By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2010)
How does a slender, pretty boy born in simpler time fulfill his need to be a girl! The story of Merritt Lane McGraw is the story of a time before the words “crossdresser” and “transgender” were in the vocabulary and a time before sexual assignment surgery was a possibility. What is Merritt to do? This is a novel based loosely on the author’s young life, with chapters to follow on a timely basis.
Prologue
For all his young life, Merritt Lane McGraw had tried to hide from others, to stay lost in the backgrounds of school life and the antics of other neighborhood kids.
Frankly he was frightened of other people, awed by the confidence of other boys who loved to flex their muscles and push each other around, wary of what others thought about his slender under-developed body and pale complexion, and concerned that he would blunder into some comment that would bring derisive laughter and cutting remarks.
Merritt had many reasons to remain out of the spotlight. First of all, he was the only son of a single mother, a situation that was viewed as “not normal” in the 1940s. To make matters worse, he had no father that he knew of, making him a “bastard” in the eyes of many socalled upright, moral citizens of the community. He also lived with his mother in a second-floor apartment over a fabrics store along a busy street in the “flats,” a low-lying area along the Indian River that rimmed one of the poorer neighborhoods of the city.
“Give mommy a hug” were the first words Merritt heard from his mother as he got home from school on those days in 1947 when his mother was home and not working.
He loved the clean, soapy smell of his mother as he surrendered his body into her arms and the two kissed. Merritt found protection in her arms, a comfort and sweetness that he needed so badly after the challenges he felt in the alien school environment.
It was a scene the two continued throughout his school years, even into his senior year in high school. After a particularly fearsome day in the city school where Merritt would have experienced verbal taunts or even mean pushes and punches, the boy would burst into tears that he had held back during the day. Other days, when there had been no terrorism foisted upon him, the boy would display an eagerness about something he learned that day, or some project. For the truth was, except for the badgering and horrors he faced from other bullies in the school, he loved school, most of his teachers and the overall atmosphere of learning.
“Come, let’s see how pretty you can be now, Merritt, dear,” his mother would say on the days when he cried over the harassment of the school day.
“OK, mommy,” he’d say, drying his tears.
“It’s Marilyn time,” Evelyn McGraw said.
It was Merritt’s and his mother’s deep secret! The boy would be Marilyn for the evening, complete with panties, bra, slips and either a dress or skirt and blouse. The boy loved these nights, feeling so natural and comfortable as a girl. As Marilyn, he helped his mother prepare their supper, moving daintily and sometimes with flourishes. His slender, smooth arms and lovely legs always made Evelyn realize that for a few hours on some days she had a lovely daughter.
He was 17 now, of moderate height and a slender, almost fragile boy with hair that was kept unusually long for boys of the era. The hair could easily be bobbed in the style of teen girls of the 1940s and with a hair band and his naturally soft, round face, he could easily be taken for a cute Irish lass. While he cursed the weakness of his male body because of the scorn it caused him to face, he loved how easily it permitted him to transform into a girl.
After supper, Evelyn McGraw and her part-time daughter found time to listen to “One Man’s Family” on radio, a popular soap opera that came on the air at 6:45 each weeknight. They shared in the joys and troubles of the Barbour family of San Francisco, often crying together at some tragic episodes. Later, they might work on sewing some dresses or reading together, usually the “hot” romance novels of the day.
“Mommy, why can’t I live as a girl?” he asked often, fully knowing the answer.
“You’re born a boy, Merritt, dear. You must live as boy and then a man and do what men do,” Evelyn usually replied, hugging the boy, her hands caressing his head gently.
“I know, mommy, I know. It just doesn’t seem right. I feel like a girl.”
Merritt fully realized the truth of his mother’s words. After all, now at age 17, it was 1947, and soon he’d have to register for the draft and likely end up serving time in the Army. How could he, being so weak and girlish, possibly survive such an experience? And who ever heard of boys becoming girls in the 1940s?
“I know, honey, but boys have to be boys.”
Merritt, often wearing a flimsy nightie, would curl up next to his mother, and dream of being a lovely young woman, like Dona, the Lady St. Columbo, in Daphne DuMaurier’s novel, Frenchman’s Creek, being pursued by pirates and adventurous men.
“Mommy, I know I could be a pretty woman, I just know it.”
“I know dear, I know. Kiss me now, and go to bed, darling.”
On those nights, his mother usually slept uneasily, wondering about the fate of her lovely child. How could this fragile, caring child move into the competitive, demanding world of men, when his whole life had been among women? She loved Merritt for his tenderness, his soft beauty and his kind nature, but could he survive in the cruel world? She blamed herself for putting the boy into this predicament.
(Stay tuned for Chapter One, to be here soon)
Chapter One: A Child is Born
Merritt Lane McGraw was born just as the Great Depression of the 1930s was beginning, a result of an infatuation his plump, young mother had with a dashing young man from the rich Highlands area of the city. She met Drake Kosgrove while working as a waitress at the Riverdale Country Club, the exclusive club for the richest of Riverdale’s families.
Drake had already been known widely as the community’s most audacious playboy, who adopted the 1920s as his own personal play time, rushing about in his yellow Packard roadster with the top down, a scarf flowing as he sped down the narrow roadways of the era. No girl, if she was attractive, was immune to his passes, and all of the cute rich girls in their flapper style outfits played up to this roué.
Thus it was a surprise when Drake fastened his attention on Evelyn McGraw, the pert Irish waitress whose family lived down along the railroad tracks of Riverdale where so many of the tannery workers resided. Young Evelyn’s father, Thomas McGraw, had been forced to quit working in the Kosgrove Tanneries, (owned by the Kosgrove family) due to a terrible skin disease he had contracted most likely from work in the hidehouse. The only job he could get then was tending bar at Mickey’s Tap, a tavern that served the Irish workingclass neighborhood. In 1929, with prohibition still in effect, tavern income from selling soda and near beer was minimal, and her father’s earnings were miniscule. Thomas McGraw, was able to pickup some occasional cash by running bootleg liquor, but the income could not be depended upon. Evelyn’s mother began taking in wash and developing a sewing business to help the family finances.
Upon graduation from Riverdale West High School, Evelyn was lucky to have been hired as a waitress at the Country Club, no doubt the result of her young body, light complexion, blonde hair and friendly disposition. Adding to her allure was a plump, but well-proportioned body that drew men’s attention quickly. The ancient Clubhouse Manager, Courtney Jameson, was known to hire only the prettiest of girls for waitress jobs, partly due to his own still rank desires and also to the fact that he knew the tycoon members of the club would also be thrilled. Evelyn secretly hated these tycoons, but she knew the tips would be great, and the family needed her income.
Evelyn hadn’t been at the club more than two days in the June after her graduation when young Drake Kosgrove began to pay attention to her. Evelyn served Drake with his third Tom Collins as he sat with two other young men at the pool after a morning golf match, and found her arm grabbed suddenly by Drake:
“And where did you come from, my young angel?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Evelyn asked, puzzled, trying to discreetly free her arm from his grip. She knew better than to protest loudly; the club member could easily cause her to be fired.
“I asked you, where did you come from? Here in Riverdale?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her arm still in his grip.
She could feel his eyes wandering, searching her with undisguised lust; and, she saw the two companions, also glassy-eyed with too much lunchtime drink, begin to laugh, and also cast eyes on her legs and chest.
Evelyn blushed noticeably, and that caused Drake to relax his hold.
“Can I get you anything else, sir?” Evelyn asked, quickly retreating.
She heard the three men laugh. “That’s trouble, Drake,” she overheard one of the young men say.
“She’s just tannery trash,” said the other.
*****
Two days later, Evelyn left work as dusk was descending and she scurried down the long entry road as fast as her small feet would take her, hoping not to miss the 9 p.m. bus into town. In the northern states, the summer days were long, and Evelyn was glad for the daylight, since she hated the idea of being alone in the dark, as would be the case if she was still working in the autumn and winter.
She could hear a car coming from behind her, and she moved to the shoulder, making sure the driver had room to pass. Instinctively, she knew many of the men leaving the club had been drinking and was always concerned about being hit.
She heard the car slowing down, and from the corner of her eye she recognized the yellow roadster of Drake Kosgrove.
“Miss Evelyn, can I give you a lift?” It was Drake’s voice, slightly slurred.
“No thanks, I’m in time for the bus,” she yelled back, not bothering to look at him.
The car pulled alongside her, slowing down to match her walk, and Evelyn kept looking ahead, avoiding a temptation to look at Drake.
“Aw, come on, Evelyn let me give you a ride.”
Just then she saw the Orange bus pass along the highway, and Evelyn cursed to herself, knowing she’d have a half hour wait for the next bus.
Grudgingly, she accepted the ride.
“You live along the river, right?” Drake asked.
“Yes,” she said in a grunt.
“Look, don’t be mad, Evelyn,” Drake said, his voice still a bit slurred.
She looked at him; his smile was soft, compelling. Though he had been drinking, he seemed to be in control, she felt.
He didn’t begin to move the car immediately, and turned toward her to speak. “Look, I was wrong to talk to you like that a few days ago. I shouldn’t do that. You’re working and it’s not right.”
Evelyn looked at him; he seemed sincere, almost like a little boy, telling his mother how sorry he was for breaking a glass or something. He was almost pleading.
“That’s OK,” she said simply.
Thus began a friendship, actually a secret friendship. His parents would be appalled if they knew Drake was finding interest in the daughter of one of the tannery workers; for their part, the McGraws would be just as upset with the friendship, their democratic tendencies being violated if their daughter was seen to be fraternizing with the community elite. Besides, Drake’s reputation as a womanizer and drunk was well known in the community, as well as the fact that he was nearly 30 years old and Evelyn just turned 18 that June.
By September, Evelyn was pregnant, which in 1929 was the cause of all sorts of problems. The McGraws, being traditional Irish Catholics, were particularly angry; the girl would have to complete the pregnancy, and then what?
“Remember Ruthie?” Mrs. McGraw asked her husband after Evelyn confessed her pregnancy.
“Yes, of course. When she got pregnant she went to the House of Good Shepherd.”
“The church runs that and they can arrange for an adoption of the child,” her mother said.
“Who’s the father?” her husband asked.
“She won’t tell me.”
Her husband was perplexed. He couldn’t understand how his daughter, an “A” student, a girl who had no regular boyfriend, and seemed either to be studying or working and being involved in school activities could find time to become pregnant.
“Is she a slut, or something?” he asked angrily.
“No honey, she’s not, and I know she was a virgin as recently as three months ago.”
“My God, who could it be?”
*****
Evelyn McGraw was sent to live with her grandmother in Green Bay, Wisconsin, about a two-hour train ride from Riverdale, and to assist in her grandmother’s bakery. As her pregnancy continued, her belly expanded, but most people just blamed it upon the temptation to eat sweets while working in the bakery.
Once the pregnancy became obvious, Evelyn smiled benignly when asked about the father, stated only that he was a young man she met while working the previous summer, and that he had left town when he couldn’t find work. “We’ll get married when he finds a job, and then he’ll send for me,” she explained.
Evelyn cried herself to sleep many nights at her grandmother’s house, but with the Depression heightening, she soon became grateful for her grandmother’s protections and love. As far as anyone knows, Evelyn maintained her secret: the father was forever unidentified.
Merritt Lane was born on June 22, 1929, ironically the same day as his mother’s 19th birthday. He was small even in birth, just six pounds, two ounces, and 19 inches in length.
Her parents rode the Chicago & Northwestern’s 400 train to view the child in Bellin Hospital in Green Bay.
“What a pretty child!” her mother exclaimed as a nurse presented them their first grandchild, having brought the infant into the four-bed ward where Evelyn was resting.
“A boy?” her father wondered aloud.
“Oh yes a boy, Mr. McGraw,” the nurse said. “These dainty ones at birth will grow to play tackle for the Packers. You’ll see.”
“Oh, dad, is he beautiful?” Evelyn explained, still groggy from the birth the day before. “I don’t want him hurt playing football, daddy.”
“Evelyn,” he said sternly, “He’s a boy and he’ll get dirty and get into fights and probably play football.”
The nurse nodded in agreement.
Evelyn, used to keeping her own counsel, said nothing. Her boy, to be named Merritt Lane, after both of his grandfathers, would be protected from harm, she told herself.
*****
In the era just before the Depression hit, Merritt Lane was considered an “illegitimate child,” something to be shamed, and sometimes even shunned. Evelyn was counseled by the nuns at Mother of Precious Help Convent, where she spent some time after the birth, to give the boy up for adoption.
“That’s what decent girls do,” Sister John Marie said. “You will be shamed when you return home with a baby and no husband.”
“But he’s so pretty and so cute, sister,” Evelyn pleaded.
“You’ll not be able to give him a good home,” the nun replied. “How can you afford it?”
Evelyn was a sensible girl, and she listened closely to the nun. Everything the nun said made sense to her; the nation was in the first year of growing unemployment after the stock market crash of 1929, and jobs were hard to come by. Her father’s income had dropped so steeply, after his illness forced him out of the tannery, and just recently, her father’s sometimes income bonanza from running bootleg liquor had ended when the bootlegger he assisted was arrested by the Feds.
“How can I keep you my pretty one?” she cried as she held him tightly as he suckled eagerly from her healthy young breast.
“My dear, I don’t want you to get too attached to the boy,” Sister John Marie said.
When the boy fell asleep, the nun took young Merritt Lane from Evelyn without ceremony, and marched him out of the room to the nursery.
Evelyn was able to see and hold the child only during those moments when she nursed him; as soon as that was finished, the baby was snatched away. Sister John Marie urged Evelyn to bottle-feed the child, but the boy refused to take the rubber nipple. His home, it seemed, was at the breast of his mother.
“He’ll starve if I can’t feed him,” she protested to Sister John Marie in the third week of young Merritt’s life.
“He’ll eat when he’s hungry enough,” the nun replied.
“I love him, Sister,” Evelyn said, her sadness growing as she watched how contented he was on her breast.
“Evelyn, listen to me. You’re leaving here Saturday and you’ll be leaving the baby with us.”
“But, sister, I can keep him,” she said, her tears rolling down her face, dropping on her breast and upon Merritt’s head.
Evelyn gently brushed her hand over the boy’s head, a reddish tint to his fine hair, a color almost matching Evelyn’s own strawberry blonde hair.
The truth was that Evelyn was 18 years old and, legally, did not have to give up Merritt to the nuns; it was just expected that she do so. “Decent young women do not bring home an illegitimate child,” she was told over and over.
And, she knew, the boy might be tainted with an even nastier slur: he would be a bastard.
*****
How could the McGraws, steady communicants at St. Michael’s Church with Thomas an usher at the 9 a.m. mass and mother Patricia a member of the Altar Society, let a bastard child into their good Catholic home? How could Evelyn’s younger brother, Frank, go to St. Michael’s School with the other children knowing his sister had been a whore and brought into life such an unwanted child?
“You’re a whore, a slut, a shame upon us all,” thundered her father when she had to admit her growing belly and sometimes debilitating nausea came from the fact of her pregnancy.
“Now, Thomas,” her mother cautioned, as Evelyn burst into tears on that fall Sunday morning when morning sickness had been severe, and the truth came out.
Her father was a kind man who rarely raised his voice to either her mother or she and her brother, and this burst anger was uncharacteristic. He demanded to know who the father was and quizzed her about her boy friends, but Evelyn remained mum.
It wasn’t that Evelyn didn’t know who the father was. She had been a virgin until that one night in the car with Drake. She had had only one kiss in her life, an awkward one from Billy McDonnell after the junior prom.
She hadn’t enjoyed the night in the car with Drake for a minute; she hurt and the blood scared her; worst of all, in her young, naíve mind, she had offended God and her family in a most offensive way. How often had she been told that good girls “don’t do that” until their wedding night? Of course, they never told her what “that” was. She learned that from her friends. Her family was typical within the prudish Irish Catholic society of the early 20th Century.
In her few times with Drake, she found him to be a caring, almost shy boy, not the bore and “womanizer” of his reputation. He was approaching 30, and asked her about her family, life, what her future would be. He asked all sorts of pleasant questions, asked by a man who did not seem to be selfish at all and seemed to care about her.
They had three dates, before the romance got serious. It was a summer Sunday and she told her parents she was to be with a girl friend as an excuse to get out of the house and go to a touring carnival which had set up rides and booths in the area. After a short time at the carnival, they found a quiet spot along a country road just as it was getting dark. Then, Drake fortified by whisky turned into a monster, forcing himself upon Evelyn and impregnating her in his roadster. It was all over in a few minutes, but to Evelyn, what started out as warm, sweet romance, turned into a horror, in which she screamed hopelessly into the growing darkness. She cried all the way home, and Drake was smart enough (apparently having planned ahead) to help her clean up.
Despite the good money she earned with her tips at the club, Evelyn realized she could never return to the club; she quit her job, telling Jameson, the manager, she was sick. Her parents were mystified at the time; they needed her money, but there was no way Evelyn felt she could return to the club and ever face Drake and his friends. She was shamed!
She finished the summer working at the Ben Franklin dime store for 25 cents an hour. It wasn’t a bad job, and she could stay working parttime after the summer, if she wished.
“I’m not a slut, daddy,” she finally admitted as Christmas neared. “I only did it once.”
“Who was the boy?”
“I did it only once. I didn’t want to.”
“Who was the boy?”
“He forced me.”
“Nice girls don’t let themselves be forced. Who was the boy?”
She ran to her room, crying but still refusing to give up Drake’s name. Her mother followed her into the room and comforted her, as Evelyn crawled into a fetal position, sobbing in her pillow. “It was Drake Kosgrove,” she finally whispered.
“Who? The boss’ son, Drake?” Her mother was incredulous.
Evelyn nodded, still sobbing into her pillow. Eventually she told her mother the whole story, and she, in turn, shared the story with her husband, Thomas. As it turned out, her father had tamed his volatile Irish temper, and now seemed even more understanding than her mother, who still was upset with her daughter for allowing the situation to happen.
“Oh, the shame of it all!” her mother cried. “What will everyone think?”
“Patti,” her husband said, using an affectionate tone he often used to calm her down. “Let’s not worry about the shame to us. We need to figure out what to do about Evelyn and her baby.”
“But the Altar Society? Will I have to quit that?”
“Altar Society, be damned,” he said. “Your daughter’s more important.”
“I know Mamie McGillicudy’s daughter . . . remember her, Emma, I think?”
“Yes, what about Emma?”
“The story is Emma got with child the year after she graduated high school, but the McGillicudy’s found someone to take care of that?”
“What? An abortion? No way!” Her husband thundered.
“Well, I was just . . .”
“Get that out of your mind, Pat,” he said. “Not only is it against God and the Church, but Evelyn could die from some quack in a back alley. No way.”
Thus, it was decided that Evelyn would carry the child and that during the pregnancy she’d move in with Grandma McGraw in Green Bay.
*****
To be accepted in society, even in the working class Irish and Italian neighborhood of 1929, a single mother had to be a widow, or at least one who once had a husband who had now abandoned her. Evelyn, now almost 19 years old, was neither.
She was a shame to the McGraw family; never would she marry and have proper husband, her mother feared. The child, as pretty and lovely and bright-eyed as a child could be, would forever be tagged as a “bastard,” one born out of wedlock, out of the sanctity of the Church, and one to be shamed. Why not let the child up for adoption, the Priest who came in as a chaplain at the Mother of Precious Help Convent, asked Evelyn several days after the birth?
“But Father,” Evelyn replied, still in the hospital and holding the child who had fallen asleep in her arms while she nursed him. “Isn’t he the most precious child you ever saw?”
“Yes, my child,” Father Cletus said. He was an old man who had never run a parish, but had won the hearts of all the girls at the Convent.
Father Cletus was almost emaciated in appearance, his freckled skin, showing the dryness of age. His eyes sparkled and his smile was ever-present. It was not a phony smile; he seemed genuinely to like people. The story around the Convent was that he was “too nice,” and that was why he had never had a parish of his own, and always was relegated to serve either in poor neighborhoods or for institutions that served the unfortunate of society. More ambitious priests went to parishes in nicer neighborhoods where the “moneyed Catholics” lived.
“He’s God’s child,” Father Cletus said simply.
“Oh is he, Father? Even though there is no father, no husband for me?”
“Yes, my child,” he said, gently brushing his hand on little Merritt’s hair, now all fuzzy with light blonde hair. “We’re all God’s children. This little one is a gift to all of us, and we will assure his baptism before you leave.”
“Thank you Father. My parents said they’d come up again on the train, and Grandma wants to be here too.”
“You need to choose Godparents for your son, Evelyn,” he said. “Do you have any ideas?”
“I think so,” she said. In truth, she didn’t know who to ask. None of her friends knew of the child; she had cousins in the Green Bay area, and they might be a choice, she thought.
“But, Evelyn,” the priest asked again. “Are you sure you don’t want to give this child up for adoption? He’s such a pretty infant, I’m sure we could find a good home for him.”
Evelyn looked down at Merritt, his eyes closer, a tiny snore rhythmically coming from his breathing. She mused that the boy would likely have the asthma problems of herself and her father, not serious problems but just perpetually seeming to be full of bronchial problems. The boy, she knew, might indeed be better off in the home of adoptive parents, but no one could love him as she could.
She tightened her hold on the child as the Priest talked, as if this kindly old man was about to snatch Merritt Lane from her grasp.
“No father, I’ll love him as no one else can,” she said boldly, though in her heart she was frightened that she’d fail.
*****
“I think your Guardian Angel is looking out for you, honey,” her mother said, as she entered Evelyn’s tiny bedroom, now cluttered with a crib and diaper pail and her own single bed. Evelyn, when the baby was a month old, returned to live with her parents in their lower in the river “flats” neighborhood, where homes were cluttered, two and three to a lot, many of them duplexes and triplexes.
The sweet-sour smell of dirty diapers, baby powder and sweat permeated the room, in spite of efforts by Evelyn and her mother to keep the room clean; it was just too small and confined to do much about it as there was only one window, and it had to be kept closed so the breeze wouldn’t blow on baby Merritt.
“Oh, mom, what do you mean?” Evelyn said, looking up her mother as she nursed the child.
“Sister John Mary thinks she has a good spot for you,” her mother said.
“What mother? I don’t wanna go to the convent.”
“No honey, that’s not what Sister John Mary had in mind.”
“Oh, what then?”
“Well, it seems Mrs. Buckner needs a live-in maid, and Sister John Mary thought you might like that.” Her mother smiled as she mentioned it. Viola Buckner was a youngish widow who lived in one of the richest houses along the Lake; she had two young daughters.
“I can’t leave Merritt,” she said. And, Evelyn was not too keen on the idea of being a housemaid, realizing the work it might involve caring for a family of three in a big house.
“You can take Merritt with you honey, and Mrs. Buckner is nice,” her mother said. “She’s active in the church and works with the Ladies’ Sodality.”
“Oh but mother,” Evelyn protested. “The Buckners are so rich. I'll be so alone.”
“Viola is a really nice person, Evelyn,” her mother persisted. “And, she’s happy to have you bring little Merritt along.”
*****
Evelyn had no choice in the long run. The Buckner family, still in the throes of the Roaring 20s, had sufficient money to maintain their large estate along Lake Michigan, complete with a coach house. The family retained a cook, as well as a yardman-chauffeur; they were Mike and Mary O’Hara, a middle-aged couple who lived in the coach house, and served the Buckner family as Mike’s father had done before them.
The McGraws lived along the river flats in a neighborhood called “Tannery Flats,” mainly for the working families who lived there. There was a strong Irish enclave in the “Flats.” It seemed every front porch was filled with families on the early evening in mid-June when the huge Packard automobile pulled up in front of the McGraw house, and Mike O’Hara, neatly dressed in a white shirt, tie and dark pants emerged from the car to assist Evelyn and baby Merritt into the car.
“Is that the Buckner’s chauffeur?” Molly O’Shaughnessy asked her husband.
“Yeah, looks like it Mike, all right,” her husband said, glancing over the evening newspaper to survey the scene. He knew Mike from Mickey’s Tap, where the chauffeur often spent his off-hours from the estate.
Evelyn was aware the entire neighborhood — already in full knowledge of her sin and the bastard child she bore — was watching. The event had caused her parents to become the subject of catty gossip in the neighborhood, but the family’s otherwise well-known decency and friendliness had seemed to immunize them from being outrightly ostracized. Evelyn reddened as she walked to the huge Packard with Merritt in her arms and her father carrying the baby’s belonging and a suitcase that contained everything Evelyn owned.
*****
Viola Buckner was a tall, slender woman, and when Evelyn first saw her, she was truly intimidated. The woman was dressed in the flapper style of the era, her hair completely formed and plastered to her head, while she wore a light frock in the highest style. It was light peach colored with a high neck and a full skirt that went to her ankles; due to the unusually warm June night, the dress seemed to be almost transparent in its gauzy format.
“Well, young lady, let me see you and your sweet child there,” she requested as Evelyn was shown into the huge sitting room, in which all of the French doors were wide open to accept whatever breeze was in the night air. June bugs pounded against the screens of the doors, their wings buzzing accompanied by the staccato of plops as the bugs hit against the screens.
Evelyn was surprised when the woman eagerly accepted Merritt in her arms, taking him and cuddling him warmly against her bosom, which was quite small. Viola was a muscular woman, and in her youth had been a tennis champion, but she showed a warm motherly attention to young Merritt, who seemed to accept her as well.
“He’s such a pretty child,” Viola Buckner said, letting the boy suck on her finger as she held him comfortably tight against her modest breasts.
Evelyn was impressed with the ease with which the older woman clutched the child, gently, but firmly. She smiled as Viola cooed gently at the child and ran her fingers through his curly hair, saying quietly, soothingly, “So sweet, so lovely, so sweet, so lovely.”
Evelyn stood patiently watching Mrs. Buckner caress the child, who looked so tender and soft in her arms. Suddenly, a strange vision came before her eyes; the child was six years old in her vision, walking hand in hand with Mrs. Buckner through rows of spring flowers, yellows and bright red, interspersed with lavenders and greens. The child was Merritt, now six years old, but he was not a boy: He was a girl, skipping along joyfully in a yellow summer little girl's dress, her pretty legs moving lightly, wearing Mary Janes and white socks; she smiled again to herself: what a pretty picture it was.
“Evelyn,” she heard her name spoken loudly, pulling her out of her stupor, out of her pretty dream.
“Oh . . . ah . . . yes, Mrs. Buckner, I'm sorry.”
“I called you three times, Evelyn,” the older woman said. “Are you all right?”
“Oh yes, guess I was day-dreaming.”
“I guess you were, but are you sure you're OK?”
Evelyn regained her composure, reaching out to take the baby in her arms.
“I don't know what came over me, ma'am, but you made such a pretty picture holding my Merritt.”
Viola Buckner nodded. “And he's such a sweet child, my dear. I'm happy you're able to join our family.”
Evelyn’s parents felt relief when she returned home to tell them that Mrs. Buckner said she was pleased to welcome Evelyn and her infant son into the household.
“She kind of scared me at first,” she told her parents. “But she seems nice and says she’s eager for me to start.”
“Don’t you like her, dear?” her mother asked.
“Oh yes, I do now and she was so warm and loving to Merritt,” Evelyn said, smiling. “It’s just that I’ve never been with such a rich lady before.”
“Mrs. Buckner has always been a big support for our Relief Committee,” her mother said, referring to committees formed in many churches then to help out families on “relief” with food and other necessities of life. Such relief committees were often the last hope for starving families before the days of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal of the 1930s.
“But she did ask me about the father, wondering where he was,” Evelyn said.
“What did you say? Hope you didn’t tell her about Drake?” her father said.
“Just said I didn’t know, that I was forced into sex once and that was that. And, she apologized for being so nosey. She’s really nice, daddy.”
“You know, we said we’d keep this all in the family,” Thomas McGraw said. “I suppose we could have gone after the Kosgroves for some money but I don’t believe in that. We McGraws take care of our own.”
“I know, daddy,” Evelyn said, truly feeling happy now that she could look forward to a life that for Merritt’s infant years would provide her with a home and support. Even the thought of that night in the car with Drake Kosgrove caused her horrors. Her memories were crowded with the suddenness by which Drake had turned from what appeared to be a sweet young man to a ravaging monster, so crudely taking away her innocence and ruining her life.
She was comforted, however, with the realization that she soon would be living in a comfortable home where Merritt would find friends among a nice woman and her daughters. She even looked forward to serving the “nice lady.”
