faster
than waddling in stiff skinny jeans.