*****
Evelyn took to mothering naturally, it seemed. Even before she moved into the two-room maid’s quarters in the Buckner estate, she had found handling the infant to come easy. Even the early morning feeding which interrupted her sleep didn’t bother her, as she held the lovely child to her breast.
Her breasts grew large, almost over-sized for even her plump frame, but they comforted the boy as he suckled. She always arose, picking the child up from his crib, and holding him in her arms as she went to a rocker that her father had found at a second-hand store. In her pregnancy she had gained a bit more weight than she liked, but she had filled out into a soft plumpness that seemed to accentuate her natural beauty. The child rested on her tummy as she held him to her breast.
A day after Evelyn arrived at the Buckner estate, Mike O’Hara, the Buckner chauffeur, had gone back to the McGraw household in the Packard to pick up several more of Evelyn’s books and clothes; he also fit the rocker into the Packard and brought that along.
“I missed the rocker so much, Mike,” Evelyn said when he brought it into her room. “Thank you so much.”
“Your mother said you liked to rock little Merritt to sleep in it,” he explained.
Merritt quickly became the hit of the household. Viola Buckner and her oldest daughter, Nancy, were constantly present, wanting to care for the child, take him for walks down to the beach or just hold him as Evelyn did her work. In her free moments from her cook duties, Mary O’Hara joined in the care of the child. Merritt was not suffering from lack of attention.
Only Mrs. Buckner’s youngest child, Elizabeth, who was eight, seemed upset to have the new child in the household.
“I think Beth’s upset that she’s no longer the center of attention here,” Viola said when Evelyn questioned why the younger girl never seemed to take an interest in Merritt.
“Oh I hope this hasn’t hurt her,” Evelyn said.
“She’ll get over it, my dear. It’s called a sibling rivalry, almost like little Merritt is the new baby in the family, replacing her as the youngest.”
The older girl, Nancy, 10, however, developed a motherly manner with the infant, taking every opportunity to cradle him, walk him in the buggy and change his diapers. Viola Buckner rummaged in the attic to find a box of baby clothes that her two girls had worn as infants.
“Evelyn, I know they’re for the girls, but they should be fine for an infant,” she said in presenting the box to the young woman.
Since Evelyn arrived in the household with barely one change of clothes for Merritt, she accepted the box of clothes eagerly. In those days, it was still common for infant boys to wear dresses; they made sense, since it was easier to change diapers when the child was in a dress.
“He looks so darling,” Viola commented, after Evelyn put Merritt into a light blue dress. The boy’s hair was a light blonde, and flowed over his ears, and when Nancy took Merritt in the buggy out along the main street that fronted the Buckner property, she was constantly besieged with comments like, “What a pretty little girl.”
“What’s the little girl’s name?” one woman asked, and when Nancy replied, “Merritt,” the woman said, “Oh that’s such a classy name for a girl.”
Nancy told Evelyn about the incident, and it dawned on the new mother that “Merritt” indeed could also be a girl’s name. The idea bothered her, and she wondered about calling the baby “Lane,” but realized that also could be a girl’s name. In the family’s effort to give the child family names, it was now obvious they had chosen androgynous names.
*****
Evelyn’s entrance into the Buckner family came easily, comfortably. She had become a ready companion for the widow Viola, her rather naíve intelligence becoming strangely attractive to the older woman. To the two girls, Evelyn became a role model, being the first older girl the two children had ever had much contact with.
During her time as a waitress, Evelyn developed makeup skills, thanks largely to Mrs. Savage, who was the hostess at the country club. “I want all my girls to be classy and dressing in good taste,” she explained on Evelyn’s first day on the job. “And you, my dear, look like a hussy,” using a term popular in the era, and referring to one who’s be called a slut in the 21st Century.
Evelyn had worked hard, with her mother’s help, to put on decent makeup for her job, but apparently the working class definition of being “classy” did not fit into the style favored by the wealthy classes. Tears came to Evelyn’s eyes as the hostess criticized her.
“Don’t cry dear,” Mrs. Savage said, comforting Evelyn. “Let me show you.”
Mrs. Savage turned out to be Evelyn’s strongest supporter at the club, helping her become more comfortable and confident as a young woman. Evelyn rewarded the hostess by quickly becoming one of her top waitresses, a career that was abruptly ended when she became pregnant. Evelyn took those lessons on being a woman of class and quality to heart.
With Viola’s permission, she taught the young girls how to put on makeup and dress pretty; she was developing into a natural teacher and confidante for the girls. In turn, they were often available to play with Merritt, to change his diapers and watch him while she went about other chores in the house.
In the practice of the upper classes of the era, it was not strange to dress little boys up until about age 5 in dresses. Since the Buckner household had plenty of dresses, it seemed natural to continue the practice. Evelyn let the boy’s hair grow, and it grew straight and blonde, flowing about his tiny shoulders.
Merritt took his first steps wearing a light blue gown that reached almost to his feet; it came after Elizabeth (who soon lost her jealousy over the boy thanks to Merritt's charming behavior) had just finished dressing him, having tied his hair into pigtails, captured in two pink ribbons. His mother entered the nursery, seeing her son made up like a pretty doll. She was ready to chastise Elizabeth for having dressed him so outwardly girlish, but the boy, standing next to his crib on the floor, saw her and squealed, taking three tentative steps into his mother’s arms. He was 13 months old.
“He walked,” Evelyn yelled, drawing the attention of the whole household.
Viola, her daughter Nancy and Mrs. O’Hara all ran to the room, gathering in the doorway.
Elizabeth’s attention, however, was directed at how she had dressed the infant. “Didn’t I make Merritt so pretty?”
“Yes, honey, you did,” Viola said. “She’s such a pretty girl.”
“And she took her first steps!” exclaimed Mrs. O’Hara.
“She?” Evelyn said in astonishment. “She? He’s a boy, not a she.”
“Oh but, Evelyn,” Viola began, ‘She’s … ah . . . he’s so . . .ah . . . handsome.”
*****
It turned out that Merritt was a perfectly charming child, easy to raise; both Buckner girls enjoyed caring for the youngster, finding him to be eager and joyful in their presence. They continued to find dresses for him to wear, many of them frilly and dainty, and the boy seemed to be happy wearing them. The girls had a roomful of dolls and two dollhouses; the sheer quantity of dolls dazzled even Evelyn who had been raised in a worker's home where there were few toys; as a child she had a ragdoll made by her grandmother, and she adored it. She envied a few of her girl friends whose parents were able to provide them with store-bought toys, but she had never seen such a selection of toys as the two Buckner girls had.
By the time Merritt turned four, he gained close attachment to a Shirley Temple doll that Elizabeth had gotten for Christmas. By the day after Christmas, Elizabeth by then 11 years-old, ran to her mother, crying, “Merry won’t let me have my doll,” she said, using the nickname the girls had adopted for the boy.
The boy literally pounced on Elizabeth’s doll when the package had been opened on Christmas morning, eagerly changing and unchanging the various dresses that accompanied the doll. He ignored a large red fire truck that was his major gift of the holiday.
“Mommy, mommy, I love Shirley,” he cried after his mother said he must return the doll to Elizabeth.
“It’s Elizabeth’s, not yours, honey.”
“Mommy, mommy,” he wailed, sobbing into his mother’s skirt.
“But you have this nice truck, Merritt,” she said.
“Let Bethie have the truck.”
“Bethie’s a girl, honey, she doesn’t want a truck,” his mother said.
The boy’s demand to play with Shirley continued unabated, with the result that Viola that afternoon ventured into the downtown department store to purchase another Shirley Temple doll. Evelyn protested that they were spoiling her son, but Viola, still flush with wealth, felt the boy’s interest in the doll was so intense that he should not be denied the doll.
*****
“Now Merry wants to be like Shirley,” Elizabeth informed her mother and Evelyn two days later.
“What do you mean, Beth?” her mother asked.
“She wants a dress like Shirley’s, and she wants her hair all curled,” the girl explained. “She’s so weird mom.”
“Oh he’s just a little boy,” Viola told her daughter. “He’ll grow out of it.”
That’s how Merritt became “Shirley Temple” as the year 1935 began. Mary O’Hara, who had worked for sometime as a hairdresser, was summoned to fix little Merritt’s hair to match the doll’s.
“Miss McGraw,” she said to Merritt’s mother. “I don’t think you should do this to the boy. His hair really should be cut, so he looks more like a boy.”
Evelyn considered the cook’s comment, but before she could answer, Viola interceded, “Oh Evelyn, I wouldn’t worry about it, he’s just four now, and this is a phase. He’ll grow out of this once he meets other boys.”
“Oh Viola, I don’t know, he only plays with girls’ things, never his own. I’m beginning to worry about him.”
“He’s a perfectly healthy and happy little boy, Evelyn. Let him enjoy himself.”
“My dad said we’re turning him into a sissy,” Evelyn responded. “Soon he’ll have to go to school and the boys will pick on him. That’s what my dad says.”
Evelyn recalled, too, her father’s words about raising the boy in a household where there were only females. Her mother, too, was shocked when Evelyn had brought Merritt back home for a Sunday visit several weeks after Christmas, and the boy insisted on showing his Shirley Temple doll to his grandmother. Evelyn had dressed her son in a neat proper boy’s outfit, black slacks and a white boy’s shirt, but even that failed to disguise the girlishness the child exhibited with his full head of curly blonde hair (fashioned to match the Shirley Temple doll) and a discernible prissiness that accompanied his actions.
“Namma, namma,” the boy said in his high child’s voice, full of excitement. “I have a Shirley Tem’ doll. She’s mine.”
Grandma McGraw hoisted the boy and his doll on her lap, expressing her joy at the boy’s happiness, expertly concealing the shock she felt at seeing her grandson so happy with a doll.
“That’s a pretty doll, Merritt,” his grandmother said, holding the boy on her lap and running her hands through his curly locks. “What are you doing with his hair, Evelyn?”
“Yes, Evelyn,” her father echoed, an anger in his voice.
“It’s curled,” her mother said.
“Yes, mother,” Evelyn finally admitted. “It what he wants.”
“You mean Merritt? It’s what he wants?” her mother asked.
“Yes, mom . . . and . . . ah . . . dad. It’s what Merritt wanted. He wants to look like the doll.”
“The doll?” her father yelled. With that her father, leaped up from his easy chair, storming across the room, and grabbing the doll from his grandson’s grasp.
Merritt looked at his grandfather in horror, tried to leap from his grandmother’s lap, but she held him tight as the boy watch his grandfather take the doll out of the living room, heading for the kitchen.
“I want my doll, I want Shirley,” the boy cried.
Soon he was in a full cry, tears streaming down his face, his tiny arms and legs squirming in a vain attempt to leave his grandmother’s hold.
“What are you doing Dad?” Evelyn said, running into the kitchen after her father.
“This doll’s going into the trash, where it belongs. No grandson of mine will be playing with dolls, and I want his hair cut immediately, if I have to do it myself.”
“No daddy, don’t. It’ll crush him.”
“Don’t you dare break that doll, Thomas.” It was Grandmother McGraw, still carrying a squirming Merritt, who came into the kitchen, her eye’s blazing.
“It’s for his own, good,” Thomas McGraw said. “We need to make a boy out of him. All you women out there in that damned Buckner joint. No wonder he’s like a girl.”
With that, Thomas McGraw tore the head off the doll, sawdust from inside the doll scattered about the kitchen floor, and he charged out of the house, tearing the legs and arms of the doll, throwing the remains into a garbage can at the rear of the yard.
Merritt cried and cried and cried. He didn’t stop crying until he and Evelyn were returned to Buckner household, where Elizabeth took the boy into her room, consoling him and letting him dress her Shirley Temple doll. His crying stopped, but even Elizabeth’s kindness could not halt the hurt he felt in his heart.
*****
Merritt insisted on wearing his daintiest of nighties that as he went to bed. He also wanted to take Elizabeth’s Shirley Temple doll into the bed, and that caused a brief squabble in the boy’s bedroom.
“No, Merritt, dear,” his mother said, “You can’t take the doll to bed with you. It’s Bethie’s”
Merritt, holding the doll tightly, began to cry, and Elizabeth quickly said, “Oh that’s OK. Let Merry sleep with the doll. She loves it so much.”
“No, Elizabeth,” his mother responded. “You know he could damage the doll in his sleep. Besides, it’s your doll.”
“She loves Shirley so much.”
“Dear, quit calling him ‘she’ and ‘Merry.’ He’s a little boy, and his name is ‘Merritt.’”
“No, she’s my little sister, Merry.”
Elizabeth went to the bed and sat next to Merritt, hugging him tightly. “You can sleep with Shirley,” she said.
“Now, Elizabeth, that’s enough,” Viola Buckner said. “You heard Miss McGraw. She doesn’t want Merritt sleeping with Shirley.”
The boy handed the doll over to Elizabeth, who stormed from the room, the curly-headed doll in her arms. Merritt curled up on the bed, his sobs filling the room.
“Here honey,” said his mother, handing him a ragdoll he usually slept with. The boy grabbed it eagerly, and held it tightly, his crying slowly subsiding.
Evelyn McGraw got off the bed slowly, looking back at her son, a fragile form in the fetal position, the ragdoll clutched firmly. Bethie’s right, she thought, the child is a girl, but what an awful future lay before this slender, dainty person. It was enough to make Evelyn McGraw cry and wonder: what had she done to create this lovely, wonderful little person whose future raised so many worries for her.
*****
That night, Evelyn realized that perhaps her father was right, even though he acted with such cruelty toward the boy. Somehow, she would have to make Merritt her little boy again.
Two days later, Evelyn prevailed on Mary O’Hara to cut Merritt’s hair, shortening it to a typical boy’s length. The cook agreed to it, saying she thought it a good idea since soon the boy may be finding playmates outside of the Buckner household and would be going to kindergarten. All boys wore short hair in the Depression, even if the family could not afford the 10 cent cost of a child’s haircut. In such cases, a mother or father used scissors to slice off hair, often leaving uneven cuts. In poorer neighborhoods, it was not unusual to see home-shorn heads among the boys in a classroom.
At first Merritt refused to sit still on the kitchen chair setup for the haircut.
“I want my Shirley curls,” he cried.
“Now, honey, you know you can’t keep going out like a little girl,” his mother pleaded. “Soon you’ll be in kindergarten.”
“I don’t wanna be a boy. Let me be a girl.”
“Oh, silly,” his mother tried to new tactic. “We’re just trimming your hair a bit. Mary will make you look pretty.”
“I want to keep my hair, mommy.”
The child began to squirm out of the chair, beginning a bee-line out of the room, to be caught by Mike O’Hara, the family chauffeur and Mary’s husband.
“Now, my precious,” Mike said, holding the squirming child gently, but firmly. He hugged the boy, and the boy soon quieted down.
“Mrs. McGraw, why don’t you leave and let Mike and me handle this?”
Evelyn nodded, recognizing this was a time to let the O’Hara’s work with the child. The couple had taken a liking to the boy, and he, in turn, had enjoyed helping Mary in the kitchen many times. Mike took the boy under his wing, as time permitted, urging him to “help” in washing the cars and even taking him fishing in a nearby pond. Merritt said he had fun with Mike, but, in truth, Merritt seemed happier with Mary working with her in the kitchen or assisting in folding clothes.
A half hour later, Merritt emerged from the kitchen, his curls gone, and his hair still showing some length, but not enough to mark him as a girl. Merritt’s eyes were red from crying, and at first he refused to look in a mirror.
“Go ahead, honey, look,” his mother said.
He took a tentative look, quickly turning away. A few seconds later, he took a longer look, and his scowl turned to a faint smile. He touched his hair in the same dainty manner he had grown used to, playing with it, almost modeling it.
“Mommy, I can still tie my hair up,” he said.
Evelyn sighed. Somehow, her son would have to become a boy before school began.
(Evelyn wonders whether she’s been a good mother to her son as she ponders his fate as a girlish boy, but finds romances — two of them — in unexpected places. Merritt is still the joy of the Buckner household)
Chapter 3: New Romances
Since the McGraw family had no phone, relying mainly on their neighbors for emergencies, they used the mails to communicate with family members. At the time, there was twice-a-day delivery of mail in most urban areas, and Evelyn and her mother turned to writing letters to communicate. Usually, both knew if they posted their letters before 10 a.m., the letters would get to the other person in the afternoon mail.
Several days after the visit when her father had destroyed the Shirley Temple doll, Evelyn received mail from her mother. Her handwriting was fairly tiny, but it was clearly written.
Dear Evelyn,
I’m so sorry that your visit Sunday ended so bad. Your father was so cruel. I must apologize for him.
You’ll have to forgive him, dear. He’s not been himself since can’t support the family as he’d like. His injury has bothered him, and I think he’s drinking too much.
But he’s always been sweet to me and to you and Frank. I don’t know what got into him.
I know you vowed never to return to this house, but please come back, honey, and bring Merritt. I know Thomas is only worried about the boy and his future.
Merritt is our only grandchild, dear. Please don’t cut us off.
Love, your mother
Evelyn read the letter while still in the foyer, and she was crying when Viola Buckner entered, asking:
“Have you got the afternoon mail there, Evelyn?”
Evelyn sniffled, cleared her throat, nodding, “Yes,” and handing all of the mail to her employer, including the tear-stained note from her mother she had just read.
Viola gave the note a quick scan, and looked up quizzically, “What’s this all about, Evie. You never mentioned this.”
Evelyn dried her eyes with a handkerchief and told Viola about the visit at her parents and how her father had treated Merritt and off his violent destruction of the Shirley Temple doll.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”
“I didn’t want to embarrass my family,” she explained.
“Well, dear, you’re also part of THIS family, and you can share things with me. You know that?”
“Yes, Mrs .Buckner.”
“It’s Viola, remember.”
Viola took Evelyn in her arms, and gave the young woman a comforting hug; it was a moment that slowly eased Evelyn’s mind and she found herself truly grateful for this warm expression of concern from her employer. Maybe Viola was right: maybe her true family now was her at the Buckner estate.
As time went on, however, Evelyn missed her mother and her brother Frank, and she began writing her mother several times a week, telling of her work at the Buckner estate and relating tibits about Merritt, carefully not mentioning any of his girlish moments, in fear her father would see the letter.
In the meantime, Merritt became the joy of the entire Buckner estate.
*****
Elizabeth Buckner, now 13, had gained several girl friends and they spent much time at the Buckner mansion, giggling in the girl’s bedroom and, in warmer weather, around the pool. She had always treated Merritt as a “little sister,” introducing the boy to dolls, pretty dresses and skirts, and even makeup. She was always rummaging into clothes that she and her sister had outgrown to dress Merritt.
Merritt loved these times when Elizabeth had her friends over. One breezy summer day, Merritt heard their giggles from Elizabeth’s room. He was in the kitchen at the rear of the mansion, assisting Mary, the cook, in cleaning vegetables.
“Bethie’s got friends here, Mary. I think I’ll go now.”
“Now don’t bother them, Merritt,” she said.
“Mary, they like me. They play with me.”
“Honey, they’re girls, they don’t want a little boy around,” Mary said, patting his blonde curls.
“I’m a girl for them, Mary.”
“I know, honey, but let them alone.” Mary O’Hara knew his mother’s concerns about him being too girly, and now that he was five-years-old, she was trying to make him more of a boy before school began.
“I wanna go to see them. Let me,” he pleaded.
Finally she gave in, warning him not to stay if they didn’t want him to. He skipped off.
*****
“Here’s our Merry,” screamed Elizabeth as the boy, wearing shorts and a white shirt bounced into the room.
She scooped the lad up into her arms.
“Where’s your dress, Merry?” asked a pudgy-faced Annette, one of the friends.
“Mommy don’t want me to wear any dresses,” he said, a pout appearing.
“She doesn’t? Why?” asked Agnes, a thin and wiry girl, with pronounced problems with acne.
Elizabeth explained: “His mother’s worried he’s too much a girl and that he’ll have trouble in school this fall. She’s trying to make him a boy.”
“Oh, I hate that. He’s pretty, and I hate it they cut off his hair,” Annette said.
“Don’t you wanna be a girl, Merry?” Agnes asked
The boy, looking fragile and pensive, didn’t answer, standing with a forefinger in his mouth.
“You’re a pretty little girl, Merry,” the girl persisted.
He looked up at the questioning girl, who smiled down at him, encouraging him to answer. He so wanted to pleased her, since Agnes was always nice to him, and made sure his hair was always combed so prettily. He knew the girl would always seek to make him feel good as a girl, assuring him that he was the “prettiest little girl” in Riverdale. Tears came to the boy’s face now, and he fought to hold back a cry.
“I like being Merry,” he said finally.
“Oh my darling,” Agnes said, gathering the boy up in her sinewy arms, holding him tightly. “He’s such a doll. Let’s make him real pretty.”
Elizabeth, knowing that both Evelyn and her own mother would object, sought to end the conversation. “We better not, my mom’ll kill me.”
“She’s not home, Bethie,” Annette said. “We can do it for an hour. She won’t be home for a while.”
“Yes, let’s,” echoed Annette.
“Can I be Shirley?” the boy asked eagerly, is face still moist from the tears. The smiles that filled his cherubic face were intoxicating.
“Shirley?” asked Annette.
“Yes, that’s the outfit I fixed up for him last week, making him just like Shirley Temple, a flared skirt, white blouse, embroidered vest, white socks and black shoes with straps.”
“Yes, Bethie,” Merritt clapped. “Dress me like Shirley.”
“But your curls are gone honey,” Elizabeth reminded him.
Merritt placed both hands up to his head, running his hands through his now-straight hair.
“That’s OK, dear,” Agnes said, still holding the boy in her arms, as she sat on the side of the bed.
“We’ll figure out something about Merry’s hair,” Annette said.
Within a few minutes, Elizabeth had located the Shirley Temple clothing he had worn before, and the girls worked to dress him up, applying modest makeup and light touches of lipstick and eye shadow.
“Shirley Temple never wore heavy makeup,” Elizabeth reminded them, when Agnes sought to apply a dark red color to the boy’s lips.
“Isn’t she so pretty now?” Annette asked, as they finished.
They paraded Merritt in front of a full length mirror in Viola’s large, sumptuous bedroom, a room with a Victorian flavor, canopied bed and frilly, pink and teal colored drapes with a matching duvet.
The boy jumped with glee, and began posing in exaggerated feminine stances, even making faces at himself. He giggled out loud.
“But what are we to do about his hair?” asked Agnes.
She sat down on a vanity bench, drawing the boy to her. “You’re such a darling little girl, Merry,” she said, holding him tightly.
“I love you, Agnes,” the boy said.
Finally Elizabeth said: “I got an idea. Let’s put a bonnet on her head.”
“Yes, let’s,” Agnes agreed. “What have you got?”
Elizabeth skipped from the room, and Annette and Agnes fussed with the boy for a while, trying to fix his hair, testing out how various headbands looked. He cooperated as a lovely model would, smiling sweetly.
“I wished we had a camera,” Annette said. “I left my Brownie at home.”
“I wished I had a Brownie,” Agnes said, speaking of a popular box camera of the era, which cost a whole $3 to buy, a substantial purchase for most families during the Depression. Both Agnes and Annette came from working class households, where their fathers were either jobless or working on shortened hours. Elizabeth’s mother, thanks to the family fortune, was able to live more comfortably than most.
“But wouldn’t the drugstore guy see the picture of Merry, and wonder why a boy was dressed as a girl?” Annette asked, realizing they’d have to drop the film off at the drugstore to be developed and printed.
“He wouldn't know it was a boy,” Agnes replied. “He'd think it was a girl, and if he asked who she was we could say she was a cousin from upstate.”
“Here I got it,” Elizabeth bounded into the room, carrying a bonnet that strapped under the chin. It was light blue with white lace trim. “Come here, Merry, dear.”
She tied the bonnet on the boy’s head. It was much like a Little Bo-Beep bonnet, and they all admired how cute it looked. The boy, however, scowled.
“That’s not like Shirley,” he complained.
“It’s so perfect for you, honey,” Elizabeth said.
“I want it like Shirley,” he persisted.
“We don’t have one like that, Merry,” Elizabeth explained. “I looked all over.”
“You still look so pretty, Merry,” Agnes said, gathering the pretty boy in her arms again, holding him tightly, caressing him, comforting him.
Just then, a door slammed downstairs, and the girls froze.
“Mom’s home,” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Oh my God, what’ll we do?” Annette said, in a panicked voice, as she tried to quiet her anxiety.
“We’ll never get Merry out of her outfit.”
“I know,” Elizabeth said. “Let’s at least get back to my room.”
The three girls and Merritt scampered across the hall, their footsteps echoing on the wood floor, despite their efforts to be quiet.
“What’s going on up there?” they heard their mother yell.
The four quickly ducked into Elizabeth’s room, locking the door.
“Quick, let’s get this stuff off him,” she ordered.
They worked frantically, but it seemed only moments before there was a loud knocking on the door, and Viola Buckner, yelling: “Open this door, Elizabeth.”
“Just a minute, mom,” she yelled back.
“Now, girl, now!”
The pounding increased in intensity as the girls succeeded in removing the bonnet, the headband and the shoes.
“YOU OPEN THIS DOOR YOUNG LADY.”
“I better,” she said.
“But he’s still got the skirt and blouse on.”
Elizabeth ran to the door, opened it. Her mother rushed into the room.
“Elizabeth Buckner, what did I tell you about dressing him up?” Viola yelled at her daughter, grabbing her by her arm.
“I know mom, I know. But he looks so pretty.”
Hearing the ruckus, Evelyn, Merritt’s mother, appeared in the doorway, looking at her half-dressed son, still looking so much like a cute little girl.
“Don’t spank Merritt, Mrs. McGraw,” Elizabeth said. “It was all our idea.”
By now, Merritt was crying, upset by the loud yelling and obvious angry outbursts. The Buckner household was known for its civility; rarely was there any yelling or screaming. Evelyn gathered the boy’s regular clothes, and guided him out of the room, tears streaming from his face.
*****
That night, after the children were put to bed, Evelyn and Viola gathered around the kitchen table, sipping a white wine out of jelly glasses. In spite of the wealth of the household, Viola still enjoyed reverting to her earlier days growing up in a machinist’s household in the lower flats along the river. The two women shared a working class heritage that they enjoyed reliving, in spite of their current plusher environment.
“I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing, Viola,” Merritt’s mother began. “Merritt seems so sad now that we’ve cut his hair and taken him out of dresses.”
“He really does seem to enjoy dressing pretty,” Viola agreed. “I'm sorry about what Beth did today, dressing him like that. I had told her we had to stop doing it.”
“I know you told her, but I guess she and her girl friends were just consumed with the idea of making him so pretty.”
“Well, I've told her she can't have the girls in for a week, and she was really sorry. And, Evelyn, I want you to know that Merritt refused at first, but then wanted to be dressed as Shirley Temple.”
Evelyn smiled, realizing how hurt the boy was when they cut his curls.
“Did I make him this way, Viola? You know, all he sees here are girl things, and I guess I've encouraged that.”
“I know, a household of women.”
“And Mike has tried to encourage the boy to work with him on the cars,” Evelyn continued. “He's even taken him fishing, and the boy giggled like a girl he said when Merritt brought in a blue gill, wanting to keep the fish alive and give it a name.”
“And my daughters haven't helped the situation much, by dressing him constantly,” Viola added.
“I think it's more than that, Viola,” Evelyn said, measuring her words more carefully now. “It may be something in him, maybe he's got a problem from birth.”
“I don't know, but I think you're doing the right thing trying to get him into more masculine stuff.”
“Thanks, Viola, you're such a good friend, I can't thank you enough for taking us in like this, giving us a roof over our head, when no one else would. It's been five years now.”
“I enjoyed having both of you here, and it's not like you haven't been working, caring for the girls in my absence, keeping the house neat and clean.”
Viola smiled now, reaching over and putting a hand Evelyn's arm, adding, “You know, I've grown to love you, Evelyn, and your beautiful little boy.”
Evelyn blushed, putting her other hand over Viola's, the two women growing flushed, perhaps from the warmth of the day, the wine or the sharing of heat from their respective bodies. Evelyn felt something else rising between them, an unmistakable feeling of togetherness and she wanted now, more than anything to find herself in the older woman's arms, protected by her warmth and affection. She remembered the comfort she felt in Viola’s arms the day she shared her mother’s letter about her father’s behavior against Merritt.
Viola must have subconsciously sensed Evelyn's feelings, for she removed her hand from under the other woman's hold. She, too, felt pangs of affection for Evelyn, finding her pale blue Irish eyes and pale soft complexion so appealing. She felt almost light-headed.
“Well, I should check on the girls,” Viola said, finding an excuse to cut off the conversation. Her wine finished, she got up, and took both empty glasses to the sink and was about to leave.
“I'll take care of them,” Evelyn said.
Evelyn sat there a few more minutes, still shaken from the momentary feelings of love and affection she felt for Viola.
My God, she thought. What was I thinking? What was I doing? I wanted to kiss Viola. To kiss her. How disgusting! It's a sin. Oh dear God, will I have to confess this to Father Paczkowski at confession?
She still felt fuzzy as she arose from the table to clean the wine glasses and straighten the kitchen. The idea of loving another woman had never entered her head, since it would be so unnatural. She had heard stories of women being together and kissing, but had never seen examples of it. Besides, what did two women do together? It didn't make sense. Now in the year 1935 there was lot of talk of “modern women” and of “free love,” all concepts that were foreign to Evelyn, whose education ended at high school and who had been sheltered by life in the mansion of the Buckner estate.
Evelyn resolved not to let her friendship with Viola grow any more intense. She wasn't quite sure how to avoid feeling an attraction to the older woman, but she knew she had more serious problems ahead in dealing with her son's future, and the fact that he desired so strongly to be a girl. Her sleep that night was troubled, interspersed with what steps to take concerning Merritt's persistent girlishness and with again desiring to feel Viola's lips upon hers while the two embraced passionately. Both thoughts fought with her for attention.
*****
Evelyn loved the Riverdale Public Library, a huge 1890's structure building a gray concrete, complete with massive front steps and a huge atrium trimmed with ornate plasterwork and murals. The building’s concrete block, once a light cream-color was now growing gray with the soot of the area. Riverdale was home to many manufacturers and in the community's air was full of tiny particles, so intense that after an hour on the streets of downtown Riverdale you'd end up with a face so soot filled that the wash cloth you used on your face would be black.
On the day after her conversation with Viola over the growing girlishness of her son, Evelyn took the streetcar downtown to the library. Maybe there was a book about boys like Merritt.
Evelyn wore simple dresses that went below her knees' usually they were dark with white lace trim, and belted. She wore her light brown hair straight and relatively short still retaining the plastered —down flapper style, a result of Mary O'Hara's hairdressing talents. She wore a scarf over her head, tied under her chin, even in the warmest of days. Respectable women of the 1930's had to keep their heads covered.
Probably due to the expert culinary skills of the Buckner cook, Mary, Evelyn had added some weight to her slender bone structure, and her face retained cherubic appearance that given the hint that she might still be under 20, when in fact she was now 25. In a word, she was a cute and comely young lady, and she always attracted looks when she went in public.
It took her time to find materials having to do with sexuality in the Library. Such materials were not on the regular shelves, and the card catalogue for several books covering the topics said “See Librarian.” She dutifully copied down the Dewey Decimal system numbers of the books, and headed for the librarian’s desk.
As she approached the desk, she was shocked to find just one young man waiting to serve her. She had hoped for a woman to be there; it was rare to see a man librarian in those days.
“What do you need?” the young man asked.
“These books,” she said, handing over the information.
“Oh?” he said, looking up at her. “These are in the restricted area, miss. Are you 18?”
She blushed, “Oh yes. I'm 25.”
“Really,” the man answered. He stopped for a minute, looking at her closely, and then added: “Oh yes, of course you are. I'll get the books.”
He stepped away, leaving Evelyn to wait, and she wondered what the man was thinking of her. Did he think she was lying about her age? Did he think she wanted to read the books for sex?
Her thoughts were cut short.
“Here you are, miss,” he said, handing over two books in dark red covers.
“Thank you,” she grabbed them, not looking up.
“Wait, miss,” the man said. “Aren't you Evelyn McGraw from high school?”
Evelyn stopped in her tracks, looking up at the man, realizing she recognized him, although she didn't know from what circumstance.
“Yes,” she said, faintly, hating to be recognized while looking at books on sex.
“I'm Bob Casey. Don't you remember me?”
Evelyn looked at him. Of course, it was Bob. He had been quiet, slender boy and the two had had several classes together. She had been teamed up with him once for a project in English and found him to be fun. Other than that, she knew little about him.
“Of yes, Bob, I do now. I'm sorry.”
“What are you doing now?” he said, as she was aware he was looking at her hand for possible signs of a wedding ring. There were no such signs.
“Working for a lady in a house along the lake,” she answered simply.
“That's nice,” he replied, speaking in the soft tones typical of librarians. “It's good to have any job these days.”
“I know.”
“I got laid off from the tractor works,” he volunteered. “I was lucky to get this clerk job here, thanks to my good grades in school.”
“That's right, I remember you were an honor student,” she smiled.
“You were, too, Evelyn.”
“Thank you.”
“Evelyn, I'm getting off in 30 minutes, care to have coffee with me?”
She agreed that she would be looking at the books for at least 30 minutes, and that maybe then she'd consider having coffee with him. She knew she would say “yes.” Evelyn had not been with a boy or man since her affair more than five years earlier with the father of her child. And, Bob Casey seemed nice and harmless.
*****
Both books were scholarly tomes on sexuality; one had been written in 1925, and a glance through its pages told her it was outdated in theory, and likely contained more myth than fact. The other book was printed in 1933, and told of the first medical experiment done to turn a man into a woman. It also used the word “transvestite,” which she had never heard before, to describe such men who liked to dress as women or wanted to be women.
What struck her most intensively was the story of Einar Wegener who in 1931 became Lily Elbe in what was thought to be the first sex change operation ever completd. The desires of this once young man (already an accomplished and renowned artist) to be a woman were so intense that he suffered through the difficult operation in Denamrk. There was no doubt in her mind that some boys were born with male parts, but a female psyche. Was that true for her Merritt? If so, she thought, his future was faced with uncertainties and unhappiness.
She cried, silent tears cascading down her face, interrupted finally by Bob Casey's soft question: “Are you all right?”
*****
Evelyn had read about 15 pages of the academic tome when Casey interrupted her thoughts, pretty much exhausting what could be known at the time about boys or men who desired to be girls or women. She handed the two books back to the young librarian and asked him to check out Pearl S. Buck's book, Good Earth, a best seller from 1932.
The two settled down at the Childs Restaurant, part of a prominent national chain, in the downtown area for coffee and ice cream sundaes; the bill was 40 cents, five cents for the coffee and 15 cents for the ice cream. There was no sales tax, and Casey left the waitress a tip of 10 cents.
“That's very generous of you, Bob,” Evelyn said. “You know I once was a waitress.”
“No I didn't. Where?” he said.
Evelyn looked at Casey, seeing quiet brown eyes; the young man looked so gentle, not at all like the young men she had seen around town, full of braggadocio, swagger and confidence. She was particularly drawn to Casey's slender wrists and pretty hands. They were soft hands, and his lips had a fullness that accentuated almost a feminine demeanor. She liked what she saw in the young man.
“I worked right after high school at the country club,” she volunteered. “But that was just for a summer. It was after that I went to work for Mrs. Buckner.”
“You've been there since?”
“Yes. She's treated me very well.”
“I've heard she’s very rich,” Bob said, more a statement than a question.
“She is, but she's very nice, Bob. She came from a neighborhood just like ours, but married Mr. Buckner, you know, from the banking family.”
She could see Casey was shy, and was beginning to wonder how the librarian had found the nerve to approach her for coffee that afternoon. Maybe, she thought, it's because I'm so plain. She dressed very old-fashioned, too.
“But how about you Bob?” she asked.
“Well, I went to work at the Baylor Works in assembly until last year, when I got laid off with others,” he said. “It was so hard, and I hated the guys I worked with. They teased me, called me 'Bobbie,' 'cause I didn't fit in so well.”
“Bobbie, like the girl's name?”
“Yes, I guess. I was not as rough as they all liked to be. The layoff turned out to be a blessing, since I was able to get this clerk's job.”
“That's nice,” Evelyn said.
“It's kinda weird though.”
“Why?”
He blushed. “You probably noticed. All the other clerks are girls.”
“So what,” Evelyn said. “You've got a job you like.”
The two lingered at the restaurant for another hour, sharing stories of their life, and, for the most part, telling each other parts of their lives that they never before shared with others. But, Evelyn kept one secret to herself: she never told Bob she had a son.
As they parted and Evelyn began heading for her streetcar, she turned back and asked: “Will you be here two weeks from now, when I return this book?”
“That's my usual day on the desk,” he said with a smile.
*****
“What took you so long, Evelyn,” Viola asked her, when she arrived home about 5 p.m.
“Oh I met somebody from high school and he bought me a sundae and coffee at Childs. I hadn't seen him since graduation.”
“Oh,” Viola said, her face showing concern. “A boy?”
“Well, yes. Bob Casey, he's a clerk at the library.”
“Oh, well, you're late,” her voice sharp. “Next time let me know when you're going to be late.”
“Ok, Mrs. Buckner,” Evelyn responded curtly.
That response caused the older woman to tense up, and she began to respond, but stopped short, finally saying in a false calmness, “You're never to call me that. I'm Viola.”
Evelyn nodded, and almost in tears ran to portion of the house she shared with Merritt, wondering why Viola had responded so angrily to her lateness. It had never seemed to bother her before, and Evelyn had often dallied in her trips into town, maybe doing a bit more window shopping than the time allowed.
It finally dawned on her: when she mentioned having stopped at Childs with a young man, Viola seemed to redden and become tense. Did Viola object to her having a man friend, even one as innocent as Bob Casey? Yes, that was it. Viola resented her possible friendship with a man, perhaps in jealousy that Viola herself had no such “gentleman caller.” But then, Viola talked like she wasn't interested in another man after her husband died. Was Viola really concerned that Bob Casey, or some other young man, might steal her away from the Buckner household and the arms of Viola herself?
(The story thus far: Merritt Lane McGraw was born in 1929 just as the Great Depression was beginning, a fragile lovely child born out of wedlock. His single mother finds a home as the house maid and nanny for a wealth youngish widow with two daughters, all of whom adore the beauty of Merritt. It is now 1935, and the boy’s mother, Evelyn, has found, for the first time since giving birth, a potential boy friend. Complications arise over the growing affections of her employer, the rich widow, Viola Buckner. Meanwhile, Merritt enjoys being treated and dressed as a “little sister” for the widow’s daughters. The boy’s obvious girlishness could be a problem during the unenlightened attitudes of the era.)
Chapter 4: More confusions
That night, after she got Merritt asleep in the adjoining room following an argument over whether he’d wear the new boy pajamas she had purchased for him or the long girl’s nightie he’d been wearing, she wriggled in bed, impatient with herself for not stifling the thoughts running in her head: thoughts about Viola’s growing affection to her and, also, continuing thoughts about her son and her ongoing task of turning this pretty boy into a boy ready for school.
After an hour of tossing in bed, she still couldn’t shake the troubled thoughts from her mind, and was considering arising to read herself to sleep in a chair.
There was a light knock at the door, and a tentative voice said: “Evie, dear, are you awake? May I come in?”
It was Viola, Evelyn realized, and after a moment, she responded, “Yes.”
Evelyn looked up, seeing her employer silhouetted in the half light from the hall, framed in the doorway. She struck a tall, stately figure, and Evelyn could see the woman was dressed in a sheer long nightgown that outlined her trim, almost boyish figure. Viola rivaled the great Katharine Hepburn in beauty, Evelyn thought. Both were athletic, trim and small-breasted; and both seemed to wear little makeup, exuding a natural femininity that excited Evelyn.
“May I sit next to you?” she asked, moving gracefully in sitting on the bed next to the prone Evelyn.
“Of course,” said Evelyn, welcoming the firm hand of Viola on her soft arm.
Viola leaned down and kissed Evelyn, catching the young woman by surprise. The kiss lingered and Evelyn smelled the light scent of perfume from Viola. It was obvious the older woman had showered and fixed her hair prior to this late night visit; Evelyn suspected the nightgown was a new one as well.
She wondered what was going on.
The kiss lingered on, and Evelyn found herself welcoming it, their lips pressing tightly and Evelyn reaching up to hold the older woman in her arms. Evelyn had become accustomed to brief hugs and kisses from the older woman and thought they were the hugs and kisses of two friends. Now, it seemed these were hugs and kisses of lovers.
Evelyn was in shock. She should reject this woman and send her from the room to end this sin from happening. But, she instead she held the woman tightly to her, marveling in the muscular back of the other woman.
“Oh darling,” Viola whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry for this afternoon. I was wrong.”
Evelyn lightened up on her hold on Viola, whispering back: “That’s OK, I shouldn’t have been late.”
Viola laughed a bit. “Oh you can be late, I really didn’t mind, it’s just that you met a boy.”
“Just for coffee and ice cream, Viola.”
“Oh I know, Evie, it’s just that I don’t want to lose you. I love you so much.”
The two tightened their grips on each other, their legs intertwining, with Evelyn’s ample breasts flopping against the sweet mounds of Viola’s chest. Viola began kissing and caressing the softness of Evelyn’s body, running her hands down her back to her buttocks, cupping them with her strong, slender fingers.
This must be love, Evelyn thought to herself. Two people finding great affection for the other’s body, Evelyn for the firmness and sinews of Viola and Viola finding comfort in the cushioning softness of Evelyn. They kissed for the longest time, and soon their fingers found each other’s vaginas and each worked the other’s into grunts of excitement as the wetness in both grew. Evelyn wanted to scream in ecstasy, something she never felt in her one earlier engagement with Drake Kosgrove. Only fear of awakening Merritt in the other room kept both women from yelling out loud.
Soon, Evelyn was asleep.
Evelyn awoke as the daylight began to seep into the room from the gap in the shades; Viola was asleep her firm body pressing tightly against her, their arms around each other. Evelyn lying on her right side realized her right arm was asleep, and gently sought to remove it from under the sleeping Viola.
It awakened the older woman, who looked puzzled at first and then realizing where she was, smiled and whispered, “I love you, Evie. So much.”
The two kissed, their once sweet breathes somewhat tainted by the morning sourness. Still, Evelyn felt Viola’s mouth tasted so good, so memorable. The taste of love, she smiled.
“I’m sorry I woke you Viola,” Evelyn said.
“I’m glad you did, Evie,” Viola said. “I better get back before Mary gets to the kitchen.”
“I guess.”
“I think Mary’s already suspecting something between us, since we’ve become so close.”
“But we’ve never done this before,” Evelyn protested.
“I know, but you Catholics can be such damnable purists, sometimes. It’s a wonder the Irish race doesn’t die out from lack of fucking.”
They both laughed.
Viola left the room quickly, quietly, and Evelyn turned onto her back looking at the ceiling and remembering the passionate caresses of Viola. They were so sweet. But the kisses and caressed between two women were a sin! Yet, she realized she had never felt as loved as she did with Viola. Her only other previous experience had been with Drake Kosgrove, and that had been a brief, frightening affair, in which Drake penetrated her roughly, ejected his fluids and removed himself from her embraces. Now, Evelyn wondered what it would feel like being in bed with Bob Casey.
*****
Over the next week, Viola took every opportunity she could to find Evelyn alone, to hold her hand and maybe to run a light finger up Evelyn’s soft white arms. It was obvious, too, that the older woman was taking more time to beautify herself each day, wearing stockings and shorter skirts to draw attention to her slim, firm legs.
“How do you like my dress today?” Viola asked one noon, as the two waited on the patio for lunch to be served by Mary.
Viola stood up, and modeled the outfit. The older woman was wearing a long sundress, yellow with pale blue and green flowers. It had a bid-like collar, with thick straps and bare arms. She had not put up her hair and the dark tresses flowed easily.
“Stunning, just stunning, Viola,” Evelyn said, with sincere praise.
“I wore it just for you, darling. I know how you like summery outfits,” she said, leaning down to kiss Evelyn, her lips moist and warm. The kiss lingered.
“Sorry to interrupt you two, but here’s your lunch,” announced Mary O’Hara, her voice sharp, bringing in a silver tray with salad, sandwiches and lemonade.
“Oh . . . ah . . . thank you, Mary,” Viola said, rising from the kiss and moving to her own chair.
Mary banged the tray down on the patio table in obvious displeasure at the show of affection between the two women.
“Ah, Mary, I was just thanking Evelyn for all she’s done for this household,” Viola said quickly. “She’s really been a gem for all of us, hasn’t she?”
Mary glowered at her employer, saying simply, and with obvious emphasis, “Yes, Evelyn has been a gem.” She turned on her heels and left.
“I guess Mary doesn’t believe in affection,” Viola said.
Evelyn nodded, saying nothing. Her concerns about kissing another woman — and perhaps even loving her — were growing; certainly in 1930s America such behavior was not condoned by her religion, her family or most other people.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the high lyrical voice of her five-year-old son who bounded onto the patio carrying Elizabeth’s Shirley Temple doll.
“Look mommy and Auntie Viola. I dressed Shirley so pretty,” he said holding the doll up for their inspection.
The boy was obviously pleased with his work, though he had buttoned the dress crookedly.
Viola took the lad in her lap, kissing him lightly and proceeded to unbutton and rebutton the dress properly. “There you go, darling.”
He hopped off Viola’s lap, turning to return to the house. “Now I’m going to dress Cathy,” he announced, referring to another of Elizabeth’s dolls.
Evelyn grabbed the boy’s arm, restraining him from returning to the house. “Elizabeth doesn’t want you playing with her dolls, honey.”
“Yes, she does mommy.”
“Oh let him, Evelyn,” Viola said. “Beth doesn’t mind. She’s about outgrown the dolls anyway.”
Evelyn scowled faintly at her employer, who seemed to be undermining her efforts to woo the boy away from his interest in dolls and into more boyish things.
“Let me go, mommy,” the boy pleaded.
Evelyn seeing the boy was about to cry, let go his arm and let him bound into the house. She was defeated, at least for the day.
“Evelyn, let him play with dolls,” Viola said after Merritt left. “He seems so happy.”
“I know, Viola, and he does look so cute in dresses, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he’s such a pretty little girl when dressed,” Viola added.
“I know, but when he goes to school, he’ll be teased and bullied so badly. I really need to turn him into more of a boy.”
Viola was silent for a moment, beginning to attack her salad, taking a bite and chewing.
“I have a thought, Evelyn.”
“Yes?”
“I can enroll him into Riverdale County Day School, where they watch out closely for such bullying,” she said. “They separate the more tough boys from the more gentle ones, and boys like Merritt might be teamed up with girls for some activities. It’s a marvelous setting.”
“Oh that would be great, but I can’t pay the tuition for him.”
“But I can,” she said. “I could even get a scholarship for him, I think.”
“Oh, I can’t ask you to do that,” Evelyn said. “You’ve been so generous to me already.”
“Oh posh, I got the money, why can’t I spend it on someone I love,” she said, leaning over close to Evelyn now and whispering, “I love you so much and I want you to be happy, Evelyn.”
Evelyn was speechless, and she felt the older woman’s hand grasp her thigh under the table. It was a tough offer to refuse. She had felt Merritt would have to go to the public grade school where there were lots of “tough” boys and she worried that Merritt’s gentleness would cause him all sorts of harm.
“Ahem,” said Mary coming onto the patio. “Anything I can get you two ladies?”
Her tone was hard and unforgiving. Mary O’Hara knew what was happening, and she was not happy. She resolved to do something about it.
*****
It was Elizabeth’s closest girl friend, Annette, coming almost daily to the house on those summer days, who continued to suggest they dress Merritt up as a little girl. The boy seemed to excited every time the slender girl arrived, skipping into Elizabeth’s room or the downstairs playroom where they often played, snuggling up to the visitor.
“Brush my hair, Annette,” the boy said when Annette arrived in the early evening for a sleepover at the Buckner household.
“Sure, come here little Merry,” the girl beckoned.
Elizabeth objected, “No, we better not. Mom’ll get mad.”
“She’s so adorable,” Annette said, continuing to refer to Merritt as a little girl.
The boy stood patiently as his longish hair was brushed. Annette spent about 10 minutes brushing the light brown hair, so fine and straight, finally finishing and placing a light purple hairband on the boy’s head.
The boy ran to a mirror, posed in an exaggerated feminine manner, brushing the hair daintily with his hands, smiling at the sight of the pretty face looking back at him.
“I want pretty lips,” he said.
“You shouldn’t Annette,” warned Elizabeth.
“Oh I’ll just put on a light shade, no one will notice.”
Elizabeth scowled as she watched her friend fuss over the boy; she was torn between helping Annette prettify the youngster and the demands of Evelyn and her mother to quit treating him as a little girl. She had to agree with Annette that “little Merry” indeed was adorable.
“Where’s that cute party dress we put on her in last week?” Annette asked when she was completed with the makeup.
“It’s here, but we really shouldn’t.”
“Oh c’mon.”
“Yes, Bethie, let me be pretty,” the boy said, his voice high and lyrical.
Elizabeth broke down, going to her closet and bringing it out. They were in the midst of putting it on over his head when the door opened.
“What are you girls doing?” It was Viola.
“Oh mommy!” squealed Elizabeth.
“Mrs. Buckner, don’t blame them. I did it. I wanted Merry so pretty.”
Annette finished with setting the dress on Merritt’s slight frame, brushing out the wrinkles with her hand.
“Do I look pretty?” Merritt asked, oblivious to the drama that was likely to erupt around him.
Viola looked at the boy, standing in the white and pink fluffy dress, looking as the girls had said earlier, “just adorable.”
“Yes, honey, you look very pretty,” she said, welcoming the boy into her arms.
“Mommy, he wanted to be pretty,” Elizabeth said.
“I know honey, but you know his mother doesn’t want you doing that anymore.”
Turning to Annette, Viola said sternly. “I know you are Bethie’s best friend, and I like you, but you can’t come in here and disobey the house rules.”
“I know, Mrs. Buckner. I won’t anymore.”
“If you do you’ll be banished from this house. Remember that.”
Viola turned on her heel, taking Merritt by the hand and led him out of the room.
*****
Evelyn was enraged when Viola led the boy into the sewing room, when she was hemming up a gown for Viola who was invited to a Country Club Ball on the next Saturday night. Since her husband’s death, Viola maintained a quiet social life, choosing to attend only those charity events and other outings that were required of a woman who was one of the members of a leading family of Riverdale. Evelyn enjoyed coaching the older woman in dressing up, since Viola took little interest in clothes or even makeup.
“Viola,” she asked, trying hard to mask her anger at seeing Merritt dressed again as a girl. “What’s going on here? I thought we agreed we’d not dress him up?”
Merritt, mystified at his mother’s anger, began to cry, words coming haltingly, “Mommy . . . don’t you (sobs) think I’m pretty?”
Evelyn took the boy in her arms, his tears bringing her to stifle her anger. She brushed his hair lovingly and his tears soon stopped.
“Yes, honey, you’re very pretty,” she said, turning to Viola.
“I’m sorry Evelyn, but Bethie and Annette thought he wanted to be pretty. I had told them you didn’t want that, but they love the boy so much.”
“I know, but I don’t know how we’ll prepare him for school,” Evelyn said. “He can stay dressed like this for the rest of the day, Viola, but we have to stop this now. Let him go play with the girls, if they still want him around.”
Viola smiled, taking Merritt by the hand, adding: “I’m sure they will.”
*****
It was with mixed feelings that Evelyn prepared herself for bed that night; she was eager for the second night in a row to again feel the strong body of Viola Buckner next to hers, to feel her lips and the older woman’s firm hands caressing her own smooth curves. She was eager for the excitement that it aroused in her, excitement to a level she had never before experienced.
That expectation was tempered, however, with the feeling that she was committing a sin; she still took her Catholic faith seriously, and she felt, without any knowledge to the contrary, that it was sinful for two women to have sex, even to kiss passionately or hug. She, too, was still angry at Viola’s daughter for going against her orders and dressing Merritt as a girl.
Viola was expected to visit her again, once she felt Merritt and her two girls would be asleep for the night.
Evelyn took a long warm bath, using a special soothing soap Viola had provided. It left a scent that was vaguely reminiscent of blooming lilacs, and she knew it would likely excite the older woman greatly. She donned a freshly laundered shorty nightgown, which she felt was a “naughty” nightgown not to be worn by nice girls of the era.
She soon lay on her bed, awaiting the arrival of her lover. Viola silently arrived as expected, and Evelyn found the loving ever more endearing.
*****
Over the next ten days, the nightly visits continued and the two women never seemed to tire of each other’s company. They had a brief discussion about Merritt on the second night after the dressing incident in which Evelyn said she was firm in not wanting the girls to encourage the boy in his girlish pursuits. Viola protested mildly, noting how happy the boy seemed to be as a girl, but readily gave in to Evelyn’s urging, recognizing that the younger woman was right: Going to school in the year 1935 with girlish mannerisms would doom the boy to endless harassment.
On the tenth night of their love-making, following a particularly intense session, Evelyn mentioned to Viola that she needed to take the following afternoon off. It was a Wednesday, and she wanted to return the book to the library.
“I can drop the book off for you,” Viola countered.
“No that’s all right. I’d like to check out another book.”
“I can find you one you’d like, Evie,” she said smiling.
“Oh, I’d like the day off, Viola. We’re all caught up here.”
“You just want to see that boy, I know.”
Viola voice took on a crispness that almost bordered on being nasty.
“Maybe,” Evelyn conceded sheepishly. “But he may not even be there.”
“No, you stay home,” Viola said. “I’ll return your book and get you any one you like.”
Sensing her employer’s stern tone, Evelyn nodded her head.
“Come let me hug you some more,” Viola said.
Evelyn was no longer in the mood for the older woman’s love-making, but she said nohing and resigned herself to another half hour; she faked her own passion, but somehow it wasn’t the same. Viola, to her credit, recognized the limpness in Evelyn’s reactions, and soon left the younger woman’s bed.
Evelyn cried herself to sleep.
*****
It had been over a month since Evelyn had visited her parents’ home, and she realized how much she missed them and her brother Frank. Yet, her emotions were conflicted, still not wishing to visit her family due to her father’s intransigent feelings toward Merritt, and the boy’s obvious girlishness.
Her mother continued to write her almost daily about happenings at the house, and expressing her love for her daughter and grandson, telling them how much she missed them.
“You can come home any day now, Evelyn,” her mother wrote near the end of the month long separation. “Your father said he loves you and Merritt and that he won’t interfere in the boy’s life, or yours. Please, Evelyn.”
Evelyn accepted the invitation, and arranged to visit the following Sunday, with Mike O’Hara driving her to the family home and later returning to pick the two up.
During the 20-minute drive from the wealthy neighborhood to the McGraw home in the flats, Mike said softly to Evelyn, “I talked to your father at the tavern the other night, Evie.”
“Oh, and how was he?”
“Fine, he’s getting in more hours at the tavern now, and I think he likes that. You know, he really loves you and Merritt. Really.”
“I suppose he does, but I find it hard to forgive him,” she said. Evelyn had told the O’Hara’s how her father had destroyed Merritt’s Shirley Temple doll.
“I told him what a nice boy Merritt is and how I’ve taken him fishing and even tossed a ball with him, and Tom seemed to like to hear that.”
“That’s nice of you, Mike.”
“I’m glad you’re going to see him. Your father’s really a prince.”
“We’ll see,” Evelyn said, her stomach churning in tenseness, awaiting the reception she and Merritt would get from her father.
Her mother greeted the pair warmly, hugging both as they entered the living room; she summoned Thomas McGraw from the basement where he had been building a birdhouse and Frank from his bedroom.
Frank arrived first, giving a grunted, “Hi, Sis,” typical of his teenage boy behavior.
“Hello Evelyn,” the voice of her father was strained and tight. Turning to Merritt, he said, “Come shake my hand, young man.”
Merritt had been hanging onto his mother’s skirt for dear life, turning his face into her body, clearly fearing his grandfather.
“Go, honey, grandpa won’t bite,” Evelyn said.
The boy, who had been dressing in brown corduroy knickers and a dark blue shirt, his longish hair laying straight but neatly combed, still clung to his mother.
“I’m happy to see you again, Merritt,” her father said, his voice gaining a kinder tone. “Mr. O’Hara tells me he took you fishing. What did you catch, boy?”
Merritt snuck a look at his grandfather, saw him beckoning to the boy. With a gentle shove from his mother, Merritt walked over to his grandfather, ready to shake hands.
“How nice you look today, Merritt,” his grandfather said, taking the boy’s proffered hand, engulfing it lightly into his own. “Now tell me what you caught.”
“A boogill,” he said finally.
“Yes, and he wanted to keep the fish alive and give it a name,” Evelyn said.
The family all laughed, and the tension in the room seemed to ease a bit.
Frank led the boy into his room, where the two played with the older boy’s cars (which Frank had gotten down from the closet for the occasion) and had a game of “Old Maid” cards. Frank seemed to take easily to the boy and Merritt joined into the occasion, while the adults sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee.
As they about to get ready to leave, Frank and Merritt entered the kitchen laughing about something,, and the older boy asked: “Can I take Merritt to the movies some Saturday?”
“Sure that would be nice, Frank,” Grandma McGraw said. “That’s if it’s OK with your sister.”
“That would be so nice, Frank,” Evelyn said. “What did you want to see?”
“Merritt said he likes Shirley Temple movies, and there’s one starting this week at the Tivoli,” Frank said.
“What?” a derisive tone reflected in Thomas McGraw’s voice. “I thought he was over that . . . ah . . .”
“Now, Thomas,” Pat McGraw said in a stern voice to her husband. “It’s just a movie and all the kids like Shirley Temple.”
Merritt, sensing new tensions, seemed about to cry, and Evelyn was shocked at how fast the sweetness of the afternoon was quickly turning sour.
“Oh,” Thomas McGraw said, sensing he was perhaps out-of-line, quickly sought to soothe the mood. “That’s great Frank.”
“They’re showing Bright Eyes,” Frank said.
“She sings ‘On the Good Ship Lollipop’ in that one, father,” Evelyn said.
“Yeth,” Merritt said, jumping for joy.
Before they left, Merritt even jumped on his grandfather’s lap, who tickled him a bit, even kissing the boy.
“He’s a swell kid, Evelyn,” her father said as the two hugged, just before they left, headed for the Buckner limousine.
Evelyn had tears in her eyes, as she joined Mike in the front seat of the vehicle for the ride back to the estate. She was so happy that her family had accepted her; yet, she had lingering fears that there were difficult times ahead for her lovely son.
(The Story Thus Far: It’s the summer of 1935 and Merritt is turning 5 years old and about to enter school; his mother, Evelyn, loves her son immensely, and finds his growing girlishness both enchanting and troubling: how would he survive in the world of boys as such a pretty child? The boy has known only a feminine upbringing, due to the fact that his mother is a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. In the meantime, Evelyn thinks she has found a young man who may be interested in her, but all sorts of obstacles may stand in her way to romance.
(This segment contains both Chapter 5 and 6 of this continuing story. Readers are warned that Chapter 5 involves mainly the story of Evelyn, with only passing reference to Merritt. Later in Chapter 6, it resumes the story of Merritt.)
Chapter 5: Time for a Decision
The next afternoon, when she had planned to take the streetcar again to the downtown library and perhaps meet her new friend, Bob Casey, Evelyn stayed at home, looking over the three children in the house. She was angry at Viola for interfering with her chances at furthering her friendship with Bob; he had seemed so nice and unthreatening.
The day itself was sunny, with a cool breeze off the Lake, making it a bit too chilly to sit outside; the two girls were engaged in some sort of hide-and-seek game with Merritt, who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. They were all giggling, and Evelyn couldn’t help but think that her son looked just like a little girl as he pranced about.
He was always unable to catch the girls, both being older and faster, but they always faked a stumble or something to permit him to tag them. Evelyn looked out the kitchen window, saying outloud to no one in particular, “It’s a lovely scene.”
“Yes, it is,” Mary O’Hara replied, having entered the room so quietly Evelyn didn’t know she was there.
“Hi Mary.”
“I guess Mike took Mrs. Buckner downtown for shopping,” Mary O’Hara said, referring to her husband, Mike, who was the family’s gardener and chauffeur.
“Yes, and I guess she’ll stop at the library, too. I had a book to return.”
“Yes, I know. I thought you liked to take Wednesday’s off, Evelyn.”
“I did, but Viola asked me to stay home today, so she could go out.”
Mary walked over to the sink, and began to fill a coffee pot with water.
“Care to join me for coffee, Evelyn?”
“I’d love it.”
Later on, while they were sitting at the table, Mary raised a question: “Are you all right, Evelyn? You seem a bit down today.”
“Oh I guess I am OK, Mary. I’m not sick or anything.”
“Something’s bothering you, I can tell. I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m here anytime you want to.”
Evelyn smiled at the Mary, who retained a cherubic warm face that made her look younger than her age of 45.
“It’s just that I like to get away from here sometimes, Mary. Oh I like Viola and she’s been more than kind to me, but I’d like to find some friends of my own.”
“I know what you mean,” Mary said. “I’ve been here 25 years, hired as a maid right out of high school by the old Mrs. Buckner, and kept on here when her son married Viola.”
“But you have Mike.”
“Yes, and he’s sweet, but I have no other friends,” Mary said. “And we never could have children.”
Evelyn looked at her table mate; there were tears rolling down Mary’s face now. It shocked her, seeing this always cheerful woman crying, wondering whether she had prompted this moment of sadness. Evelyn said nothing.
Mary soon gathered her emotions, looked at Evelyn, her eyes now hard and piercing. She said directly, but almost in a whisper: “I know what you and Viola are doing at night.”
Evelyn was shocked: “What?”
“I know what you and Viola do at night after we’re all asleep.”
Evelyn reddened immediately. She remained silent.
“I’m not spying on you, Evelyn, I assure you, but I know Viola, and I was up the other night, going to the bathroom when I noticed lights go on in Viola’s bedroom, and then yours. It was about 2 a.m. I knew what she was doing.”
Evelyn looked directly at Mary: “You don’t know anything. You got a filthy mind.”
“Oh honey,” Mary said, patting Evelyn’s hand. “I know, because I have been there. Many years ago, just after I married Mike, she moved into the house as the new young wife of Thomas Buckner, Jr., and she soon tired of his affections.”
“What are you telling me, Mary?” Evelyn asked, looking at the woman who had grown soft and a bit pudgy in middle-age; her dark hair was pulled straight into a bun, but her eyes retained a bright sparkle that made her look warm and affectionate.
“Oh Evelyn,” she said. “Don’t you get it? I was her lover for several years, and then I grew fat, as you can see.”
Evelyn couldn’t hide her shock at this disclosure. The surprise registered clearly on her face.
“You’re not the only lover she’s had, dear,” the cook said. “Even before she married Buckner, I’m told she was the darling of the woman’s tennis club.”
“Oh? But they had two children before he died,” Evelyn said.
“That don’t mean nothing, dear. Viola got no joy out of sex with Tom, but she did with me. I was just like you once, cute and pretty, and too weak to resist her advances. She’s so strong.”
“Oh gosh.”
Mary continued: “She still draws me to her bed whenever Mike is gone. That is, she did, until you moved here.”
“Oh Mary,” Evelyn said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m not very smart about all this stuff.”
“I’m not mad at you, dear Evelyn. If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else. I’m sure she’s had lots of girl friends in her life.”
“Oh Mary, I’m still sorry about all this. I didn’t know, and she seemed so affectionate. I needed her, I guess.”
“Evelyn, my word to you is to try to figure a way to get out of this house, before she hooks you in. She can be very persuasive and demanding, and then you’ll be here like I am, lonely and without friends, except of course for Mike. I dearly love him and he’s so sweet.”
Evelyn nodded, beginning to recognize how comfortable she could be if she stayed. Everything was taken care of; Viola even wanted to pay Merritt’s private school tuition, and the whole family enjoyed Merritt so much. Yet, she felt, they wanted to make Merritt a girl, to keep him from being a normal boy, and that scared her.
Yes, in a way, she felt like she was in a prison, although a very pleasant and comfortable prison. She noticed how mad Viola got when she mentioned Bob Casey and how she seemed to bristle at any suggestion that young Evelyn might be developing a relationship with a young man. The older woman, she realized, is jealous of her possible budding romance.
“Let’s keep this between ourselves, OK, Evelyn,” Mary said as she rose from the kitchen table.
“By all means I will, Mary.”
“I’m just trying to help you dear, to warn about getting too involved here.”
Evelyn nodded in affirmation, now realizing her life may be facing new complications.
*****
When Evelyn heard the huge 12-cylinder Packard automobile pull into the drive, meaning Viola was home from her visit into the city, Evelyn hurried into her room, not wishing to greet her employer following the revelations she learned from Mary.
She was shocked, having felt a real affection from Viola, the first intimate relationship she had experienced in her life, not counting the brief encounter with Drake. Now, she realized, she was not really as special a love to the trim, tall, muscular employer as she had felt she was.
Was Viola only interested in sex? Was there no love between them? Were the kisses and the expressions of love mere window-dressing? The thoughts brought tears, and she lay back on her bed, quickly curling into a fetal position, letting the tears flow.
She hadn’t been there long before she heard footsteps outside her door, following by a tentative knock. A voice, almost a whisper, said, “Evelyn, are you there honey?”
Evelyn held her breath, hoping Viola would leave and not bother her.
“Evelyn, I know you’re there and I’m coming in.”
Evelyn stayed silent, awaiting the opening of the door. Finally, the door opened; Evelyn could hear it, but she buried her head in her arms.
“Evelyn, honey,” Viola said, sitting down on the bed, facing the Evelyn’s back. She put a gentle hand on Evelyn’s side, patting lightly.
Evelyn couldn’t hold back, and burst into a loud cry which startled the older woman, who rushed to the other side of the bed, crabbing Evelyn and hugging her tightly, as the younger woman sobbed profusely.
“That’s OK, my dear Evelyn. Let yourself go.”
The crying finally subsided and Viola found a handkerchief to dry Evelyn’s face, lightly daubing the tears, and drying her face. The two were linked in a firm hug.
“Oh Viola,” Evelyn said finally. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I didn’t mean this. You’re so good to me.”
“That’s OK, darling. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I’m just . . . ah . . . so confused, Viola. What’s right and what’s wrong?”
Viola looked at her companion. “Is that what bothers you?”
“Well partly, Viola. It’s a sin, you know.”
“We’re hurting no one, Evie. And the church is so uptight on this.”
“I guess,” Evelyn replied, starting to cry again.
Viola looked puzzled: ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Evelyn mumbled an almost inaudible “no.” She was embarrassed to tell Viola about Mary’s comments, and to question her about a relationship Viola may have had with the cook. Mary’s confessions had been in confidence and ostensibly to warn Evelyn about getting too close to her employer. She feared getting Mary fired if she told.
“Tell me, Evie, I’ll understand.”
“It’s nothing really. I just get emotional.”
“I love you, Evie,” the older woman said, kissing Evelyn on the mouth, tasting the salt from the tears.
“Oh I’m so worried about Merritt,” Evelyn finally said, realizing it was a topic the two had discussed before.
“I know, honey, but we’ll work to make it easy for him in school. I promise.”
“But he so loves being with your girls and really to become one of them. Maybe I should move out where he’ll have some boys to play with.”
Viola looked shocked. “Move out? Where would you go?”
“Maybe I’ll move in with mom and dad, if they’ll accept me.”
“You can’t go, Evie. I need you,” Viola said, with almost a panic in her voice. “I love you, dear. So much. You’re so good for me.”
She held the younger woman more and more tightly, and the two began kissing, their kisses passionate and their lips pressing hard. Their tongues met, intermingled and they were soon laying together on the bed, the older woman showering kisses on Evelyn, running her hands up under Evelyn’s skirt and running them up her soft inner thighs.
Their breathing became hard, followed by moans out of both women. “I love you Evie, I love you,” the older woman repeated.
When they were done, both rose from the bed; they were disheveled, hair was mussed and their faces red with exhaustion from their love-making. One at a time, they went to clean up in the bathroom, hoping not to run into Mary, who was supposed to be in the kitchen. Evelyn worried, however, that Mary might be spying upon them, after the cook’s earlier revelation. Merritt was playing with the Elizabeth in the yard.
“Oh, I got you a book, Evelyn,” Viola said when the two joined up again after they were cleaned up.
She handed a new book to Evelyn.
“Oh I always wanted to read this. Thank you, Viola,” she said. It was Somerset Maughn’s best seller, “Of Human Bondage.”
“You’re welcome, I know you wanted to,” Viola smiled. “Remember we talked about it when we heard there’s going to be a movie coming out from the book.”
“Oh thank you, but I didn’t want to buy it. I thought you could get it at the library.”
Viola laughed: “Oh you don’t want those dirty books that have been read by others. By the way, I met your Mr. Casey when I returned the books.”
Evelyn brightened. “You did? What did he say?”
“Oh he was OK. He just took the books and didn’t say anything?”
“Nothing. Not about me?”
“No honey,” Viola said, but Evelyn wondered if her employer was lying. Bob Casey had been so interested in their first meetingj she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t wonder why Evelyn hadn’t returned the books herself.
“Oh, Evie, my dear,” the older woman said, seeing the disappointment in Evelyn’s face. “If you’re interested in a man, well, he’s not much of a man. Clerking in a library.”
The directness of Viola’s comments shocked Evelyn, but she recovered nicely, quickly saying: “Bob was very nice to me, Viola, and I knew him from school. Besides, I don’t see anything wrong with a man working in a library. At least he’s got a job these days.”
“Well, he didn’t ask about you, if that’s what’s bothering you, Evie,” Viola said sharply, so sharply that Evelyn’s suspicions rose over whether her employer was telling the truth.
Viola took Evelyn in her arms again, and kissed her firmly, but she soon sensed that Evelyn’s response was cold and unforgiving. The older woman released her hold on Evelyn, arose from the bed and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
*****
Bob Casey made sure he’d be on the desk at the Library on the Wednesday afternoon when Evelyn said she’d be returning the book. It was nearing 2:30 p.m., when he’d be relieved for his break and he was hopeful that Evelyn would arrive before that; after his break he’d be assigned to stack books in the library, and may not be near the main desk.
Shortly before his break, Casey waited on a tall, stylish woman who wore a brown suit, with her hair combed back. The wore a 1930’s style hairdo, the dark hair plastered to her head, topped by a beret, tipped in a rakish manner. She had mischievous eyes.
“May I help you?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m returning this book for a friend,” the woman said, thrusting the book, a copy of The Good Earth, that he recognized as having be taken out by Evelyn.
“Oh?” he said. “Is this from Miss McGraw?”
“Yes, how did you know that? You must check out hundreds of books a day.” The question was pointed and direct.
“Well,” he stammered, his face growing red. “Well . . . Miss McGraw and I were in high school together and it was nice seeing her after all these years. Is she all right?”
Viola stiffened, sensing the boy’s intense interest in Evelyn as evidenced by his reddening face. “Oh yes, she’s fine, she didn’t feel like making the trip in today, so I said I’d drop it off. Is that OK?”
“Oh yes, that’s fine. It doesn’t matter who drops it off. I was just wondering how she is. Say Hi to her for me.”
“I certainly will, thank you,” Viola replied, turning on her heel and marching briskly out of the library, knowing full well that she’d not transmit the boy’s message to Evelyn.
The young man watched the woman stalk out of the library, wondering what had happened that Evelyn chose not to return the book in person. She had seemed so genuinely interested in meeting him again, and his nights in bed were consumed with desires to be with her, to find her in his arms, to feel her sweet full lips upon his and to caress her smooth flesh. Evelyn captivated his imagination, and the recent meeting with her had rekindled desires in him for her that had lain dormant since high school years. Indeed, the fun they had on the school project, the great conversations they had and her desirability had excited him. Yet, he failed to act to ask her for a date, his own basic shyness and lack of confidence stifling his desires.
Bob Casey hated himself for his shyness and his pathetic body, so slender and unmuscular. No girl would be happy to be seen with him, and this perception of himself stifled him from making any advances to girls. Therefore at 24 years old, he was still a virgin, and in his own mind would remain so throughout is life.
In truth, Bob was quite handsome and well-groomed; even in his slenderness he looked fit and trim. Such was one’s own perception of himself.
His expectations of renewing a friendship with Evelyn had brightened his spirits immensely, and now she apparently had nixed a chance to rekindle their relationship. He was devastated.
He dreaded returning to his single room that he rented from an older couple. Jim Hutchins, a husky middle-aged man, who worked on the railroad, also lived in the house in the other single room on the second floor. That night, Hutchins rescued Bob from his doldrums by inviting him for a beer at the nearby tavern. Though the two had hardly anything in common, they both found nights in their single rooms to be deadly and gained a bond in sharing a few beers and conversations together.
Bob shared his frustrations about Evelyn to Jim that night, almost crying in his beer.
“Go for it, kid,” the older man advised after hearing Bob’s story. Casey didn’t relinquish the details easily, but Jim, having grown fond of his naíve young friend, gently urged Casey to tell the full story.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be shy, Bob. You know she works for that rich bitch Buckner. Call the Buckner house and ask for her.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? You like her and you thought she liked you, right?”
“I guess.”
“It doesn’t hurt to ask. Maybe she had an important job to do, or she was sick. You know women do have those times of the month?
“What if she’s not there?”
It was apparent Bob was finding all sorts of excuses to shy away from moving ahead with the relationship.
“Oh you’re such a . . . ah . . .I don’t know. I guess a coward.”
Bob nodded in agreement. He guessed “coward” described him.
“Besides,” Jim continued. “If she’s not there leave Mrs. Polansky’s phone number. We don’t get many calls, and she likes you, Bob. She’ll get you to the phone.”
After his third beer, and he had spent 45 cents, nearly draining his cash for the week, he and Jim left the tavern. In the mellowness of the summer evening, Bob Casey figured he’d try to call Evelyn the next day.
Chapter 6: The Boy Friend Acts
The next day, during his 2:30 break at work, he located the Buckner phone number from the phone book and went to the nearest phone booth.
Depositing his nickel, he dialed the Buckner home number, his fingers shaking as he turned the dial. He was early breathless when the phone was answered after three rings. “Buckner household,” came the reply.
“May I . . .ah . . . speak to Evelyn . . .ah . . .Miss Evelyn McGraw. Please.”
The voice answered. “Evelyn’s not here right now. Can I take a message.”
“Oh,” Bob said, almost ready to hang up. “But . . . ah . . . yes . . . please ask her to call Mr. Casey at Lapham 2355.”
“What are you calling about, young man?” The voice was stern, direct. It was obviously the voice of the woman who had returned the book.
“Well . . . ah . . . I just wanted to talk to her.”
“Talk to her? About what?”
“We’re old classmates at school,” he finally blurted out.
“OK,” the voice said. Suddenly the phone was hung up without further comment, the noise of the hang-up ringing in his ear.
Though he told his landlady to be alert for the call from Evelyn, he felt he’d never get the call. He seemed certain the woman would not relate the message. She seemed to resent his very existence, Bob felt.
*****
Even so, Bob Casey waited patiently for the call which never came. Another session at the tavern with Jim convinced Bob Casey to consider taking the streetcar to the Buckner house neighborhood and ringing the doorbell directly.
Somehow, the young man was gaining the courage he felt he lacked. His desire to see Evelyn again and his curiosity about what caused Evelyn not to return his call overwhelmed his natural reluctance to confront matters head-on.
On his next off day, the following Monday, Bob Casey did just that. He took the No. 15 car out to the Buckner place and with headlong purpose march directly up the long drive to the front door of the Buckner estate. He had convinced himself, like taking a bad tasting medicine, the best thing to do was to act with haste, without procrastination, since if he stopped for a second, he was afraid his courage would give out.
The door was a dark walnut with elaborate carvings, and a leaded stained glass window at eye level. He rang the doorbell, and thankfully the door opened almost immediately.
A chubby middle-aged woman, obviously the family’s cook, opened the door. She had a round, cheerful face, and asked: “Can I help you?”
“Ah . . .yes. Does Evelyn McGraw live here?”
“Yes, she does, and what is your business with her?” The question was asked softly, almost kindly.
“Well, we’re old schoolmates and I wanted to see her.”
“Oh,” the woman brightened. “You must be Bob Casey. She told me about you.”
“Yes, I am Bob,” he said. His face showed joy and relief.
The woman smiled. “Evelyn’s not here now; she’s gone with the chauffeur to take the girls swimming. Does she know how to get in touch with you?”
He gave the woman his landlady’s phone number and she scribbled it on a scrap of paper she had in her pocket.
“Mary, who’s there?” boomed a voice from within the house.
Bob froze; it was the same woman who dropped the book off. He could tell from her voice.
“Just a peddler. I’m getting rid of him,” the woman responded loudly, winking to Bob.
“Now, scoot, young man,” she said. “I’ll make sure Evelyn gets your message.”
“Thank you.”
He literally skipped down the long drive, knowing the streetcar ride back into town would be full of happy expectation.
*****
The phone call came that very evening. “There’s a young lady on the phone for you, Bob,” his landlady yelled from the foot of the stairs.
The young man almost skipped down the stairs to the phone, which sat on a small table in the entrance hall of the house. His landlady winked as she handed the phone to Bob, as if to encourage him in his heretofore empty love life. Bob knew she worried about her young roomer, always finding extra cookies and sweets as if to fatten the slender boy and even worrying about his hope to find a wife. She even hinted a niece she had that might be available.
“I can’t talk long, Bob. Mrs. Buckner would be mad if she knew I called you.”
“That’s OK. When can we meet again?”
“I don’t know, but sometimes I get off Monday afternoons.”
“We’re in luck. That’s my off day.”
“Look,” Evelyn said. “Mary gave me your number and said you dropped by today.”
“I did, but I called last week, and someone took my number. Didn’t she give it to you?”
“No, I never got it. It must have been my employer. She hates us to have a personal life.”
“How can you stand that?”
“I’m kinda stuck here, but I can’t explain now. I’ll tell you when we meet.”
“OK, How can we tell each other when we can meet?” he asked.
“I’ll get you messages through Mary, our cook, or Mike, her husband. And, give me your address. I might mail you a note.”
“OK, I can’t wait Evelyn.”
“I can’t either, Bob, but I gotta hang up now. She just drove up the drive.”
The phone went dead.
Bob Casey bounded up the stairs to his room, elated that Evelyn still cared for him. Somehow, he knew, the two of them would make it work together.
*****
Both Mike and Mary O’Hara were happy to compromise their long time loyalty to Viola Buckner to support Evelyn in her potential love-making adventure. They knew their employer, known both for her generosity as well as her temper when faced with perceived disloyalty, would likely get violent if she heard of their support for the young woman’s hoped-for friendship with Bob Casey.
Evelyn asked them to post a letter to Casey, announcing that she would be at Child’s Restaurant (where the two had their first meeting) at 2 p.m. on the following Monday. Her letter was brief, but she hoped that Bob would find it heart-warming:
Dear Bob,
I loved meeting you recently. I’ve thought about you often since then. I will be stopping by Child’s at 2 p.m., Monday. But, Bob, if for some reason I don’t show up, it’s because something happened with Mrs. Buckner and she might make it difficult for me to get there.
Don’t call at the house. I’ll try to keep in touch with you. That’s if you want me to. You do, don’t you?
Yours, Evelyn (remember our English project?)
*****
Bob Casey got to Child’s the following Monday at 1:45 p.m., trying to make sure he’d not miss Evelyn. He glanced inside and walked among the tables and booths to see if she might have beaten him to the restaurant, but she was not there. He stood outside in the warm afternoon sun, a cool breeze off Lake Michigan acting as a periodic waft of natural air conditioning. His heart was beating in expectation of seeing Evelyn, both excited and wary about where this budding friendship was headed. He cursed his shyness and inexperience with women, wishing he could show the bravado that so many boys seemed to display.
It was about three minutes after 2 p.m., just as Bob was wondering if Evelyn would actually arrive, when a man in a chauffeur’s cap walked up to him, and asked: “Are you Bob?”
“Yes, I am Bob Casey.”
“I’m Mike, and I work with Evelyn,” the man began. He was shorter than Bob, with a weathered face making him look far older than his 41 years. His eyes were dull blue and he spoke with a slight Irish brogue.
“Can’t she come?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Mike said. “Mrs. Buckner cancelled her day off. Evelyn was very sorry, and she asked me to give you this.”
He handed the young man a light blue envelop, the kind that often contain greeting cards. The cover, in Evelyn’s careful, neat hand-writing, said merely: “Bob.”
The chauffeur seemed reluctant to leave, as if he wished to say something further. Casey looked at the man, eager to read the letter, but not wishing to do so until he was alone. Finally, the chauffeur spoke:
“Bob, I want you to know that you shouldn’t try contacting Evelyn just yet, but I’m giving you my personal address, and you can write whatever you want to Evelyn, and I’ll see you get it.”
He handed the young man a slip of paper containing his name and address.
“What’s this?”
“Mrs. Buckner doesn’t want Evelyn to have contact with any young men now,” Mike started. “She’s very protective of her.”
“But, I’m not going to hurt her.”
“We know that, but Mrs. Buckner has her ways, and you know how difficult jobs are to come by.”
“I should write to you? Not Evelyn directly.”
“Right. Put you’re message in an envelop inside the envelop you address to me. I promise I won’t read it.”
“Oh? Can’t I call?”
“No, Mrs. Buckner might answer.”
“She must be a witch, this Mrs. Buckner.”
“In some ways, young man, but she’s otherwise good to us and to Evelyn.”
The chauffeur put his hand on the young man’s slender arm, as if to commiserate with him. Casey wondered what he was getting into, and the two parted. Yet, his desire to see Evelyn again heightened. Could it be the mysterious situation? Or his affection for the sweet looking Evelyn?
*****
Viola Buckner couldn’t have been more solicitous of Evelyn in the days that followed Bob Casey’s aborted phone call to the house. She brought home gifts for Evelyn, almost on a daily basis: the newest and laciest of lingerie, several lovely blouses, a summer dress and a makeup kit, all from the city’s most prestigious department store, C. A. Goldwyn’s.
During the night time visits, she introduced Evelyn to more and more examples of female love, often positioning the two into positions in which both placed their heads between the thighs of the other, tasting the vaginas of each other. Viola found the softness of the younger woman’s thighs exciting as she licked them on her way to Evelyn’s vagina.
Though the arousal she felt in the more extreme of sexual activity was extreme and breath-taking, Viola found the long times the two were embracing, periodically kissing and caressing to be the most rewarding. She loved it when Evelyn fell asleep in her arms, a soft smooth creature with flawless pale skin.
*****
Evelyn McGraw, however, was finding the evening visits to become more and more tedious. True she found herself usually aroused by sexual activity, often to violent orgasms herself, but she found she was becoming bored as the evening went on; her employer’s constant attention in bed hardly gave her a moment to breathe, and she’d find after reaching an orgasm, and perhaps even another minutes later, she’d soon tire of the other’s attention and begin wishing the older woman would leave.
She loved the firmness of the other woman’s body, and her muscular thighs which often seemed to nearly crush her own head while she was engaged in tasting Viola. In contract, Viola was tanned and still athletically muscular, almost like a male track star, having retained her youthful strength from her tennis playing career by three-times a week tennis matches at the Country Club.
The cook, Mary, hinted that Viola has had lots of sexual experiences with women, and Evelyn even suspected the women’s thrice-weekly tennis matches may have been more than that.
Yet, Evelyn endured these evening trysts, knowing full well that Viola had provided for her and her son a comfortable and safe place to live, when she had few other opportunities for such security as a single mother with an illegitimate son during the 1930s.
Many nights as she lay engulfed in the sinewy arms of her employer, Evelyn wondered what it would be like to be in the arms of Bob Casey. Her experience with men had been limited to the back seat acrobatics with Drake Kosgrove: the onetime affair that had produced her son. She recalled vividly the smell of male sweat mixed with his alcoholic breath, an almost gagging odor that heightened her horror of that night. She recalled his violence, his words calling her “bitch” and “whore” over an over, as she fought off his efforts to enter, and then the outright pain she felt as he finally succeeded, and blood that resulted. She recalled his excitement when he discovered this was Evelyn’s first sexual encounter and when he announced: “You’re a virgin, a whore like you is a virgin.”
As she attempted to clean herself up afterward, using a car blanket all cars kept in those days before modern in-car heaters existed, she heard him announce: “Evelyn, you bitch. You’re number six: the sixth cherry I’ve popped. Wait ‘til I tell the boys that I’m now the champion of the club house.”
It was a night of horror, and it was her last sexual experience with anyone until Viola entered her bedroom one night several weeks earlier. At first, Viola’s love-making had been gentle and caring and Evelyn found it comforting and welcomed the visits; she found herself wondering if she too would ever want a man again, and would find all the gratification she needed with women.
On the evening following the day when Viola refused to let Evelyn off to visit Bob Casey, the two lay after their love-making. Still smarting from the refusal, Evelyn had merely gone through the motions of love-making, even failing to orgasm herself, her coldness eventually siphoning off the older woman’s ardor.
“Men are no good,” Viola said softly. “They can’t love you as I love you, darling.”
Evelyn, trapped in the firm hold of her employer, said nothing.
“I know you wanted to meet that Bob fellow, Evie, but he’s no good for you. He’s hardly a man, as far as I can see.”
Afraid to argue, Evelyn stayed silent. She only knew that Bob Casey appeared to be kind and gentle and caring. She was sure what Viola meant: “He’s hardly a man.”
“Don’t you see, I love you, Evie, my darling. I don’t want anything to come between us.”
Evelyn nodded, but soon she began to sob; her life had become anenslavement, she realized.
“I’m afraid I’m losing you, Evie,” Viola said. “I can’t bear that.”
Soon the older woman began to cry, and the two women adjusted their positions to face each other with Viola holding Evelyn harder than she’d ever held her before, almost crushing the Evelyn’s more tender body with her superior strength.
“Good night, my sweet darling,” Viola said finally, kissing Evelyn, and getting up to pad off to her own room.
*****
The next morning, Evelyn woke early, her thoughts troubling her immensely. She realized she was indeed a slave, a modern-day slave, entrapped by another woman’s fascination for her. Viola said repeatedly the previous night that she “loved” Evelyn, but did she really? Or was it like Evelyn was a mascot, a plaything for the older woman’s sexual proclivities?
Either way, Evelyn realized she could not live as a slave; she could not raise her son in this overly feminine household where Viola and her daughters encouraged Merritt to be girly. As much as she enjoyed the sex with Viola, she realized that she deserved more, that she deserved her own life, and, most importantly, that Merritt Lane deserved a chance to grow up as a normal boy.
Later, she aroused Merritt, surprised and shocked to see that he was in a little girl’s nightgown, his longish hair up in curlers. He looked so cute and pretty, so like a sweet little girl that she hated to awaken him.
Evelyn’s shock came because she had distinctly remembered putting him to bed the previous evening in boy’s pajamas. How come he was now dressed in a nightie?
“Bethie changed me last night,” he explained.
“She did? When honey?” Evelyn tried not to scold the boy, and she held her anger back.
The boy, sensing his mother’s smoldering anger, said, “Oh mommy, I got up to go to bathroom and Bethie saw me, and I couldn’t sleep, so we played for a while. That’s all.”
Evelyn nodded. “Ok, now let’s get cleaned up and ready for your breakfast, Merritt.”
“OK mommy. Can I wear my new dress?”
“What new dress?” She asked, puzzled.
“Bethie gave me a new dress,” he said, pointing to a yellow and pale blue summer dress that was draped over a chair.
“She did what?”
“It’s a gift, mommy.”
“No you can’t wear it. Now go to the bathroom, I’ll get your clothes out for you.”
Evelyn took out a pair of shorts and light shirt for her son. After she dressed him, she took the new dress off to her own room, anger growing in her. After she had told Viola and her daughters that she was trying to get Merritt away from wearing girl’s clothes, she was shocked to find out that they had disregarded that order. Didn’t they realize she had to prepare her son for school and meeting other children who may not understand his desire for be a girl?
*****
“See this?” she asked Viola later that day, displaying the yellow and pale blue dress.
“Yes, Evie, it’s a pretty dress and it’s a gift to Merry from Bethie,” Viola said cheerily.
“I don’t want Merritt in dresses anymore. I thought I made that plain.”
For the first time in her five years in the Buckner household, she was firm and angry to her employer. In the past, she had always deferred to the older woman. Not today. She had some rights, too, she felt.
“Calm down, Evie dear,” Viola said evenly. “It made Bethie so happy to get a pretty dress for Merry.”
“Don’t call her … I mean … him, Merry. He’s Merritt. And he’s a boy.”
Viola raised her hand, in a “halt” motion, seeking to stop Evelyn in her unexpected tirade. That only made Evelyn more determined to follow through on her comments. She continued to press the point with Viola that Merritt was her son, not a property of the Buckner’s, and that she wanted to raise the boy so that he’d not be teased or bullied in school.
“Look,” Viola said finally. “I agree. The boy is your son and it’s your choice. But don’t make me give this back to Bethie. It’ll break her heart. She wanted it as a gift. She so loves the boy. You just hang onto it dear, and it’s up to you if he wears it.”
Evelyn nodded, feeling defeated, even though she had spoken up to her employer. She took the dress back with her, and hung it in her closet.
She was saddened. It was obvious Viola controlled her life, from making it almost impossible to meet Bob Casey, by her nightly sexual adventures and by continuing to treat her son as a pretty little girl. What could she possibly do to break free of this hold Viola had upon her?
*****
As days went on, Evelyn began to dread the evening encounters with Viola; she tried to be cold to the woman, but each night as she first vowed to reject any further advances of her employer Evelyn found she grew impassioned and welcomed the advances, soon falling into the heat of the moment, relishing how Viola's firm hands caressed her soft flesh. The older woman knew each of Evelyn's erotic zones, the soft upper inner thighs, the light hair around her vagina, the breasts that flopped to the side as she lay on her back and the fullness of her hips.
“No one else will ever love you like this, Evie,” Viola said. “You're so adorable, so soft and sweet to hold.”
Panting, Evelyn replied breathlessly, her words mimicking the passion of the moment, “Oh, you're so marvelous a lover, Vi.”
She awoke in the morning, alone in a mussed-up bed, tangled in sheets and blankets. The sour scent remaining from the previous nights love-making permeated the room. And, Evelyn cried and cried, still realizing she was caught in the web of a lovely, sensuous woman, a web she both seemed to need and reject at the same time.
Evelyn knew she had to leave.
(The story thus far: Merritt Lane McGraw was born in 1929 to a single mother, Evelyn McGraw, who finds refuge as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy widow and her two daughters. Soon she finds herself trapped by the lesbian affections of her employer and she sees her son being treated as a girl by the widow and her family. The boy seems to grow more and more girlish and Evelyn worries about his future, though she truly finds him so dainty and pretty. Can she escape and make her son more boyish and better equipped to meet the challenges in an era when boys had to be boys?)
Chapter 7: The Break
Her break came one afternoon as she helped Mary in a kitchen while Viola entertained her bridge club friends. They were preparing to serve tea and cakes to the eight women when Mary stopped cutting the cake and looked at Evelyn: “I know you like that boy in the library, Evelyn.”
Evelyn who had been steeping the tea, reddened. “We went to school together,” she said simply.
“He's a nice young man, my Michael tells me,” Mary continued.
“I think so, Mary, but what can I do. Viola keeps me tied up here, and I can't get to see him.”
Mary developed a twinkle in her eye. “Listen girl, I think we can help. Michael has had coffee with your Bob Casey a couple of times when he's in town and he misses you, dear.”
Evelyn beamed. “He does?”
“Oh foolish one, of course he does. Who could not like you?”
“I'm a nobody, and Bob is so smart. He works in the library.”
“You're a smart girl, Evelyn. Don't sell yourself short, but anyway Michael and I have an idea.”
“Oh?”
“Do you want to leave here?” Mary began. “For good?”
“I suppose, but where would I go? I have no money.”
“Maybe back home to your mother and father?” Mary suggested, knowing the estrangement that had occurred due to her father's dislike of his only grandchild's girlish nature.
“Oh, I don't know, Mary.”
“Your mother would welcome you back in a minute, I'll bet.”
“Yes, she would, but dad would be hell on wheels about Merritt. The boy'd be miserable.”
“Honey, you've already begun to prepare him for school, to become more like a boy, and he's doing fine. Michael has been playing catch with him and having him help wash the limousine. There's a boy there, I'm sure.”
The idea was that on the next weekend, just three days away, Viola would be traveling to Chicago by train for a major tennis tournament. Then, Evelyn and Merritt could make their escape.
*****
The plan worked to perfection. It was arranged that Mary and Michael would plan to leave the estate for a free weekend to visit her sister in Green Bay. That would leave Evelyn free to slip out and return to her family. Her mother had been happy to receive word that Evelyn wished to return home and persuaded her husband to agree to the arrangement, even going so far as to pick up Evelyn and Merritt at the Buckner Estate.
Thomas McGraw, her father, had mellowed, it seemed, as he picked up the two. Mary's luggage was sparse, attesting to her own modest wardrobe; Merritt's included only his few clothes, plus the new dress given him by Elizabeth, a doll made of rags and fire truck, purchased by the O'Hara's as a going-away gift.
“Why not take the nice clothes Viola bought you, dear?” Mary asked.
“I don't want anything of Viola's. I don't want to be accused of stealing.”
“Oh she wouldn't do that,” Mary said.
Remembering the jealous rage her employer had over the knowledge that Evelyn had met Bob Casey, Evelyn was indeed worried over repercussions.
“Glad to have you coming home, honey,” her father said, kissing her as she joined him in the front seat, placing Merritt on her lap.
“How's my boy?” he said, examining Merritt closely.
“Oh he's fine daddy, looking forward to starting school.”
“You have him dressed so neatly, just like Little Lord Fauntleroy,” her father said. “Looks like we'll have to get those knees dirty for him.”
“Now daddy, please don't start,” Evelyn said. “See he brought his favorite toy, a fire truck.”
It was a lie, of course. Merritt's favorite toy was the ragdoll that she had tucked away, hidden from sight in the luggage.
“I see you bought a car, finally,” Evelyn said, remembering how the family never before had a car.
“You know your dad is back at work now, in the front office, and doing pretty good. Wear a white collar and everything.”
“I'm so happy for you daddy.”
“I never owned a car before, and it took some work to learn how to drive it,” Thomas McGraw said. “It's a Buick. 1930. Used, but I got a good deal.”
The car lurched forward as he let out the clutch and began to move out of the drive, and back to the family home. The sudden movement startled Merritt, who clutched onto his mother, letting out a quick whimper.
“Don't be scared, honey,” Evelyn said, holding him tightly. “He's only been in a few automobiles, Daddy.”
Her father shook his head, as if to indicate he was upset with the boy's fear, signifying the lad was on his way to becoming a sissy, afraid of everything. But, he said nothing, and Evelyn clutched her son firmly, as the car lurched and moved haltingly out the drive and onto the road.
*****
Viola was furious when she returned home on Monday and was told by the O'Hara's that Evelyn had left with Merritt, not leaving word of where she was going. She blamed the two of them for allowing the young mother to leave the estate, but her main concern was the loss of Evelyn as her nightly lover. She had been enthralled by the young woman's naiveté and soft innocence, her smooth unwrinkled flesh and the light hair surrounding her pussy.
Since her daughters had been gone for the weekend visiting an aunt, they knew nothing, and Beth in particular was devastated, missing the young boy she loved to dress and engage as a little girl.
“Mommy, I want Merry,” the 13 year old Elizabeth lamented. “Do you think she took her new dress, mommy? The one I gave her?”
“Yes, honey, I think she did, 'cause it's no longer in her room. She took her ragdoll, too.”
“I love Merry,” the girl said.
The two girls and their mother had taken to calling the boy “Merry” and referring to him as “her,” a practice they curtailed only in recent months as Evelyn urged them to as she hoped to groom the boy into accepting more boyish behaviors. Now, with Evelyn gone, they reverted to the practice of denying the boy's gender, recasting him as a girl.
“Can I go visit Merry?” the girl asked.
“We'll see, honey,” her mother said. Viola's anger grew as she realized what a joy it was to have little Merry in the house. The girlish boy brought so much cheerfulness and seemed to bring out an almost maternal or sisterly instinct in them as they played with him, often dressing him in frilly frocks of the daintiest of mannerisms.
Viola questioned Mary closely, accusing her of being a part of the plot that permitted Evelyn to leave the estate.
“You ungrateful wretch,” she thundered at the cook. “I rescued you and your no-good husband from the unemployment lines and this is how you reward me. I oughta fire you both.”
“I'm sorry, Miss Viola,” she answered through her tears, finally admitting she had encouraged the young mother to leave with her son.
“She was unhappy here, Miss Viola,” the cook continued.
“How, why? Unhappy here?”
“I don't know, but I know you loved her but she was unhappy. That's all I know.”
“Oh posh,” Viola answered, her own face breaking into tears. She would miss the sweet love sessions with Evelyn.
“But you always have me, Miss Viola,” Mary volunteered.
“You?” her employer shot back. “No one can replace my Evie, but, yes, I have you!”
With that, she approached Mary and the two soon were in deep embrace, both crying heartily. Mary dreamed of returning to the bed of her employer, something she had been missing since Evelyn's young comely self had entered the household. Perhaps Mary figured with Evelyn gone, she would be able once again to leave her husband alone in their marital bed and pitter-patt into Viola's ornate bedroom for passionate love-making. It was an arrangement that Michael approved of: he had his own freedom then to visit his own secret friend, a burly mechanic from the Ford agency.
Chapter 8: A New Role for Merritt
Grandpa McGraw seemed pleased to have his daughter and her son living in the family home again. Evelyn and Merritt shared her old bedroom, which still retained much of it’s teen girl character, even though her parents had been using it largely as a storeroom for extra books and clothes vthat had overflowed from other rooms in the house. The room still had the pink and white curtains and bedspread, as well as two stylistic pictures of little girls in pigtails.
“I’ll teach your son how to catch a ball and use a bat, too,” he boasted over the supper table on the first night that Evelyn and her son were home.
That proved to be a challenge, but thanks to Mike O’Hara’s occasional instructions in catching and throwing a ball, Merritt had some acquaintance, but little skill with the athletic act. To his credit, Grandpa McGraw proved to have a high degree of patience as he took the boy into the family's tiny backyard, and began tossing a battered old softball to the child. As the lightly tossed ball came at Merritt, he fought it rather than trying to catch it, and after several sessions finally got the hang of catching the ball by cradling it in his tiny hands and bringing to into his waiting hands.
His throws were something else, though, and Grandpa McGraw was near to losing patience as the boy's return throws were pathetic tosses that ended at his grandfather's feet, or scooted to the left or right, forcing the man to labor to retrieve the ball.
“That's the way a girl throws,” Grandpa McGraw said at one point, referring to the short-armed throwing mannerisms and the elbows.
He tried to demonstrate the proper throwing method, but it seemed not to work. The boy's awkward throwing method continued, finally causing Grandpa McGraw to give up the effort after a few weeks.
The baseball experiment ended within the second week of Evelyn's return home. The “catch” sessions normally were held after supper most nights in the still sunny evenings, and Grandpa McGraw on this particular night his grandfather tossed the ball a bit too hard and too high, hitting Merritt smack in the nose. The boy burst into tears and ran into the house, finding his mother at the kitchen sink, doing dishes.
“Mommy, mommy,” he sobbed, wrapping himself into her apron, crying profusely.
At the moment, Grandpa McGraw entered, and Evelyn turned on him, asking in a sharp tone: “What happened, dad?”
“He missed the ball and it hit him in the nose, Evelyn,” he said. “He's all right, there's not even any blood.”
“But, he's crying, daddy?”
“He's not hurt,” her father insisted.
Roused by the crying, Evelyn's mother, Patricia, entered the room, scowling at her husband. “What did you do now, Thomas?”
“Nothing,” her husband protested. “He got hit by the ball, that's all. Boy's gotta have a few scrapes in his life.”
“I warned you against pushing Merritt too hard,” his wife said. “He's just a little boy.”
“For chrissakes, he's not hurt, and now he's wailing like a girl for just a little hit on the head.”
Hearing all this, Merritt clung even more tightly to his mother, who finally knelt down to bring the boy into her arms. She rose, cuddling him in his arms and holding him.
“I'm going to take him to our room and get him to quiet down,” Evelyn said.
She left the room, hearing her mother admonish her father: “Now Thomas, no more baseball for that boy until he gets older. Understand?”
She took the boy into their room, laying down on the bed, the lad still in her arms. His crying soon ended and Evelyn dried his face with a damp towel.
“Mommy,” Merritt said finally. “Can I have my doll? Please, mommy.”
Evelyn hesitated for just a moment, retrieving the ragdoll from the drawer where she kept it, hidden from her parents, in fear the boy would be in for more ridicule. The boy's face brightened immediately as he held the doll, cradling in his thin arms. “I love you, little Nancy,” the boy said, addressing the doll by the name he had given it some weeks earlier.
His mother smiled as she looked at the boy, so dainty as he curled up in the pink coverlet, cuddling his ragdoll. He was so pretty, so feminine.
*****
Two days after the baseball incident, on a bright Saturday afternoon, the doorbell rang, at the McGraw household. Rushing to the door, with Merritt skipping at her side, Evelyn saw the Buckner limousine at the curb. Merritt saw the same car, and he knew it well.
“Mommy, mommy, it's Michael's car.” Merritt always described the Buckner limousine as “Michael's car,” since it was always the chauffeur who drove it.
Yes, Merritt was right. Michael was standing by the car, and Evelyn looked through the small square window at the door to see Viola standing there.
“Oh my,” Evelyn said to herself. “I don't want to see her now.”
“Mommy,” Merritt said excitedly. “Open the door, it's aunty Viola. Maybe Bethie's there.”
Reluctantly, Evelyn opened the door, realizing that she and Merritt were alone in the house, and that Viola must know Evelyn was home.
“Yes,” Evelyn said, opening the inside door, but leaving the outer screen door latched. “What do you want?”
Viola stood there, holding the hands of her younger daughter, Elizabeth, who held a gift, wrapped in pink paper with blue bunnies on it. “Bethie,” as Merritt called the girl, had an apprehensive look on her face.
Merritt crowded in front of his mother, yelling gleefully, “Bethie, Bethie. Let them in mommy.”
“I have a gift for Merry,” the 13-year-old girl said, using the girlish name she had given Merritt.
Viola said: “Bethie insisted, Evie, and I hoped you'd want to see us again. I cried when you left, and, really, all of us did, Bethie especially.”
“I guess you better come in.”
The gift was a new Shirley Temple doll, which was still the rage among all little girls a year after its introduction. But it was expensive, maybe $5 to $6, which was out of the range of most families during the Depression.
“We can't accept this,” Evelyn said flatly when Merritt finished opening the gift. “It's too costly. And, Viola you were kind to Merritt and me for a long time, but I can't accept this.”
Holding tightly onto the curly-headed doll, Merritt looked at his mother: “Why not, mommy?”
Tears began to fall from his eyes, as Evelyn tried to take it from his clutches, but the child squirmed away and stood next to Elizabeth and her mother, both seated on the sofa in the living room. “Let Merry play with Shirley, Miss Evelyn,” Bethie pleaded.
“Let the children play, Evie,” Viola said. “We need to talk.”
Evelyn looked at her former employer with a hatred, mixed with a curiosity as to why the woman appeared at the door. Evelyn had felt that chapter of her life was ended, that her dependence upon the wealthy Viola Buckner had ended and that she was making a new life for herself and her son; she so much wanted Merritt to grow up a normal young boy and was so pleased to have taken him from the influences of the Buckner family where he was treated as a girl. She was pleased too that her own father was taking an interest in the lad and introducing him to boyish activities. She too was glad to escape the love-making that had developed between the two women, knowing it was wrong in the eyes of her church and her family customs. Yet, she recalled clearly the great pleasures she took in the caresses of the older woman.
Evelyn told Merritt to show Bethie their bedroom and that they could play briefly with the dolls while their mothers talked.
“I missed you so much, Evie, my dear.”
As Viola said this, she patted the seat next to her, beckoning Evelyn to join her, but Evelyn stayed put on the side chair across the small living room.
“I think it's over, Mrs. Buckner,” Evelyn said flatly.
“I don't think so, Evie,” the older woman said. “You enjoyed our sessions as much as I did. I could tell.”
Evelyn didn't answer, knowing she might find herself in a conversation that she'd regret.
“I didn't stop you from leaving, Evie, and I paid you everything you had coming, plus more.”
“I know that, and you were very generous, Mrs. Buckner, but I can't go back.”
“I’m not asking you too, but how will you survive? You can't live with your parents for long, particularly as Merritt grows older. And you see how his eyes lit up when he saw Bethie.”
“I'm getting a job,” she volunteered. “And I've had a date with a nice young man.”
“You mean that library clerk?”
“He's a sweet nice man, and he's smart, Mrs. Buckner. Once this Depression is over, he'll do ok.”
“He's hardly a man, Evie. He'll never love you as I do.”
Evelyn saw tears grow in the older woman's eyes; it surprised her, seeing this strong, commanding woman tear up. It was obvious that her love for Evelyn was real and overwhelming.
“I'll never hurt you, my darling Evelyn,” she pleaded. “Please arrange to come visit me from time to time. I'd so love to see you, and I know the girls would love time with Merritt.”
Remembering their love-making times, Evelyn too began to wonder if she'd also grow tears, but she was resolved to hold firm. She merely nodded in response to Viola's suggestion for frequent visits, leaving it non-committal.
“I'll call the girls,” Evelyn said, subconsciously including Merritt in the definition. “I have to get supper ready for us here.”
“OK, Evie, please give me a nice kiss before you do that,” Viola said, getting up from the sofa to meet Evelyn who had arisen from her chair to go summon Merritt and Bethie.
Evelyn let herself be taken into the arms of the older woman, and let their lips meet. Evelyn responded coldly to the kiss, but felt the urge returning to place herself into a passionate embrace. She quickly broke away, “I have to call the girls,” she said again, never realizing she called her son a girl.
The Buckners left, with Evelyn letting Merritt keep the new doll with the understanding that he must hide it in the room, away from Grandpa and Grandma. The boy nodded sadly, but understood. He was to begin acting more like a boy, he knew, but it wasn't easy.
Evelyn knew it would be hard to break from the life she knew for five years at the Buckners, but she also realized it might even be more difficult for her young, dainty son to become separated from the sweet girl he had become.
*****
“How did we get a grandson like that, Patti?” Thomas McGraw asked his wife one night as they sipped their after-supper coffees.
“Like what? He’s a sweet young boy. What d’you want? Some roughneck running around.”
“You know he’s hopeless in baseball, Patti. Have you watched me with him?
“Yes, but Thomas, he’s not even six years old yet. Don’t try to push him.”
“And when I took him fishing the other day, he got all squeamish around the worms and wouldn’t touch them, just like a girl.”
Patricia McGraw just shook her head. She was growing exasperated with her husband’s obsession to try to “make a boy” out of Merritt, as he called it.
“He’s just a very clean boy and doesn’t like anything dirty, Thomas. You ought to welcome that in a boy. At least he hangs his clothes up, something you never do.”
“Why do you have to change the subject, Patti? We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about Merritt’s future; he’s a boy and needs to grow up like one, or else there’ll be hell to pay for him.”
“Give him time,” his wife said, more sympathetically now, realizing the truthfulness of what he was saying.
Thomas continued: “We should never have let Evelyn move in with the Buckner woman. All those women in that place.”
“Oh posh. It was the best choice for Evelyn then, when no one else would take her and the baby,” she reminded her husband. “If you’ll remember, you were none to happy when she lived here at first.”
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw is about to enter kindergarten; he has spent nearly all of his young life living with his mother, who works as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl, and the boy appears to find it natural. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn has made a decision to leave the Buckners and return home to live with her parents. Her future is very problematic since it’s 1935 and the Great Depression is still in full swing.)
Chapter 9: A Budding Romance
Evelyn’s “date” with Bob Casey, the library clerk, consisted of the two having ice cream sundaes at one of the many Tompkins Ice Cream parlors around town. Evelyn had planned to visit the library on the first Wednesday afternoon after she returned to her parents’ home, in the off-hand hope that Bob would be working and they could restore their friendship. She had been told by Mike O’Hara that Bob seemed truly interested in her.
She knew it was not the place for a young woman to initiate such a meeting, that she was being “forward,” and the custom of the time prohibited such behavior, except among the whores who worked the areas of Front and Edison streets in the downtown.
She asked her mother to watch Merritt for the afternoon, while she took the streetcar to the main library where she found Bob working the desk. She stood in line, holding the Louisa May Alcott’s “Little Women,” as three children ahead were checking out books. Bob was busy stamping the due dates into the front of the books, and barely looked up when she presented her library card and the book to him.
“I’ll need to have the address changed on my card,” she said quietly.
Only then did he look up, giving her a shocked look.
“Oh, Evelyn. It’s you.”
“Yes, Bob, I’ve moved back in with my parents.”
“Really, away from the slave owner?” he said with a wink.
“Yes, I’m free now,” she said, unashamedly.
“I’m off in 20 minutes, if you can hang around for a while, Evelyn. Maybe we can go somewhere for a few minutes.”
“That would be nice, and I see you’re busy. I’ll wait in the main reading room.”
The pair ended up at Tompkins, which was crowded with both children and adults looking for a cool treat on a warm summer day.
“You know I thought of you often since we first met, and then the chauffeur told me how that woman kept you basically locked up in that mansion of hers,” he said as they each ate their hot fudge sundaes, at 10c each, the cheapest in town. (Most places then charged 15c.)
“I did too,” she admitted.
Thus, their romance began, simply and tentatively.
*****
It was apparent that Bob Casey’s basic shyness came from a genuine concern about how his actions might hurt another person. Evelyn found that such a sweet trait, a feature that was missing among her earlier relationships, that of her one-night affair with Drake Kosgrove (her son’s father) and the one-sided, yet passionate, love affair with Viola, her employer.
They barely held hands during their first “real” date, a streetcar trip downtown to see “It Happened One Night,” a witty romance starring the heartthrob of the era, Clark Gable, and a leading star, Claudette Colbert. Bob Casey had no car, having had to sell his Model T Ford when he lost his job in the factory, and taken the lower paying clerical job in the library.
Evelyn enjoyed the coyness displayed by the Actress Colbert, who portrays a rebellious, but spoiled, rich girl seeking to escape an arranged marriage with an older man, only to find herself in the cynical control of a newspaper reporter on the search for a scoop. In her mind, she pictured herself that kind of a girl, finding release in the independence that such a role envisioned.
She yearned for Bob to give her passionate kisses, but all she got at the end of the date was a polite peck on her lips, with the statement, softly made, by her lanky boy friend, “Thank you, Evelyn. I had a nice time. I would like to do this again.”
Evelyn, seeking to move more tightly against him as the two stood on the front stoop of the McGraw home, said, “Yes, I’d like that.”
And she raised her head, her lips inviting another kiss, a longer, more passionate kiss, but instead was greeted with Bob Casey turning away, heading down the walk, with a comment, “I better get going or else I’ll miss the last car tonight.”
“Bye,” she waved.
“Bye, Evelyn.” And he was off in a trot down the street to get the last streetcar.
That night in bed, she wanted to be held, to be caressed and kissed. At that moment, she again wanted the arms of her demanding lover, Viola Buckner. She cried silently, her son asleep in the tiny bed next to hers.
*****
Miss Riley was a robust, tall woman, who at first glance seemed to have a fearsome demeanor, and she ruled the kindergarten class at Dover Street School with a firmness that was admired by the parents of her charges. Yet, within a week, the woman’s soft and warm nature emerged and the tiny children, in their first days away from their families, found great comfort in being in her class. It was “Miss Riley, can I do . . .” “Miss Riley, I want that toy . . .”
True to expectations, Merritt cried heartily on the first day of school as his mother sought to drop him off in Miss Riley’s class. He wasn’t the only child crying, but Evelyn was embarrassed nonetheless, since the other crying children tended to be girls and not as loud and prolonged as Merritt’s display.
“Just go, Mrs. McGraw,” the teacher said, her tall, large body towering over the more diminutive Evelyn.
“It’s Miss McGraw,” Evelyn corrected the teacher. “Merritt’s father is no longer around.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” the teacher said. “I should have checked the sheet closer. But, just go, my dear. He’ll be fine, I assure you.”
Evelyn pried the child’s hands from her skirt and turned one hand over to Miss Riley, who had knelt down, hugging the boy, saying gently, “Your mother must go now, dear. We’ll find some nice toys for you.”
With that, she took Merritt away, leading him to a large toy truck made out of wood. Evelyn left the room, pausing at the door long enough to hear the boy say, his crying ended, but his face streaked with tears, “Can I play there,” pointing to a large doll house, already being admired by three girls.
Miss Riley looked at Evelyn, still at the door, as if to ask, “Is that OK with you.” Evelyn nodded, “yes.”
At the end of the morning, as Evelyn arrived to pick up her child, Merritt bounded across the room, full of life with no signs of any further crying. “Mommy, mommy, look at the big doll house. It’s so big and I met Diane and Nancy, too.”
Two girls followed her son across the room and Evelyn greeted them. “We like Merritt,” said one them, a tiny blonde girl, later identified as Diane.
“That’s nice,” Evelyn said, realizing all efforts so far to make her son more of a boy had not worked.
“You see, Miss McGraw, he was fine,” Miss Riley said, having come up to greet Evelyn.
“Was he at that doll house all morning?”
“Most of it, he seems to like that the best. I tried to get him to play with the truck, but he left that after a few minutes, returning to the doll house.”
“I was afraid of that,” Evelyn said, her concern apparent.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Miss McGraw,” Miss Riley assured her. “Kids at this age don’t seem to know much difference in the toys and their gender. Let him do what he enjoys for now. He’s a sweet boy, very polite.”
“Thank you, we try hard to raise him properly.”
“I’m sure you do, but without a man in the house, it must be hard, Miss McGraw.” Miss Riley’s comments were sympathetic, but Evelyn wondered if this kindly woman was feeling judgmental about the fact that she was raising a child as a single woman. It just wasn’t done in those days.
“We manage fine, Miss Riley, thank you.” Evelyn said pointedly. “Come on Merritt, let’s go home and have lunch.”
*****
It turned out that Bob Casey was still a virgin at age 26; always shy and retiring around women, he was reluctant to ask anyone for a date. Yet, as Evelyn continued to go out with him, he became more and more impassioned, and his kisses and caresses intensified.
“I feel so comfortable with you, Evie,” he said on their fourth date, another movie.
“And I with you Bob. You’re so nice and gentle,” she added, as they sat on the porch swing on a warm summer night after returning to her home. They held hands, his long fingers firmly wrapped around her soft fleshy hand.
“I feel . . . ah . . . umm . . . that I can tell you something,” he said.
“Of course, you can anything.”
He halted, and even in the dim light she could see his face grow flushed.
She leaned over and kissed him, as if to encourage he continue.
“I’ve never been with a girl before,” he said quickly, as if hurrying to get the words out of his mouth while he still had the courage to admit his embarrassing news.
“Oh? You mean you’ve never had sex with a girl?” she asked in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Um, yes,” he said, his admission now turning him beet red, which she could see even in the faint light emanting from inside the house.
“That’s fine, darling,” she said. She now drew him totaling into her arms, kissing him profusely. He returned the kisses, tentatively at first, but soon grew more excited, his hands now exploring areas he had never touched before.
*****
Six months later, Evelyn became Mrs. Robert Casey; they were married in a simple Catholic ceremony in the rectory and without a mass. The pastor was concerned that Evelyn was not “pure” enough to warrant a complete wedding mass, due to the illegitimate birth of Merritt. Rather than argue, the family agreed to the same type of ceremony that would be held if one of the partners was not Catholic.
Evelyn’s brother, Frank, was best man, and Bob’s sister, Marie, was maid of honor. Merritt was ring bearer, looking so cute in black trousers, white shirt and tie, accompanied by Judy, Frank’s young daughter, as flower girl.
“Mommy, isn’t Judy pretty?” Merritt asked as they were lining up to be walking into the main dining room of the rectory where the ceremony was held.
“Yes, she is, honey, and it was so nice you helped her with her dress, too.”
“She doesn’t know anything about dresses,” he suggested.
Evelyn nodded her head, recalling with some embarrassment how Merritt had astounded everyone with adjusting the little girl’s dress and belt, working daintily and gently, while little Judy squirmed.
Even the bridesmaid noticed, commenting, “Your little boy seems to know lots about girl’s dresses, Evelyn. He’s so sweet to my Judy.”
“Well, I guess he’s watched me dress. We have to share the same room at home, but once Bob and I are together, he’ll have his own room.”
“I guess that’s it,” Marie said. “But he’s a doll, dear.”
Evelyn nodded, realizing how pretty her son would look as the flower girl; and, he’d be so happy in the dress, too, she knew.
That night, their Honeymoon night, Bob Casey, awkward and tentative, aided by Evelyn, lost his virginity. He was quick in the act, quicker than he wanted to be, but Evelyn assured him he was fine. As she lay there, with Bob Casey already asleep, she wished for more affection, more caresses and more kisses. And her thoughts turned to Voila.
*****
During their six month courtship, Evelyn, unbeknownst to either her parents or Bob, had visited Viola, usually on Tuesdays, when Michael and Mary O’Hara had the day off and were gone from the estate. Viola was careful not to let Mary learn of Evelyn’s weekly visits, since the cook was a regular visitor to her bed at night.
Evelyn felt so comfortable in the arms of the older woman, her sinewy arms, firm tummy and tiny breasts. She loved laying her soft white body next to Viola’s strong athletic, tanned body, smelling her soapy scent, usually mixed without the sweetness of perfume. She welcomed the strong hands that caressed her flesh, her meaty thighs and full bosom.
“Your Bob will never love you like this, Evie,” Viola said often.
Evelyn agreed. She felt so wanted, so desired and so much in love. Her orgasms were wild and noisy and repeated several times a visit.
On the Tuesday in the week preceding the marriage, Evelyn arrived a bit earlier than usual and caught Viola still in her tennis outfit, flushed and sweaty from an always hotly contested tennis match with Penelope Quinn, a younger woman she often competed against.
“Oh, Evie, you’re early,” Viola said, wiping herself down with a towel. “Penny just left, and I haven’t cleaned up yet. Gimme a few minutes.”
“Oh you don’t have to. You look so . . . oh, so . . . lovely as you are?”
“As I am? All sweaty and smelling like a pig farm?”
“Yes, as you are.” Evelyn approached the older woman, hugging Viola tightly, her face flat against the moist armpits of the older woman. She tasted the salty moisture from her body, the musky sour smell of her damp clothes.
They stumbled together, arm-in-arm to Viola’s bedroom, her bed still unmade from the morning, since Mary was not around to remake the bedclothes. Soon they were nude together on the bed, both bodies now glistening in sweat. Evelyn rubbed her hand into Viola’s vagina, making the woman cry with delight. She withdrew her hand, her fingers are moist with Viola’s juices, and put her fingers into her own mouth, finding the salty taste so intoxicating.
“Here, darling,” Evelyn said. “Taste it.” She put her fingers now into Viola’s welcoming mouth.
“Oh so nasty,” Viola responded. “But I like it.”
The older woman squealed with delight and the two embraced now, kissing passionately.
“Oh, god, Evie, how could you desert me? How could you leave?”
“I don’t know, I guess I had to, but I love you, Viola. I want you so bad.”
It was the wildest session the two woman had ever had together, and afterward, in the shower they shared, they soaped each other up, letting the warm water wash over them as they kissed and caressed each other.
“You’re sure you want to go through with the wedding, dear?” Viola asked later as they shared iced tea in the kitchen.
“Oh yes, it’s the right thing to do, both for me and Merritt. He needs male influence in his life.”
“You could stay here forever, you know?”
“I know, darling, but it wouldn’t be right. We’re sinning something terrible now, Viola.”
The older woman patted her arm. “No honey, it’s no sin if you’re in love.”
Evelyn nodded her head. “But this is 1936 and I know they’re talking lots these days about ‘free love,’ but not here in this backward town. People will talk.”
“So let them talk, Evie.”
“No, Viola, this is the right thing to do, really. I’m 26 now and most girls my age are married and I need the security of a nice man, and Bob is really sweet. He really is.”
“But he’s not much of a man from what I can see.” Her tone was a bit snarky.
“Oh he’s man enough, I’m sure,” Evelyn smiled.
“You’re sure? You don’t know?”
Evelyn grew flush, not willing to admit that her husband-to-be was still virgin and unschooled in the ways of sex.
“Oh I know,” she said simply.
*****
Slowly, as Bob Casey grew more confident in his sexual endeavors, aided of course by Evelyn’s aggressiveness, the couple’s love-making soon became more fulfilling. Yet, she had to admit it never reached the height of intensity she felt with Viola.
The couple, with Merritt in tow, moved into an apartment on the second floor of Swenson’s Novelties and Craft Store, a family business that was nearly 60 years old. Maury Swenson and his wife, Hilda, lived in the other of the two apartments on the second floor. The Casey’s place had two small bedrooms, a living room and tiny kitchen, along with a bath.
“You can have this apartment for $72.50 a month,” Hilda told Bob and Evelyn as they examined the place.
“That’ll be a little tight for us,” Bob said.
“You won’t have any pets will you?” the woman asked.
“No, just our son who’ll be six in September.”
“I hope he’s not too rough a boy,” the potential land lady said.
“Not at all,” Evelyn replied. “You’ll find him sweet.”
“I hope so,” she said. “Tell you what, you can have the place for $70 a month, but no lease. If you don’t work out, I’ll kick you out.”
The Caseys had found the apartment to be unusually clean and bright; furthermore, it was the rear apartment with a separate entrance. They would be shielded from street noise, it seemed. Besides, Swenson’s was a favored supply center for cloth, threads, yarn, and other sewing materials.
“It’s a deal,” Bob said.
Chapter 10: The Dress Shop
“Mommy, do they make dresses down there?” Merritt asked his mother after the young couple moved into the apartment.
“No, darling, but they do sell stuff for people to make dresses and other clothes?” his mother answered. She and her young husband were tired from the day of moving; even though their belongings were meager, it still was exhausting. Evelyn’s father had assisted and they had rented to small trailer, but still, with the repeated climb up stairs to the second floor, Evelyn was pale with exhaustion and she sat on a box in the cluttered living room.
“Can we make dresses, mommy, like we did with Bethie?” the boy asked.
His round sweet face was beaming brightly as he asked the question.
“We’ll see, darling,” she said as he nestled in her arms.
“Please, mommy,” the boy persisted.
Bob entered the room from the kitchen carrying two glasses of lemonade, their dewy sides dripping.
“What’s he asking for?” he asked, given a glass each to Merritt and his mother.
“He wants to sew dresses.”
“Dresses?” Bob asked in wonderment. “What on earth for?”
“He used to enjoy doing it with Beth, Viola’s daughter,” she explained. “She even taught him to use the sewing machine.”
Bob shook his head. There was a look of disgust that was apparent to Evelyn. Her father had made quite a point of urging Bob, as Evelyn’s new husband, to work on makeing a “boy” out of Merritt. As he told Bob one night after the two had made their engagement known:
“All he knows, Bob, is women, living out there with that Viola woman and her girls. You’re his new dad now, so you’ll have to be an example to him.”
Bob, in truth, had never been much of an athlete in his own right, being slender and a bit gawky, but he was able to throw and catch a baseball easily and when put to the test always seemed to be a credible performer.
“I don’t know, Evie,” he said. “I need to get him into sports.”
“Oh Bob, you sound like my dad,” she said. “Give him time. He’ll develop.”
“We’ll see.”
Merritt listened intently to this conversation; slowly he was beginning to realize that he was a boy, and that he needed to start acting like one. He had gotten pushed around a bit in Kindergarten, particularly by a nasty little boy called Casimir, who made fun of Merritt for playing so often with the dolls. He loved his mother, and he wasn’t sure about her new husband, who seemed nice enough but he seemed to always be touching and kissing his mother. He didn’t like that.
Later that night, as Evelyn tucked him in bed, he asked: “Doesn’t Bob like me?”
“Sure he likes you, honey,” she said. “And he’s your daddy now, so call him ‘daddy.’”
“I love you mommy,” the boy said.
She kissed him goodnight, this sweet gentle child, this feminine, soft child, so tender and innocent who looked so lovely in a dress. How would he fare in the world of men and boys?
*****
And Merritt soon drifted off to sleep, although he had several wakeful moments when he wished he could have been snuggled tightly against her warm soft body, so full of feminine scent. His childhood had been filled with those tender moments, tight against his mother, so often in a matching nightie of his own.
Those evenings were over now.
“You’re too old now to sleep with me, darling,” she had tried telling him as he approached the age of five. Then, when Bob married her, that new man occupied her bed, and Merritt could only weep at the missing hugs and caresses.
Mostly he missed the idea that on those occasions in his mother’s bed she had made him feel like he was her little girl. Always before bedtime on those occasions, she bathed him in a sweet smelling bubble bath and made him feel so smooth and pretty. Then she allowed him to wear his little girl nightie, a lace-trimmed frock of opaque pink cloth that reach to his knees and had a scooped neckline and puffy short sleeves.
He loved that nightie, and often danced before climbing into the bed. Those magical evenings were ended in his life, he feared. Now that Bob Casey occupied his mother’s bed, there was no room for Merritt; and, worst of all, he was afraid it ended any chance of his mother ever again dressing him as a girl.
*****
For Evelyn, the new man in her life, the lanky and somewhat awkward Bob Casey, brought a stability and normalcy that young women of her era felt they needed. In short, a woman of the Great Depression required a bread-winner, someone to provide her with a secure future, a steady income, a chance for children and a family.
Bob Casey was a caring man, gentle and generous of spirit. He was ever attentive to Evelyn's needs and desires, so much so that it often maddened her as a he would forever be inquiring, “What would you like?” He rarely led in matters, both big and small, from whether to buy Grade A “large” eggs or “medium” to where the young family should live after their marriage.
It was Evelyn who eventually found their apartment, having seen the “For Rent” stuck in the second story window above Swenson's Novelties and Craft Store. She inquired about the apartment during a visit for a sewing pattern, and Mrs. Swenson having been impressed by the young woman during Evelyn's frequent visits to the store suggested she bring her new husband around later to view it.
Bob seemed unimpressed with the apartment, located as it was along a busy street with the continual honking of horns and clang of streetcars, but Evelyn fell in love with its brightness, pointing out their apartment was in the rear, far from the street noise. Bob Casey quickly agreed to the idea. That was Bob, ever accommodating.
Strangely, Bob Casey had the soul of a romantic and the mind of a wannabe intellectual, in spite of his lack of advanced education. That's what made him so happy working in the library, around books, both romantic novels and intellectual tomes. He read both with great eagerness, sometimes crying aloud at the occurrences in the novels and at other times lost in the discussions of some esoteric philosopher.
Evelyn found she particularly enjoyed those times when her young husband would share in his intellectual pursuits, prompting discussions about the topic. And Evelyn found she was easily a match for her husband's responses as their discussions sometimes found them on differing conclusions. Those were stimulating nights, and exhausting. But Evelyn enjoyed the discussions over ideas and philosophies.
Yet, Bob Casey was hardly an inspiring partner, often taciturn and retiring, making for boring evenings as he was lost in his books. He usually urged her not to turn off the couple's only radio, a table-top Zenith, after the 6 p.m. news programs, refusing to listen to the many comedies like Fibber McGee and Bob Hope and others who populated the radio dials of the era.
Many evenings then, after the dishes were done, Evelyn moved to Merritt's tiny bedroom where she had set up a small sewing machine. She was forever making dresses or skirts for herself or for the daughters of one of her girl friends, scavenging for scraps of cloth, and developing some exciting dresses.
Since her marriage, Evelyn had refused to let Merritt wear dresses or skirts, seriously seeking to wean him off of his girlish mannerisms and enjoyments.
*****
Evelyn found the evenings she spent in Merritt's room to be one of the loveliest moments in her young married life; she loved designing and creating dresses for Donna Mae, the soon-to-be seven-year-old daughter of her closest friend, Louise Lemieux, who lived across the alley from Swenson's shop.
The two young women had become nearly inseparable since they discovered each other while hanging wash out. To help cement their friendship, Merritt and Donna Mae played together in harmony, echoing their mothers' own closeness.
“Your Merritt sure seems to enjoy Donna Mae's dolls,” commented Louise early in their friendship as they watched the two youngsters play together.
“He's always loved playing with dolls,” Evelyn explained, “Maybe because of those years I spent with Mrs. Buckner, Her daughters loved playing with him when he was small; one even dressed him as a girl sometimes.”
“Didn't that bother you?”
“No, Louise, not at first, but now that he's in school I'm worried about it. 'fraid he'll get teased or beat up.”
“Yes, Evie, in these times you gotta teach boys to fight back,” her friend volunteered.
“I don't know about that, Louise, but he should be more of a boy, I agree. Bob is working on doing that.”
“Yes, I see him tossing a ball with Merritt in the alley sometimes.”
“Bob's about to lose patience with the boy, though. He seems to not be able to pick up the skills to throw or catch a ball easily,” Evelyn said.
Louise laughed, nodding her head. “I think my Donna Mae is better at it.”
“That's what Bob said.”
It was a warm summer day, and the two were sitting on Louise's back stoop drinking lemonade, watch Merritt and Donna Mae play with the dolls on a blanket spread on the lawn in shade under an ash tree.
“The children do look so lovely playing there,” Louise offered.
“They play so well together,” Evelyn replied. Privately, however, she was thinking they both looked like little girls, and that maybe Merritt might have easily been the prettiest of the two.
She watched them, both of them about the same size and body structure. With Merritt's longish hair, partly due to the fact that she hated to spend 10 cents for a child's haircut with money so tight, and also due to her joy in seeing how pretty her young son could look.
The two youngsters had two ragdolls, and were playing a game in which they were going shopping and trying on imaginary clothes.
“Now Maryann,” she overheard Merritt say to the doll he was handling. “This nice spring dress would look so nice on you.”
“My Jane, has a nice dress too,” they heard Donna Mae respond, speaking of her doll.
“Oh yes, Jane has a nice dress. I like the taffeta dresses.” Merritt said.
“My, your Merritt seems to know so much about dresses,” Louise volunteered.
Evelyn reddened a bit. “Well he watches me sew a lot,” she explained.
“He's sure a lovely child, Evelyn.”
“I've got a lovely dress for your Donna Mae,” Evelyn said. “I'm just about done with it.”
“Really, Evie. You didn't have to do that?”
“I wanted to Louise. You've been such a good friend and I know that Donna Mae's birthday is coming up and I wanted something for her. Besides, I had the cloth laying around.”
“That's so so sweet of you,” Louise said.
“I'll need to do a final fitting perhaps on the weekend.”
“Oh, we'll be gone for a week, visiting my parents in Chicago.”
“Darn,” Evelyn said. “I'll just wait 'til you're back.”
“Why not put it on Merritt?” Louise said. “Their about the same size and that should give you an idea how it'll fit.”
“Oh I couldn't do that? I'm trying to stop him wearing dresses.”
Louise paused. “Just an idea! Well, it'll have to wait until we get back.”
*****
Two nights later, Merritt stood next to his mother as she worked the sewing machine on Donna Mae's new dress.
“That dress is lovely,” the boy said. “Donna Mae will look adorable in it.”
Evelyn nodded yes, as she completed stitching lace long the hem. Her mind wandered now, reflecting on the words Merritt used: “lovely” and “adorable.” What young boy would use such girlish words? And, yet, her son used them easily and naturally.
When she finished the dress, she looked at Merritt: “What do you think, honey?”
“Oh,” the boy jumped in excitement. “She'll just love it.”
Evelyn watched the boy as he pranced about the room in happiness. She was so pleased her young son seemed to care about other people and wish them happiness. An idea popped into her head.
“You want to see how it looks on a pretty girl?” she asked.
“Oh yes, mommy. Yes.”
“Let's make you all pretty and see how it fits on you. OK?”
“Mommy, can I? Really, can I wear it?”
“Oh you and Donna Mae are about the same size. Let's see.”
“Oh mommy, I love you.”
Before they put on the dress, Evelyn gave the boy a bath, including all the bubbles; she brushed his long hair briskly so that it turned up at the ends, making him look so cute.
Evelyn had been saving a pair of cotton panties in her drawer for just such an occasion. They were pink, with tiny light blue and green angels flitting about. She had the cleaned up, pinkish skinned boy, now scented sweetly ready for the dress.
He held his arms up for his mother to place the dress down over his head, standing still and straight.
She tied the bow on the back; it was a light blue sleeveless summer dress that went to mid-thigh, and had an open neck.
“It's a little loose on me, mommy,” he said.
“That's OK, I think Donna Mae is a little bigger than you. My, oh my, you look pretty.
“Mommy, can I have a dress like this? Mommy, please.”
“Oh honey,” she said, taking the boy in her arms and hugging him. “You're a boy, dear, and boys don't wear dresses.”
Tears began to form in the boy's eyes, and Evelyn brushed his soft, sweet face and touched his light blonde hair.
“Why can't I be a girl, mommy?”
“Well, God made you a boy, honey. So you must act like a boy.”
“I don't feel like a boy mommy.”
Evelyn clutched her son tightly, and she began to sob too. He was such a perfect little girl, she mused.
“Now, now, dear, we mustn't cry, or else our tears will stain Donna Mae's dress.”
“Am I pretty mommy?”
“Yes, honey, as pretty as any girl in town.”
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Now in his sophomore high school year, Merritt finds his effort to become more and more masculine challenged. )
Chapter 22: Into a Boy’s Life
Merritt was acolyte for the Holy Week services at St. Patrick’s; that meant he’d wear vestments that almost matched those of the priest. He’d be serving and preparing the altar for the Holy Thursday services, the three-hour Good Friday marathon and the dawn mass on Easter Sunday. While many of his friends enjoyed the full week of vacation, Merritt’s week was busy in the shop, where the dress-making business had gotten demanding as the prom season was nearing. Teen girls in the area had learned of the bargains and fashionable dresses that came from Swenson’s, and were flocking into the shop in such numbers, that Hilda Swenson finally quit taking measurements and orders. Thus, Merritt’s hope to escape the dressmaking business to work in more typical male work had to be postponed. Merritt was stuck with making most of the dresses, but his mother would plan to work evenings to help out, after her day job on the hosiery works ended.
In truth, he hadn’t been completely true to his promise to refrain from wearing girl’s outfits during Lent. After trying for a few nights to sleep in boy’s pajamas, he gave up. They were too scratchy, he told his mother, returning to the smooth satin of his nighties; he particularly loved the frilly ones that came down almost to his ankles. Now, his only “girl time” was at night, when he prepared to go to bed.
“The ladies of the Altar Society love working with you, Merritt,” Father Mulcahy told the boy as he arrived for the Good Friday services. “And I’m so happy having you here, too.”
“Thank you, father. I’m enjoying it too. Those ladies are fun to work with,” he said, smiling.
“I just wanted you to know that. They told me you’re the most attentive acolyte they’ve ever had and they like that.”
It was true, Merritt realized, that he so looked forward to helping to decorate the altar for the Easter time in order to celebrate the Lord’s rising from his tomb in joyous celebration. He found great pleasure in using his designing skills, perhaps gained through his dress-making, to prettify the church. There were about a dozen ladies, nearly all grandmothers, in the society, and usually about half of them showed up at a time to work on the altar.
One woman, Mrs. McGonigle, brought along her 15-year-old granddaughter, Eileen, to assist in the Saturday preparations. She was a shy, slender plain-looking girl with straight shoulder-length brown hair who stood around awaiting instructions as to how to help. Merritt eyed her as he stood on the ladder, attempting to attach a garland to a wall; seeing her standing helplessly, he motioned her with a nod of his head, to come over and hold one end of the garland.
“Thank you, Eileen,” he said once the chore was completed, and he had descended the ladder.
The decorating continued for another hour, and when it was finished Mrs. McGonigle and Eileen left without further words with Merritt. He was disappointed; something with Eileen intrigued him, but he couldn’t figure out why. She was shy and nondescript and had a body virtually without shape; for some reason he pictured her growing up and living out her life as a spinster librarian. He should have pitied her, he felt, but he found himself wishing he could trade places with her.
He hoped he’d see her again soon. He never did, and when he boldly asked Mrs. McGonigle about Eileen, she replied tartly: “She’s gone back to mother in California. She’ll not be back.”
Merritt wanted to inquire further about the girl, but Mrs. McGonigle’s short, almost rude answer made him stay silent. For some reason, the image of Eileen would remain with him the rest of his life, popping up at the strangest times.
When the ladies of the Altar Society finished their work, they stayed around to enjoy tea and cookies together, one of them usually having brought treats each session. Merritt joined with them, finding he loved the conversation, so often about the fortunes — or, more usually it seemed, misfortunes — of their children or grandchildren.
“We’re so happy to have you join us, Merritt,” one of the ladies said. “But aren’t you bored with us?”
“Not really,” he said. “I like the cookies.”
“Oh you can take your cookies and go, if you wish,” she replied. “I can’t imagine a boy would enjoy sitting with us old biddies.”
Merritt blushed, not knowing how to respond. “You’re all nice,” he said, finally.
“Thank you and you’re so sweet, too,” she said, patting his knee.
Merritt noticed he was holding his tea-cup in a lady-like manner, just like the others; and, his legs were crossed, also very lady-like. It seemed he just fit in perfectly.
*****
“Come on, Marilyn,” his friend Billy Johnson pleaded. “I want to take you out on a date, just like you were my girl friend.”
“I can’t, Billy,” he said. “Really, I promised mom and I said I’d try to be more of a boy.”
“You’re prettier than any girl I know, and certainly no real girl as pretty would go out with me.”
Billy was probably correct about that; his slender body, a gaunt face and scruffy dark hair hardly gave him an appealing look, and the boy knew it. His saving grace was his ready wit, his generous eyes and generally nice demeanor. In fact, both boys had often discussed how difficult it would be for them to get dates, and possibly ever find a girl who’d marry them. They were linked by their common feelings that they were unattractive to women.
“I can’t,” Merritt repeated.
“Well, anyway, you can at least dress up for me at your place some day,” he persisted. “OK?”
“OK,” Merritt agreed. And he knew just exactly the dress he’d wear; it was one he had created for Dolores, and which he planned to give her as a gift. He had tried it on several times, and with some filling for the chest, it fit perfectly. And, he knew, he looked divine in it.
*****
Merritt’s mother was planning to go to a union meeting Wednesday night, and he invited Billy Johnson to join him then at the family’s apartment. It was Merritt’s routine to work several hours after school at Swenson’s, finishing in the workroom about 6 p.m.
“Come over about 7:30. Mom’ll be gone and I’ll be all pretty for you,” Merritt whispered into Billy’s ear during lunch hour on Tuesday. He spoke in soft, inflected tones, perfectly mimicking a sexy young woman.
They were seated together on a cafeteria table, and Merritt sensed his friend tense up, gaining almost immediate sensual stimulus from the expectations of being with him as “Marilyn.”
“I still think you should go out on a date with me,” Billy whispered back.
The prospect also excited Merritt as he pictured himself, slender and lovely on the arm of a tall young man. He had tried on the dress he was making for Dolores, and after doing a few touch-ups that night, it would be ready for him to model for his friend. While Merritt told himself he was making the dress for Dolores, the truth was most of the time he was seeing the image of himself in the dress. He was really making the dress for himself, wasn’t he? Yes, but Dolores would have the finished product, and he felt that justified his own selfishness.
Merritt had chosen to make a gown of light blue taffeta, with an Elizabethan collar, full sleeves, belted with skirt flowing to the ankles. He incorporated a bit of fussiness along the trim, giving the gown an elegance that was rare among prom gowns. He wondered whether he had gone a bit over the top in the design, but he felt the need to hide Dolores’ husky, strong arms and give her a stately presence. She had seen some photographs of a similar design and had expressed a desire for such a dress.
In truth, the gown was a slightly bit too big for him; in the fitting for Dolores he found her frame to actually be a bit broader than his own more dainty body.
“You’re so elegant, Marilyn,” Billy said upon arrival.
“Thank you, sir,” Merritt said, curtseying before his friend.
“You look like a queen, Marilyn,” the boy said. “Almost too regal to kiss.”
“Try it anyway,” Merritt smiled.
And Billy kissed him tentatively on the lips, as the two hugged gingerly, careful not to muss the dress.
Merritt had put a stack of records on the phonograph machine, ready to play 10 songs on the 78 rpm discs of sweet sentimental dance tunes, mainly from Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey and Artie Shaw. He even had two songs with Frank Sinatra, singing with Tommy Dorsey’s band. He switched on the phonograph player, and welcomed Billy to lead him out to dance in the tiny living room of the apartment.
“You’re so romantic,” Merritt cooed as they danced.
“I have the prettiest girl in the room,” said the other.
“The only girl.”
The two laughed.
Yes, for a too brief hour, he was Marilyn, a lovely, sweet, shy girl in the arms of her man. It was heaven.
*****
“Do you still like me?”
The question came out of the blue as Merritt and Dolores stood outside her house. It was a warmish April evening, after a teaser of an almost summer-like day which almost always in this northern climate was followed by chills and nastiness. But the two young people had enjoyed the evening seeing a movie at the Tivoli, stopping at Morgan’s for a soda and walking home. He had not so much as tried to put his arm around Dolores in the movie, or even hold her hand.
“Of course, I do,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know, you just seem so quiet tonight.”
“I suppose.”
He knew he had acted distant to the girl this evening; he himself couldn’t explain it, since he was distinctly fond of Dolores and wanted her always to be his friend. Maybe it was because he still was trying to get used to the idea that she wanted him as her “boy friend,” not as just a friend, so much like a girl friend. Was he uncomfortable trying to be a “boy friend?” What was he to do? Some boys seemed quick to force their affections on a girl, to demand a hug or a kiss and then to feel them up and do all those nasty things boys do to a girl. That wasn’t him. He liked being with her as a“girl friendj.” That seemed natural to him.
“Can I ask you something, Merritt?”
“Sure.”
“I hate to ask this,” she began. “I love the dress you gave me. It’ll make me the classiest girl in the room.”
“Thank you, I loved making it.”
“Well, Jimmy, my cousin, who was going to take me to the Angel’s prom can’t now. He’s got measles and will be quarantined until after the prom.”
“That’s too bad.”
“And I don’t know anyone else to take me. Can you be my date? It’d be a shame to have this dress not used.”
Merritt truly wasn’t pleased with the idea. It would mean he’d have to act like all the other boys at the dance and he wasn’t sure how he’d do. But Dolores was such a friend.
“Really, no one else?”
“Well at an all-girls school like Angels, you don’t see boys in your English class,” she said, nervously. “And we’d have fun, Merritt. Please.”
It was not unusual for girls at Our Lady of the Angels to ask boys to dances at the school; often times they had set up dances and brought in boys from Don Bosco High (an all boys’ school) for mixers.
He agreed, and recognized Dolores would help him through the night; she’d never embarrass him and, she was right, they might have fun.
*****
Merritt faced his prom date with Dolores with apprehension. He hoped dearly that he would be a credible boy once he was dressed in his black tuxedo, rented for $10 — a truly large hunk of money for the cash-strapped McGraw family. He had always shied from traditional “boy” roles, and this, outside of the movie night, would be his first real date with a girl, and he hoped Dolores would be proud to be on his arm for the Grand March and the other activities of the night.
Evelyn fussed over her son as he prepared for the date, and had insisted he have his hair cut for the dance. The trip to the barber was, in itself, worrisome enough, since Merritt had had his hair traditionally cared for in the beauty salon located next to Swenson’s craft shop. Betty Harrison, the salon proprietor had been a wise caretaker of the boy’s hair, following Evelyn’s orders to keep it longer than usual, but still fashioned in a boyish style.
The boy went to the shop on his own, and waited patiently for 20 minutes before his turn came up, viewing old copies of Field & Stream and The Sporting News. He was shocked at the photos of men holding long guns and posing with dead deer and elk strung up in firing line fashion. He found the baseball statistics that filled The Sporting News of more interest, since he had developed an interest in the minor league Riverdale Pirates that performed in town, thanks to the influence of Uncle Frank. Since moving in with Merritt and his mother, Uncle Frank had nurtured the boy in the ways of men, but had done so gently and with patience for the boy’s ignorance about many such topics. Merritt mused deeply about his uncle, who had proven to be a gentle man, in spite of being severely injured in the war; he still carried a spattering of shrapnel in his leg and buttocks from the German grenade that exploded near his foxhole during the Battle of the Bulge.
He was deep in thought when he heard his name called by the barber, who had to repeat it twice before Merritt responded.
“Guess we’ll have to clear that long hair from your ears, young man,” the barber said loudly, to the chuckles of the men in the crowded shop.
Merritt rose to go to the chair, his face red with shame. He wanted to run from the shop and never return, but the barber had a surprisingly warm face surrounded by a full head of grey hair and sparkling blue eyes. He looked friendly and welcoming as he held up the barber’s apron, ready to cover Merritt with it once he was in the chair.
“Come child,” the barber said. “Just teasing you a bit, boy. You’ll have to get used to it.”
“Yes, sir,” Merritt said, still humiliated by the remark. He settled in the chair, and welcomed the apron as it was placed over his body.
“You have beautiful hair,” Ernie, the barber, told Merritt on his trip to the shop on the Saturday before the prom. “I’d like to trim it a bit, but not cut it too closely. Is that OK, young man?”
Merritt smiled, and nodded.
And the barber did, indeed, put Merritt at ease quickly, asking him if he liked any sports. Merritt said that he did.
“I like the Pirates and I’m on the tennis team at West,” he said. Both were true, but the information he knew didn’t reflect the real Merritt. These two interests were secondary to his desire to be a pretty girl.
“Oh, I played tennis too, when I was younger,” the barber said. “It’s a tougher sport than many guys think.”
“Yes, you’ve got to be quick on your feet,” Merritt agreed.
The day in the chair ended positively, with the barber both trimming and thinning the boy’s long hair to a more masculine style; yet, Merritt felt, it would still be long enough to curl and make long more girlish, if he wished.
“Come back again, Merritt,” the barber said, as he gave over a quarter for the cut, plus a dime tip, as his mother suggested.
As he left, he thought he overheard the barber say to another barber, “First time he’s been here. Seems like a nice young man.”
Merritt felt good; it was the first time he recalled leaving a bastion of masculinity with some feeling of acceptance.
*****
Several days before the prom, Dolores called to say that she suggested to Donna Mae, Merritt’s longtime friend and a fellow student of hers at Angels, that they double-date. Donna Mae was being escorted by her boy friend, a jock named Richard Mason.
“Is that OK with you, Merritt?” Dolores asked. “He’s got his license and he can drive the family car.”
“I guess,” Merritt said. “I thought Donna Mae would be doubling with Edith.”
“I think Edith doesn’t have a date.”
“No date? What happened with John?” Merritt asked, referring to Edith’s boy friend.
“They broke up last week.”
Merritt felt crushed that his friend had no date. He thought that Edith really liked John, although Merritt could not understand why: the boy had a great love for himself and was quite a braggart, but he was handsome and tall and considered a “catch.”
The night of the prom Merritt agreed that Richard would pick him up at Donna Mae’s and then they’d pick up Dolores and head to the high school gym for the dance. Merritt bought a corsage for his date at Mary’s Floral Shoppe for $6, leaving him about $10 left for whatever refreshments they’d buy at the dance and for a dinner afterwards.
Dolores was ravishing in her dress, just as Merritt hoped she’d looked. The group had to spend time at Dolores’ home, while her father took pictures of the couple, both looking resplendent in their outfits. He even took a shot of all four teens.
“What a handsome group!” Dolores’ mother gushed.
Merritt was concerned about doubling with Donna Mae and Richard, since he knew Richard to be such a masculine young man and a popular athlete. By comparison, Merritt felt so inadequate and unequal; what would they say?
Richard, however, turned out to be friendly and open to conversation. He treated Merritt as an equal, perhaps because he must have known that Donna Mae may have told him to. Donna Mae could be very persuasive, he knew.
“I’m such a klutz,” Dolores said, as the two began dancing to “All of Me,” their feet colliding a couple of times.
“No it’s me,” Merritt said.
“No honey, it’s not you. You’re a good dancer. Really.”
“You can thank my mom for that,” he said. “She taught me how to dance. And we practiced this week.”
“I wish someone had practiced with me.”
All had gone well until they began dancing to “Begin the Beguine,” which the band was playing as a tango; most of the couples on the floor were struggling to get the beat right, some evening trying to jitterbug to it with awkward results. In the midst of the dance, Merritt and Dolores collided with another couple, a tall beefy red faced boy and his chubby blonde partner.
“Watch where you’re going, fairy!” The boy said addressing it to Merritt.
Merritt was shocked and tried to steer Dolores away from the couple, but Dolores resisted, turning instead to the boy, saying, “Watch out yourself, fat ass.”
“What?” the boy said, stopping his dancing in the middle of the floor.
“Fat ass,” Dolores repeated, as Merritt tried to move away.
“If you weren’t a girl, I’d punch you,” the boy said, as his girl friend protested, trying to move the pair away.
“Try it and I’ll wipe you out,” Dolores said, and Merritt knew that she meant it, and might even prevail over the boy. “Don’t ever call my friend a ‘fairy.’ He’s twice the man you are!”
Merritt finally succeeded in separating the two couples, just in time to see a chaperone warily eyeing the confrontation.
“Thanks,” he whispered. “I could never have done that.”
“I know,” she said. “And I love you for it.”
“You defended me, and I should have defended myself. I don’t think I could have,” he admitted, as he drew her closer and their dancing seemed to grow more and more in sync.
Yet, the “fairy” word bothered Merritt; did he look so much a sissy, even in the tuxedo, that a strange boy would mistake him for a homosexual? And, what did Dolores mean by remarking the he would be “twice the man” to the boy she called a “fat ass.”
*****
Prom night, of course, doesn’t end when the dance does. It’s mandatory that the couples do something. In the 1940s, however, resources were tight, and there were no motel rooms booked or beery post-prom parties; some boys however felt it was timely to “get in the pants” of their dates. Others, who were more timid, shy or just more restrained chose to go to a nice restaurant for a late night meal, with the hope for some “necking” in the car before they drop their date off.
Merritt was uneasy with the prospect; he just wasn’t comfortable trying to hug and kiss Dolores. He knew it was strange, since he had already slept with her when he was Marilyn. He was comfortable when she thought he was a girl, and they could, as two girls, kiss and hug passionately. Of course, there was no more explicit sex between the two. But, now, on prom night, he was expected to be a boy. Could he do it?
Like several other groups of West High prom-goers, the four chose Toy’s Chinese Palace, a popular restaurant downtown on the second floor over the Walgreen’s store.
Charlie Toy, the aging proprietor, greeted all of the prom groups in person, leading them with great aplomb to their neighbors, and in his broken English saying “Here you are, kings and queens.” He called them all “kings” and “queens,” maybe because his own children had gone to West High, and he was so proud to serve others from the school.
“What happened with you and Wayne?” Donna Mae said, addressing Dolores.
“Wayne?”
“Yes, that boy you and Merritt bumped into on the dance floor.”
“Oh that, he tried to wise-off,” Dolores said, smiling. “I called him a fat-ass.”
“Good for you,” Richard said. “He’s a bully, but I think any of us could beat him up, if we had to.”
Merritt was startled; he never considered ever being in a fight with anyone. Dolores must have known what he was thinking, since she leaned over to him and said, “Even you, Merritt.”
It was an awkward moment, and Richard seemed to sense that, for he quickly changed the subject, saying, “I understand you’re on the tennis team, Merritt.”
“Yes, I’m playing No. 3 singles,” he said.
“He’s won three of his matches so far,” Dolores said.
“Good for you,” Richard said. “Maybe we can all play some time. You and Dolores against me and Donna Mae.”
“You don’t play tennis, Richard,” Donna Mae said.
“I know, but you can teach me,” he smiled.
Richard was an end on the football team and during the spring played third base on the baseball team; he had the ruddy complexion of a muscular athlete, his veined hard arms in contrast to Merritt’s slender arms, smooth and without muscular definition.
“Let’s hope this war ends soon,” Donna Mae said. “My brother’s over in France, and we haven’t seen him in two years.”
“I think it might,” Dolores said. “The Allies and the Russians are near Berlin.”
“But there’s still Japan,” Merritt reminded them.
“I think war is stupid,” Richard said. “We ought just put the leaders of countries into a room and let them duke it out.”
Merritt thought it strange that such a “jock” as Richard would care about such matters as the war. He thought Richard would have been gung-ho to fight.
“Then we wouldn’t have to be drafted,” Merritt added. “And die”
Merritt’s thoughts went to his stepfather, Bob Casey, who was killed in the invasion of Tarawa. A tear came to his eye.
“What’s the matter, Merritt?” Richard asked.
“His stepfather died in the war,” Donna Mae said.
The evening was capped off as the four parked along the Lakefront parkway. Merritt and Dolores joined in some perfunctory hugging, while Richard and Donna Mae, obviously more practiced in “necking” were active in the front seat. There activities were cut short, as a police squad moved along side their vehicle, stopping and shinning flashlights into their car.
“Move along, kids,” came the order. The squad left quickly, heading to a parked car located several yards in front of them.
Prom night was over: Dolores looked exquisite in her dress, and Merritt survived nicely, thanks to the friendship of Donna Mae and the understanding of her date, Richard. Merritt realized he could be a “boy” and succeed. He felt good about that; yet, he told himself he’d have been a real beauty had he worn the dress.
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw is about to enter kindergarten; he has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl and the boy appears to find it natural. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.)
Chapter 11: Into a Boy's World
That was the last time that summer that Evelyn allowed Merritt to be in a dress; she was mad at herself for getting carried away with his natural beauty and dressing him in Donna Mae's new dress. He really should have been a girl, but she realized that he was a boy and had to live in a boy's world and later in a man's world.
Her husband, Bob, worked patiently with him so that by the end of summer the boy could catch and throw a baseball with reasonable skill. Many times, he'd engage the boy's friend, Donna Mae, in the game of catch, and the game took on a bit of competitive spirit, with the girl occasionally outplaying Merritt.
Yet, Merritt didn't seem to mind, and often let out with a girlish giggle if he threw the ball errantly or his misplayed a toss from Donna Mae.
“You tricked me,” Merritt would say, with a twinkle in his eye, giggling at the same time.
“I did not,” she'd protest.
At which point Merritt would try to throw a fast ball at the girl, but if it was anywhere in her range, she usually caught it.
And the two children would giggle together.
“Merritt doesn't have a competitive bone in his body,” Bob said to Evelyn one night as they sat enjoying coffee after supper.
“He is a gentle soul, Bob,” she replied. “Who says a boy has to be competitive?”
“No one, I guess,” he answered. “It's just that as he gets older he'll need some of that competitiveness to survive in this world.”
“I don't see you as particularly competitive, Bob,” she said, with a smile. “And that's why I love you.”
*****
Merritt progressed through Gould Street Elementary School for the next five years. It was an aging school built of red sandstone in 1881, according to the huge cornerstone stuck near the ornate entrance of the school; it carried the smell of three generations of Riverdale grade school students, the musty smell of snow-dampened corduroy knickers that were worn by most of the boys in that era and the pungent odor of wet wool from the skirts and snowsuits worn by the girls.
“Mommy, I love school,” he told Evelyn many times. He hated to stay home if he had a cold or tummy ache.
He and Donna Mae walked to school together each day, sometimes joined by Edith Mooney who had created a threesome of nearly always inseparable friends. Edith lived down the block and was a tiny, pale-complexioned girl, whose Irish mother had married an immigrant from County Donegal who had come to the USA to work in Riverdale's many foundries. Edith had few clothes, since she was one of four children in a low-income household, but she was always cheerful and fun to be with.
The only thing Merritt hated about school occurred on Thursdays when the traveling physical education teacher came for his weekly sessions. In the earlier grades, he hadn't minded it so much since the games and exercises were co-educational, and not too difficult. But by 4th grade, the boys and girls were separated into different classes and Merritt found he was usually at the bottom in the class when it came to strength and games.
Most boys navigated the monkey bars easily, flipping from one rung to the next with agility, whereas Merritt found his arms too weak to get him further than the second rung.
He hated that, looking longingly over to where the girls were playing dodgeball or “Red Rover, Red Rover, let Edith come over.” Or, one of those fun games like “hide 'n seek” and “kick the can” that he enjoyed playing with Donna Mae and Edith on warm summer nights.
In 6th grade, there was a new physical education instructor, a Mr. Campbell, a man whose muscular arms and shoulders seemed to burst the seams of his shirt.
“What's with you girl?” he yelled at Merritt on day as the boy struggled to do push ups.
The boys around him heard the remark and giggled aloud.
Merritt reddened, and muttered an almost soundless “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry, just get yourself toughened up,” the instructor said, not unkindly now.
Merritt was confused; at first he felt ashamed and disgusted with himself. He was not like other boys, it was obvious, and he knew he might be in for some shaming as a result. Yet, the thought of being called a girl excited him and ignited his old enjoyments of dressing and being girly.
The instructor obviously knew he had gone too far in calling him “girl,” and no longer sought to single Merritt out in front of the class. Instead, he quietly offered tips to the boy on how to do the exercises better and to strengthen himself. He never called Merritt “girl” again, and the boy came to like the giant of a man.
*****
“Hey Billy, aren't you walking home with us,” Merritt yelled after Billy Johnson, another boy who sometimes joined Donna Mae, Edith and himself in walks to and from school. It was a warm day for mid-October and it was the second day after the coach had called Merritt “girl” and one of the toughs had overheard the comment.
Billy had skipped ahead of the threesome, joining a group of toughs ahead. “Those boys are trouble,” commented Edith. “What's with Billy? He used to hate those guys.”
“I don't know,” Merritt said. “He's been strange the last two days, doesn't wanna be seen with us I guess.”
“Guess he doesn't wanna be seen with the girls,” Edith said.
“Yeah, I think he's been teased about always being with us,” Donna Mae said.
“But Merritt's not a girl,” Edith protested.
Donna Mae and Edith giggled at the remark, and Merritt, not knowing how to respond, soon joined in the giggling.
“But we like Merritt anyway,” Donna Mae said. “You're fun and you don't mind doing stuff with us. Do you, Merritt?”
Merritt blushed, nodding in agreement. The truth was, he loved doing girl “stuff,” as they said.
The group of toughs ahead halted suddenly, as if lying in ambush for the three friends.
*****
“Maybe we should cross the street,” suggested Merritt, seeing the group of boys lined on both sides of the sidewalk, which at that point skirted a park, making the area somewhat isolated.
“No, Merritt, that's what they want,” Donna Mae said. “Let's just walk ahead, right through 'em and dare 'em. They won't touch us; we're girls.”
“Maybe not you?” Merritt said, growing seriously fearful, and wondering whether he should turn and run in the other direction. He knew that would be fruitless, since they'd certainly catch him; he was not the fastest runner.
“Oh come on, Merritt, we'll walk on both sides of you,” Edith said.
It was apparent that they'd have to walk between the boys, all of them seeming to be taller and rougher than Merritt. Donna Mae's huskier body was some protection, he knew, as was the more wiry Edith, who was known for her feisty demeanor.
He didn't say it, but in truth he felt ridiculous being protected by two girls; after all, he was a boy. But, he hated fighting, and in his whole life had never been in a real fight with another person. He wanted to like people and to be liked in return.
“Here comes the girls,” one of the boys announced sarcastically. Merritt knew him as Johnny Strait, an overweight repulsive boy who had already been teasing him for his ineptness in the physical education class.
“Mind your tongue, Johnny, or I'll tell your mom,” Edith warned, brazenly challenging the boy.
“Tell her, Edith, and so what!” The boy responded.
“You're dad'll knock you about,” Edith said. “I know he will.”
“A your mother's a whore,” the fat Johnny taunted.
“Shut your mouth, Johnny,” Donna Mae said. “Or, I'll give you what for.”
“Who's the girl in between you two?” This reference to Merritt came from a short, muscular lad Merritt knew from his class, a boy who as constantly in trouble of the teacher. Merritt's success in his class work had already tabbed him as “teacher's pet,” and “brown nose.”
“You know who it is,” Donna Mae said. “Now, let us by.”
The three continued walking, Donna Mae having to nudge one of the boys off the sidewalk to get by. The boys did nothing, but begin to heckle, calling Merritt and “girl,” a “sissy” and a “fairy.” Merritt grew flush and wanted to run, but moved slowly and deliberately between his two protectors, feeling shame and revulsion for himself.
He noticed Billy Johnson, their onetime friend, hanging in the background, saying nothing. Edith eyed him, saying finally, “You joining us, Billy?”
“No I guess I'll stay here,” he murmured.
“He doesn't play with girls,” came a parting shot from Johnny Strait.
*****
“See I told you they're a bunch of cowards,” Donna Mae said once the three had reached the end of the park and turned down 14th Street to their homes.
“I'm such a sissy, I guess,” was all Merritt could say. “I was scared.”
“Me too,” confessed Edith. “But you were brave, Merritt. All of us were to challenge them.”
“Yes, you were Merritt, and we love you,” added Donna Mae.
Merritt tried to shake the hopelessness that he felt about himself, being so unable to protect himself due to his ineptitude as a boy. It was shameful, he realized, to be such a weak person; yet, his two friends praised his “bravery,” and it seemed they meant it.
“I'm so lucky to have two nice friends as you,” he said, finally.
Merritt's thoughts went to the times his mother dressed him years back as a girl. How he had enjoyed those times; he remembered, too, that Bethie, the daughter of Viola Buckner, with whom they had lived loved dressing him as a pretty girl, and how much he loved that. In recent days, his thoughts had turned to a desire to again be that pretty little girl, to be joining Donna Mae and Edith in their girlishness activities, dressed now as they were on that warm October day in plaid, pleated skirts and white and pink blouses, their hair tied down by headbands. Why wasn't he a girl?
As if reading his thoughts, Edith blurted out: “You're so much like us, Merritt. Just one of us girls.”
The girl stopped in her tracks, grabbing Merritt's arm, stopping him too. “I didn't mean that. It just popped out.”
Merritt reddened. “Oh that's OK. I like being with you if you'll still like me.”
“We do,” both girls said in unison.
Merritt's shame grew, as did his joy. He was shamed in being so pathetic as a boy, yet he found joy in being tagged as “one of the girls.”
*****
Merritt wanted to share his thoughts that night with his mother, but his stepfather was off that day from work. The library schedule had him working many Sundays, in exchange for having a weekday off.
He found his mother in the kitchen, fixing supper, while Bob Casey sat at the kitchen table. They were talking money, again, he noticed.
“I don't how I can find the $45 for the rent,” he heard his mother say.
“Can't you ask your dad for a loan?” his stepfather asked.
“They don't have it either,” she said. “That bartending job doesn't pay that well, you know.”
“It's better than what the library pays,” Bob said. “I wish I could go back in the factory.”
“Oh, Bob, you know how you hated that.”
His mother looked at her son, noticing his flushed face. “Something wrong, dear.”
Merritt nodded “no,” and said: “Can I have a glass of milk and a cookie?”
“Of course,” she said, still not assured the boy was OK.
“Well, you'll have to figure out something to pay the rent,” Bob said.
She poured the milk into a glass and took two cookies from the jar, both her homemade peanut butter cookies that were always so luscious.
“Mrs. Swenson suggested I could work a few hours a week for her in the shop below,” she volunteered to her husband.
“You shouldn't have to work darling,” Casey said. “A man has to take care of his family.”
“But we need the money, and you know how much she liked me when I worked their during the holiday season. She says I'm the best worker she's ever had.”
“It's just not right,” he said.
Listening to the discussion and the knowledge that a “man” had to care and earn money needed for his family. It was a man's job, and someday, he realized he'd be a man and have to care for his family. He felt he'd never be “man enough” to fulfill that role.
*****
Evelyn went to work for the Swenson's, staffing the store Saturdays and working weekdays while Merritt was in school. The Swensons learned she was an accomplished dressmaker and seamstress and suggested she could use their workshop and its machine to begin taking in clothes to repair and even to beginning to make custom dresses, blouses and skirts.
“When we first started, we had someone who could sew with us and she built up a good business, but then she moved away,” Hilda explained one day.
“I'd like to try that, since Merritt can be upstairs and call me if he needs anything,” she responded.
It turned out to be an ideal arrangement, as customers still wanting to preserve their old clothes during these last days of the Great Depression soon learned of the skill and speed of Evelyn's hands and flocked to Swenson's to have their clothes repaired or let out or brought in, as their weight changed, or they passed the clothes down to other family members.
“Evelyn can fix it,” became the word throughout the neighborhood. Within a few months, as December approached, Evelyn was working nearly 30 hours a week, earning nearly $1 an hour, a large amount in 1941 for any woman.
“You shouldn't have to work,” her husband complained.
“But it's helping to pay the rent, honey,” she argued.
“It's a man's job to provide for his wife and child,” he persisted.
“It's just temporary,” she replied. “You'll soon get your promotion, dear.”
Bob let the argument drop. He knew the family needed her income, which some weeks was more than his. And, promotions were still frozen in the library, and even though he had begun supervising all the clerks he was still getting the basic clerk wage.
As the word got around the neighborhood that Evelyn was working, Bob found himself heckled at Murphy's Tap by his drinking friends. He went to the bar only once or twice a week where the patrons either worked in the foundry or the tannery or were still unemployed, but they all seemed to echo the same litany: A man should be the wage-earner in the family and “keep 'em barefoot and pregnant.”
Even though Bob loved his work at the library, he was shamed by it. “It's not real work,” one drunken acquaintance said over their dime beers one night.
“Men need a job where they sweat and get their hands dirty,” said another, flanking Bob.
Pete Murphy, the owner, overheard the conversation and interrupted. “Look Bob's doing the best he can for his family, boys. Lay off him.”
“Sorry, mate,” said the first man. “Let me buy you a drink.”
The sting remained. Bob reflected as he tried to go to sleep that night. The men at the bar may have been drunks, but they were right: He didn't do “real work,” and it rankled him that maybe he was not a “real man.”
*****
Bob Casey's misguided desire to become a “real man” received fulfillment in early December, 1941. It came unexpectedly on the first Sunday of the month, where he and Evelyn gathered in front of their Zenith radio to listen to the New York Philharmonic broadcasts. It had become a Sunday ritual for the two of them, as they had learned to enjoy classical music. They quipped they must have been the only two people in the flats listening to the broadcast, which was beamed across the nation.
During the broadcasts, Merritt stayed in his bedroom, often writing at his tiny desk. He loved to write and was already composing short stories, painstakingly written in precise penmanship that won the praise of his teachers. Sometimes he drew as well, designing dresses as he often day-dreamed about wearing pretty dresses and being a girl. He hid those drawings from his parents who had become concerned about the boy's persistent effeminate mannerisms and his close friendship with Donna Mae and Edith.
Merritt entered the living room, where his parents were listening to the concert, when he heard the music suddenly stop and a deep voice stating: “The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.” It was Dec. 7, 1941, a day that would live in “infamy” in the words of President Franklin D. Roosevelt as he declared war one day later against the Japanese Empire.
Three days later, Bob Casey went to enlist in the Navy, where he was accepted. His manhood was now restored, he felt, as he went off to war two weeks later, just before Christmas, assigned to Great Lakes Naval Station boot camp.
“You enlisted?” his wife screamed at Bob when he informed her of his actions. “Without asking me?”
“What will Merritt and I do without you?” she continued.
“You'll do fine,” he said. “You're making all this money now, and you'll get an allowance from the Navy.”
“Can't I follow you?” she pleaded.
“I don't think so. I'll probably be sent to sea.”
Though boot camp was located a short two hours away by train, he would be allowed home only one weekend in the next six before being sent of to his war assignment. And Bob Casey went off to war, completing boot camp and after a three-day liberty, being sent out to a receiving station on San Francisco's Treasure Island where he would eventually be assigned to an LST that was used to land troops. Because he was a skilled typist and had clerical experience, Casey was sent briefly to yeoman's school and then was assigned to the crew of LST 164, based out of San Diego.
“I'm still doing clerical work, which keeps me close to the captain,” he wrote to Evelyn. “But my duty station is as coxswain of an LVT. That’s kind of adf landing craft. I'll be heading the craft to the beach loaded with marines and supplies as they attack. That'll get me in action. I want to slap the dirty little Jap. Laugh. Love you and Merritt, Bob.”
*****
Merritt realized that the war changed everything in his life. His mother now worked fulltime, leaving him to come home from school to their apartment, where she trusted him to stay out of trouble. And, Merritt honored that trust, even coming to realize that he was now the “man” of the family. He tried mightily to become strong and to contribute to support the war effort by helping his mother.
He followed the progress of the war in the daily newspaper and the occasional Time magazine his mother brought up from the Swensons when they finished their copy.
Yet, as much as he tried, he continued to be pathetic in gym class and to be an awkward and ineffectual player of sports; nonetheless, he soon gained several friends among other boys who enjoyed his easy humor and congenial ways. In short, he sought to bury the girl within him. Yet, as he struggled into his first year of junior high school which began with 7th grade as he turned 12, he never lost his feelings of girliness. Those feelings remained within his person, hidden from all others, except his mother who eventually took joy in dressing him as Marilyn on various occasions.
With the war effort in full swing, his mother left her job with the Swenson's and took a job at the large hosiery factory that was located in loft buildings in the downtown; there she became a lead worker in the making of parachutes for the Army, where she earned a good union wage.
*****
“Who's going to handle your dressmaker customers?” Hilda Swenson asked Evelyn when she announced she would begin working at the hosiery works.
“Oh, I'll do those on weekends and nights, when I can,” she answered.
“But you've got almost a fulltime business going here,” Hilda said. “You've been an asset for the store and yourself.”
“I know Hilda, but what I'm doing is for the war effort. I must support Bob while he's in the Pacific.”
Hilda nodded. She realized Evelyn was doing the right thing; besides her own husband, Maury, had left work in the store to go work in the shell-casing factory on the north side.
Merritt, helping his mother in her dressmaker area at the rear of the store, overheard the conversation. “Besides, I can help out more too, mom,” he said.
“I know you can, honey, but you don't have to,” his mother said.
“But I want to mom, for dad and all the army and navy men at war.”
“That's great Merritt,” commented Hilda Swenson. “But, you're mom's right. You still can go out a play with the boys or others at your age. There's plenty of time for working.”
“But I can help. I know how to sew. Don't I mom?”
“Yes, you do honey, and you're good at it, but you don't have to.” Evelyn smiled at her son, whose sweet demeanor brought such joy.
Thus it was that Merritt, age 12 and a 7th grader, became a dressmaker, working most days after school and on Saturdays, repairing dresses and skirts that were brought to the stores and sometimes working with his mother after she got home from work to custom make dresses. The boy stayed mainly in the workshop area, while his mother met with customers by appointment at night or on weekends. Other repair jobs were taken in by Hilda Swenson in the craft shop. As a result, just about all the hands-on sewing was done by Merritt, and the boy's skills grew.
Like his precise handwriting, Merritt's sewing was done precisely and with great attention to detail.
“There's never an errant stitch,” Evelyn said one day to her son, praising his work in finishing a particularly delicate dress.
“I want your customers to love your work, mom,” he said.
“They do, honey, and I want so often to tell them you did the work.”
“Oh mom, don't. The kids at school will hear about it then.”
“I know honey and I won't tell.”
She cradled the boy in her arms, drawing his fragile slender frame into her soft bosom. She caressed his longish, light brown hair, so light and fluffy to the touch. Evelyn loved watching her son work on the sewing machine or on the cutting table; his hands were slender and beautiful to watch, almost dancing daintily as they worked. She so wished her son could be open and honest about his love of dressmaking and soft dainty things, but she knew in this era of growing war mentality that boys had to be the picture of strength and masculine features.
“I should be a girl, mommy,” he said, tears rolling down as he buried his face in his mother's breasts.
By now, Evelyn, too was crying, wishing this lovely child could indeed become the girl he wanted to be.
“Well, you can't honey,” Evelyn said, composing herself. “Now, let's get back to work. We have work to finish.”
“I know, mommy.” Merritt felt so lucky. He loved his mother so completely.
*****
“Come on Merritt, join us,” Edith pleaded again as she stood next to Merritt's locker as school ended. It was three weeks into the fall school year, and Edith asked Merritt again, as she done so many days before, to join her and Donna Mae in some after-school fun.
“Can't gotta get home,” he answered. “Mom's counting on me.”
“Counting on you? For what?” Edith probed. “You never say. Is she that strict?”
Merritt looked at his friend, her bright blue eyes sparkling in her pale freckled face. So plain was this girl, but with eyes that seemed to dance with a welcomeness that would certainly serve her well in future life.
He wanted so badly to tell her the truth that he needed to get to work on another batch of clothes that were awaiting in the dressmaker's shop. He wanted to share the joy he got working on them with his two close friends, who no doubt would also be impressed with the idea. They had already recognized his good taste in girl's clothes, as he had joined them in shopping trips to the mall.
Even though he trusted both friends to keep his secret, he felt he dare not trust them with his secret. They might just blurt out the truth by accident, or perhaps be forced by Billy Johnson or one of his roughneck friends to tell.
“I just gotta help out at the store,” he said.
“Yeah, we miss you Merritt,” chimed in Donna Mae, who just arrived at the locker.
“I miss you guys,” he admitted. “But I better go.”
*****
“Some friends of yours are here to see you,” Hilda Swenson announced several days later as Merritt labored away on the sewing machine.
Merritt was in the throes of stitching a particularly fragile piece of cloth for a wedding dress his mother had designed for a customer, and Merritt had suggested attaching a few beads of lace to enhance the beauty of the dress. He was deeply in concentration, since he wanted the lace to be truly a positive addition to an already lovely dress.
“Oh,” he said, not looking up.
“Yes, hi Merritt,” he heard. It was Donna Mae's voice.
Startled, he stopped the machine and looked up in shock. “What are you two doing here?”
Donna Mae and Edith were framed in the doorway, watching him intently.
“So this is what you do every day!” Donna Mae almost in astonishment.
“What a lovely dress you're working on,” Edith added.
“Oh it's mom' design,” he said quickly. “I'm just helping her out since she works fulltime now making parachutes.”
“Wow, that's lovely, and look at all the dresses you have hanging around. Did you do those?” Donna Mae asked, her eye circling the workshop.
Merritt blushed, nodding shyly.
“So you're afraid to tell anyone you're doing this?” Edith asked, rescuing the boy from his embarrassment.
He nodded. “I already get teased enough by other boys.”
“Oh we won't tell, Merritt. You can trust us,” Donna Mae said.
Merritt answered: “I know, I wanted to tell you two, my two best friends, but I just didn't want to take a chance. I'm really helping mom and Mrs. Swenson out doing this. Mom had built up a good business and I could sew a bit. Besides I earn some money.”
“But I know you like it,” the taller girl responded.
“And you look so cute in that smock,” said Edith, a smile that betrayed an understanding that she knew Merritt had worn the slight blue lace smock and stuck clips in his longish hair to look just a bit girlish.
“It's just to work in,” he tried to dismiss the reference. But he knew both Donna Mae and Edith knew the truth. Earlier, he had posed before the workshop's mirror using fairly typical feminine modeling stances.
“We love you, Merritt,” Donna Mae said. “You're our dearest friend.”
“Yes, we're the three Musketeers,” said Edith.
“Musketeers?” queried Donna Mae. “They were men.”
“Well,” Edith pondered. “How about the 'three musket girls?'”
“Yes, that's it,” giggled Donna Mae.
She dragged Merritt out of his chair and pushed him in front of the mirror, placing herself at one side of him and Edith on the other. “See, the 'three musket girls.'”
“That's not a good name,” Edith protested.
“I guess it sounds stupid,” Donna Mae agreed.
“We're like the 'Andrews Sisters,'” Merritt said, referring to a popular singing group of the era.
“Yes,” Donna Mae said. “Hmmmmmmm. How about 'the Three Riverdale Sisters.'”
They all looked into the mirror, and Merritt knew his two friends also saw what he did: Three smiling 12-year-old girls looking back. They all laughed and for a moment, Merritt found true happiness.
*****
The autumn of 1942, with Merritt and his two friends beginning seventh grade in the Junior High School level, had followed a particularly bleak spring and summer, with the War still offering fear to the U.S. populace. The Philippines had fallen to the Japanese and bombs continued to fall on London; there were both Japanese and German submarine sightings and attacks on the shores of the Pacific and Atlantic.
“Will they bomb us here, mom?” Merritt asked his mother one night during an air raid test alert in October.
Such alerts were common, with everyone urged to darken their homes by turning off all lights and pulling their shades down so that enemy bombers would not be guided by lights. Mr. Swenson was an air raid warden and was outfitted with a white helmet, over the shoulder belt and straps and a flashlight. Street lights were off and as air raid warden his job was to patrol the block and look for any residents whose homes exuded light and to warn them to darken their places.
“I don't think so, honey, 'cause we're so far away from the oceans,” Evelyn answered. “Bombers would have trouble getting here.”
“But Edith's mom says Riverdale could be a target, 'cause we make so many machine parts here,” he said.
“I guess we can't be too safe,” his mother added.
Both of Merritt's girl friends took on work that, like Merritt's role in freeing his mother to work in a defense factory, helped the war effort. Donna Mae became a fulltime baby-sitter for a neighbor who had taken a second shift job at the same hosiery works as Evelyn. Edith became a volunteer for the Red Cross, working with her mother in preparing overseas packages for the U.S. armed forces.
It was only at school and on Sundays when the three friends could be together. They ate at the same cafeteria table for lunch, often joined by other girls in their classes. Merritt was usually the only boy in the group, but he found these moments so special, giggling along with the girls, discussing clothes and the pop singers or male movie stars of the day.
Merritt felt at ease among the girls, and they all seemed to accept him. His voice still hadn't changed and had a “little girl quality” that fit in with the group. He was never shy among them.
Since all the seventh graders were new to the school, all coming from tightly knit neighborhood elementary schools, most of the pupils were still feeling a bit ill at ease. No boys seemed to pay much attention to Merritt, it seemed, and he joined the girls without much comment or teasing.
Some of the boys from his old school were there, including several who had taunted him earlier; for the most part he effectively dodged them in the larger school, though Fat Johnny (one of his earlier tormenters) was in his English and physical education classes. There, Fat Johnny was linked with about a half dozen others, including Merritt, who were particularly inept at keeping up with the exercises, either because they were too fat, too weak or too awkward.
Merritt nearly cried when he realized he'd have to be in gym classes and be expected to do muscular activities. It embarrassed him immensely to be considered weak, as he recalled the grade school incident when he was called a “girl” by the traveling physical education teacher.
“Do we have to do this?” Fat Johnny complained one day in gym when he was assigned to team up with Merritt to do exercises.
“Yes,” Merritt said, not pleased with having to partner with his former tormenter, now a sweating hulk of soft flesh.
“I can't get up,” Johnny whined, as he attempted a sit-up with Merritt holding his legs.
“Sure you can,” Merritt encouraged.
And the boy struggled, finally getting his thick body in an upright position.
“There, I did it,” Johnny wheezed.
“We gotta do five,” Merritt said.
“I'll never make it,” the other boy said.
“Sure you will,” Merritt urged. But, all Fat Johnny could do was two.
Merritt suddenly felt sorry for the boy, who faced lots of insults as well, due to his weight and the fact that he had noticeable breasts that flopped about under his shirt.
“Where's your bra, Johnny?” “Let me see your boobs!” “Look at the fat girl.” came the taunts to Johnny. It was humilating.
Merritt hated trying to do chin-ups, or pull-ups, as they were later called. The fact was: his arms were too weak to have him complete even one. What made it doubly worse was that the entire class viewed his ineptitude, since there was only one chinning bar and the students lined up awaiting their turn, watching the others try before them.
The gym teacher was understanding, recognizing that the seventh graders were young and still developing. But he lectured them severely about getting fit.
“Someday, you'll all be men and you may be asked to defend your country, as your dads, brothers and neighbors are doing now,” he began reflecting on the war effort.
“So you need to be strong and fit and real men,” he added. “I don't care what you did today, but what you will do tomorrow and in the future. You owe it to your family and your country to become strong, tough men.”
Merritt thought of his stepfather, now serving in the Pacific as a sailor, braving the difficult waters teaming with Japanese submarines. He was determined to strengthen himself and become worthy of Bob Casey's heroism.
*****
When Merritt entered eighth grade in September, 1942, World War II was nine months old, a period that continued to be dark and foreboding. News reports from the battlefields of the Pacific and Europe and Africa were spotty, brightened only by successes in the Saharan desert against the German troops of Field Marshal Rommel. The United States had been run out of the Philippines by the pesky Japanese, who humiliated the remaining troops on Corregidor Island by engaging them in the horrific Bataan Death March. Meanwhile, at home Japanese and German submarines were sinking Allied ships daily in the Atlantic and threatening the U. S. Pacific fleet.
Merritt and his mother listened to the radio each night for news of the war, focusing mainly on reports from the Pacific where Bob Casey was serving; so far his LST was still in U. S. coastal waters, training with troops on practice amphibious landings off San Diego. Nonetheless, there was real fear that LST’s, which were poorly protected with only 20 mm and 40 mm guns and no depth charges, would be easy targets for Japanese submarines.
“Mommy,” Merritt asked one night. “Shouldn’t I be doing more for daddy and the war? I’m just sewing dresses. How is that helping?”
Evelyn, sitting next to her son on the couch, caressed his light brown hair and smiled. “That’s so sweet to think of that, honey, but you’ve only just turned 13. You’re time will come.”
“Maybe I should be doing some war work,” he suggested.
“You are doing war work,” Evelyn replied. “You’re repairing clothes so that women and girls don’t have to buy new ones, saving the cloth for the soldier’s uniforms. And, you’re making it possible to keep my business going while I make parachutes to save the lives of our pilots.”
“I know,” the boy nodded. “But mommy, I think daddy is so brave.”
“He is honey, but so will you when it’s time.”
“No mommy, I can never be brave. I’m not like other boys, am I? I’m afraid of them so often.”
“Oh, my darling,” Evelyn said, recognizing how this sweet boy must feel among so many rougher boys of his school.
“You’ll be brave when it counts, really,” she said, reassuringly. Something told her that her gentle, almost girlish son would somehow find the strength and courage to meet life’s challenges.
“You think so, mommy?”
“Oh yes.”
Chapter 12: Girl Fun
“Merritt honey,” Evelyn told her son one Friday night in early fall of 1942. “We’re going to visit Mrs. Buckner at her estate Sunday.”
“We are, mommy?” he answered excitedly. “Will Bethie be there?”
“I don’t know, honey, because she’s in college now. She’s 21.”
“I know and I bet she is beautiful, too,” the boy said beaming.
“Well she might be there, Merritt, since Beth goes to Downing College here in town. We’ll see.”
It had been several years since Evelyn had visited her former employer and onetime lover, Viola Buckner. She had resisted Viola’s efforts to rekindle their girl-to-girl love affair once she became engaged to Bob Casey; Viola had visited several times, always bringing Bethie along to play with Merritt. Always, Bethie treated Merritt as a little girl during the visits, reliving their earlier times together, and Merritt loved the attention, much to his mother’s chagrin.
Evelyn had been determined once she married Bob to live what she considered a “normal” life with a man and her son; her feminine relationships were a thing of the past, she felt. And, she wanted to separate her son from the girlish atmosphere of the Buckner household.
In truth, she had been less than successful in forgetting about her love affair with Viola. She realized that Bob Casey would never be as passionate a lover as Viola. Though he tried in his own shy gentle way to satisfy Evelyn, he was too restrained in his love-making, making it hard for Evelyn to return any passion and he always entered her far too quickly during their love-making and then dosed off soon after he was done. As he finished, Evelyn yearned for more caresses and kisses, and dreamed of feeling Viola’s strong hands massaging her soft inner thighs and her full breasts. She wanted to feel the athletic firmness of the older woman’s strong body, to run her hands over her muscular shoulders and sinewy arms, so in contrast to Bob’s soft and non-athletic body.
And, for Merritt, it seemed he never lost his girlish nature, even though Evelyn and Bob tried to introduce him to more boyish activities.
Viola drove herself in her Packard to pickup Evelyn and Merritt that Sunday, since the O’Hara’s no longer worked for her; Michael, her former chauffeur and yardman, had been drafted into the Army and Mary, the cook and maid, had gotten a job in the war plant making tanks and began living in an apartment in town.
“You look great, Evie,” Viola said as Evelyn and Merritt entered her car.
“Thank you, Vi, and you do too,” Evelyn responded sincerely. The older woman wore a stylish fedora and a scarf over a smart dark blue dress with short sleeves that exposed her muscular arms. Her hair was cropped short and she wore bright red lipstick, contrasting her pale face.
“And such a handsome gentleman, you have become, Merritt,” commented Viola, looking at the boy dressed in dark blue trousers and a light blue dress shirt with a tie.
“Thank you, Mrs. Buckner,” he answered politely.
“You really look great, Vi, but I’m afraid I’ve gotten too fat,” Evelyn said. “It’s hard to keep on a diet when I work so many hours at the hosiery works.”
“Honey, you look just fine to me, just fine,” Viola said, giving the younger woman a wink.
“We’re just here for a visit, Vi,” Evelyn said. “I am in love with Bob and he’s fighting a war.”
“I understand,” Viola said. But Evelyn wasn’t sure that Viola did, and she was worried about how this first visit in some years would go. She wanted so badly to remain loyal to her husband, but seeing Viola, sitting next to her and sensing the familiar smell of her perfume was intoxicating.
“Well Bethie be there, Mrs. Buckner?” Merritt asked from the back seat.
“Not right away, Merritt, because she’s been helping out at the USO canteen downtown,” Viola said. “There are lots of sailors coming up on the North Shore Line from Great Lakes on weekends, so Beth’s been working there as a volunteer. She’ll be home later and you’ll get a chance to see her.”
Merritt smiled, so eager to see the girl who had mentored him during their days living at the Buckner estate.
*****
Viola had prepared a traditional English tea time visit for Evelyn and Viola, complete with her favorite tea set, with gold-trimmed rims and dainty flowers in pinks and blues and greens. She wheeled in a tea cart that also contained biscuits (although to Merritt they looked like cookies).
“Do you mind drinking out of these dainty cups, Merritt?” Viola asked the boy as they were gathered in Viola’s sitting room. “Perhaps I should get you a soda or milk or something?”
“No, this is fine ma’am,” he responded.
In truth, he enjoyed being included with the two women in their quaint tea party; they had engaged the boy in their conversation and Viola was impressed with his knowledge about women’s clothes.
“So he’s been doing your sewing for you, Evie, while you work at the hosiery place?” Viola asked.
“Yes, Vi. And he’s so good at it, as good as I am.”
“Oh mom,” Merritt protested. “You’re still the best.”
“No honey, everyone says you do great work,” his mother said. “I’ve never seen a boy who is so patient and precise in his work. Look at his long fingers, Vi.”
“Let me see, dear,” Viola said, beckoning the boy to come to her.
He presented both hands to the older woman, and she took them in hers. “You have beautiful hands, my dear, and such lovely nails. It’s clear you don’t bite them.”
“He keeps them a little bit long to help in his work,” Evelyn explained.
Merritt blushed, knowing how proud he was to be praised for his lovely hands, but growing fearful that he was not being enough of a boy, that his feminine nature was too prominent.
“Mother, is this my Merry and Miss Evelyn?” came a booming, exuberant voice.
It was Elizabeth her youngest daughter who rushed into the room at the moment, seeing her mother holding the boys hands.
“So glad you could get here while Evelyn and Merritt are still here, Beth,” she said. “You’re late.”
“Hi Merry and hi Evelyn,” Beth said. “Oh, mom, there was such a gang of sailors it was hard to get away.”
“I know honey and I’m proud of you.”
Merritt beamed with happiness at seeing Beth, his old friend. She was now 21 years old and a college senior. Her face lost none of its youthful sweetness, a bit round with a page-boy haircut, making her look a bit young for her age. She had none of the hardness of her mother’s body. She wore a white blouse, plaid skirt, saddle shoes and white ankle sox, exposing soft smooth legs.
“And Merritt, or can I still call you Merry?” Beth continued.
“We’d prefer Merritt,” Evelyn said.
“I know, since he’s in junior high now, and I know you don’t want us to call him Merry,” Beth said. “But he’s still just about the prettiest boy I ever saw, Miss Evelyn.”
Merritt grew hot as the conversation continued. He remembered how Beth and her friend used to dress him as a little girl and play dolls with him. He remembered how they took him to the carnival rides dressed as a girl when he was about nine, and every one said he was such a “pretty little girl.” Those were fond memories.
“May I show Merritt my room?” Beth finally asked after the small talk had ended.
“Sure, go ahead, Beth, I want to visit more with Evie,” Viola said, then turned to Evelyn. “Is that OK?”
“Sure, go ahead honey,” Evelyn said. “I know how much you always enjoyed Beth.”
The two young people skipped out of the room. Evelyn and Viola watched them go.
“He’s still a bit feminine, isn’t he, Evie?” Viola asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s natural with him,” Evelyn responded. “Bob and I tried everything to make more of a boy out of him, but he seems to gravitate always to girls. He has no real boys as friends.”
“But I know you have to make him more of a boy or else his life will be miserable.”
“I know, and it already is. He’s being teased a lot for not being strong or good at sports, but he takes such joy in sewing. Only his two closest girl friends know he does the sewing and they so far haven’t told anyone else.”
Viola changed the subject suddenly. She came over and sat next to Evelyn on the couch, grabbing the younger woman’s hand.
“I miss you so,” Viola said. “I need to feel you, to caress you, to kiss you.”
Evelyn wanted to move away from the other woman, not because she too would not have welcomed some impassioned love-making but because she felt it would be wrong. She wanted to again feel the woman hands all over her, she wanted to feel Viola’s lips on the lips of her pussy, she wanted to orgasm so badly.
“I know Vi, but I can’t really.”
“I know honey, but I just wanted to let you know how I feel.”
*****
“I hope you like my room,” Beth said as she led Merritt into her room, and the thought excited the boy.
The room was pink and frilly, having become an even more girlish than Merritt remembered it. Beth had an ornate four-poster, with a lace top cover, and a matching duvet. Fluffy pillows held a large white stuffed bunny, and a four shelved white bookcase was stuffed with dolls.
“There’s Shirley,” squealed Merritt, as he rushed to the bookcase to grab the doll. He pulled it from the shelf, hugging he doll and then cradling it in his arms.
“I gave her a position of honor among all my dolls, Merry,” Beth said, smiling as she watched the boy’s exuberant joy at finding the doll he favored so many years before.
“I love you, Shirley,” he said. “I’ve missed you.” His voice was in a high, soothing register, almost motherly in tone.
“Don’t you have any dolls now, Merry?”
“No. Mommy doesn’t want me to play with dolls.”
“Yes, so mother told me. She warned me. Said I wasn’t to have you wear any dresses today.”
“I’m trying to be a boy, Bethie.”
Beth drew the boy to her, held him tight. She realized the two were the same height now, and he felt fragile in her arms.
“It must be hard for you,” Beth said.
“It’s OK, but I’m not much good at it . . . being a boy. My best friends are two other girls,” he said, somewhat embarrassed, even with Beth, to confess his feelings.
“But aren’t you helping your mother in her seamstress work?”
The boy’s face lightened up. “Oh yes, and I like it. I’ve even created a few dresses on my own.”
“Great. I’d love to see them sometime.”
“Maybe I could do a dress for you,” he suggested.
“Ooooooooooooh, I’d just love it, Merry,” Beth responded with glee.
“Nobody knows I do the seamstress work, because I’d get teased, I guess,” he said. “Mommy always says she created a couple of the dresses I made, but I think people are beginning to wonder how she could do it, ‘cause she’s working at the defense factory and there’s lots of overtime there.”
“Oh you poor child,” Beth said.
“I think we’re about the same size, Bethie,” the boy said. “I’ll work up a design for you, and see if you like it.”
“Oh that would be so nice of you, dear.” She took the boy in her arms.
“Remember how cute you looked when I dressed you all up, Merry?” Beth said changing the subject.
“I loved that, Bethie.”
“And I bet you’d be so pretty now if I could dress you up,” she said. “Even dressed as a boy, you look pretty, honey.”
“But mommy says I need to be a boy, since I’ll always be a man,” Merritt said.
“I know honey, and there’ll be no changing that.”
“Maybe some day, Bethie.”
“Maybe some day, what?”
“Boy’s can be made into girls.”
“Maybe, but I haven’t heard of that happening yet,” Beth said. “We both have different organs.”
“I guess so,” Merritt said.
The two finished the afternoon together dressing a few dolls, looking at Beth’s high school annuals and some old pictures, including a couple taken when Merritt was dressed as a little girl.
“You can’t tell that’s a boy, can you?” Beth asked, pointing at a picture when Merritt was dressed to look like Shirley Temple.
Merritt smiled. “No, she’s so pretty.”
“The prettiest little girl in the picture, I think,” Beth said.
Merritt Lane McGraw feels he is a girl at a time of Great Depression and World War II. It is a period before the words “crossdresser” and “transgender” were in the vocabulary and a time before sexual assignment surgery was a possibility. This story with historical background tells how this lovely child’s desires bring both shame and joy to himself, his family and his friends
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw is about to enter kindergarten; he has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl and the boy appears to find it natural. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, assigned to a Navy amphibious ship engaged in combat, while the family awaits in nervous expectation to his return him. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Note: Chapter 13 contains some historical references with links to assist the reader.)
Chapter 13: News from the Front
After three days at sea, Radioman Third Class Robert Xavier Casey had finally been able to adjust his stomach to the constant irregular bouncing of the LST as the vessel had made its way across the Pacific for San Diego to its staging area just before a planned attack on the Tarawa atoll in the Gilbert Islands. Of course, Casey didn’t know such a landing was in the offing, only that the job of the ship was to transport newly built LVTs (Landing Vehicle Tracked), which were true amphibious vehicles, able to move equally well in water and on land. The LVTs had been loaded hurriedly in San Diego; apparently they were needed for some reason for action where their special characteristics were critical.
It had been a long trip, nearly three weeks, and the awkward, ill-shaped ship took every wave with a shudder. LSTs (or Landing Ship Tanks) were built as their name implied to carry tanks and other vehicles close to shore, and usually give them a dry ramp upon which to drive onto the beach. Thus, the ships had a flat bottom, making them less sleek in cutting through the waves of the Pacific.
“I always knew war is supposed to be hell, but I didn’t know that meant constant nausea,” he confided one day early in the trip to Seaman Cletus Lockwood, a wiry boy off an Iowa farm who served as the ship’s other radio operator.
“We’ll get used to it, I guess,” Lockwood said. “At least that’s what Boats said.”
The boy referred to Boatswain’s Mate First Class Ellsworth Hughes, a career Navy man, who may have been the most experienced sailor on the ship, even more so than the ship’s captain, Lt. Comdr. Bill Nelson who was a recent law school graduate from the University of Minnesota. Just about everyone deferred to “Boats” when it came to decisions about ship-handling. Hughes, his mid-South mountain accent still swirling in his speech, was quick and ready with sure answers. No one questioned Boats, least of all a mere Third Class Radioman like Casey.
LST 164 was part of a convoy of half a dozen other LSTs, escorted by destroyers, and it had made the trip without incident by the time of its arrival in the midst of a huge convoy of other Navy ships off the coast of the Tarawa atoll at just as dusk on Nov. 19, 1943.
“We’re in for something big,” commented Lockwood. “Boats has even relieved us of some of our regular duties and ordered all of us to try to get as much sleep as possible. He said ‘tomorrow may be a long day.’”
“Obviously a landing,” Casey said, having read some of the messages about the successful attack and takeover on Makin Island, another Gilbert Island Japanese base, about ten days earlier.
“Yeah, we know that,” his friend said. “But all I think we do is help launch these LVTs, and make sure the Marines get off OK.”
“I hope the Japs don’t know we’re out here.”
“We’ve heard no firing yet,” Lockwood smiled.
“We’re ten miles off shore, and unless the Japs send out aircraft, I don’t think we’ll be bothered.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Casey was awakened by far-away explosions about 3 in the morning, and soon he heard the boatswain’s pipe send out “reveille,” the shrill tone jarring every sailor, many so nervous they had only fitful sleep during the evening. The LST was pitching in a moderately rough sea as Casey hurried up to the radio shack to assume his duties, now barely noticing the rough role.
Activity in the tank deck below was hectic as the sailors began readying for the launch of the LVTs; the handful of Marines on board were to pilot the craft. The excitement in the air was obvious, and Casey walked through the tank deck on way to the radio room with mixed emotions, one wishing he was joining in the attack because of the anticipated excitement and the other realizing his role in the radio room could be as vital to the success of the operation as any one’s job.
The order to disembark the LVTs came at 4:45 a.m.; the amphibious craft it was learned then were to face a ten-mile water trip to reach the attack site. That meant the craft would carry Marines that were to be transferred at sea from larger landing craft.
Casey had just relieved the radioman from the mid-watch when he was surprised to see the Comdr. Nelson (the ship’s captain) and a Marine captain at the hatch to the radio room.
“Casey, you’re assigned to the attack force,” Cmdr. Nelson ordered. “He’ll outfit you with battle gear.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Casey said, puzzled and surprised.
“Lockwood will relieve you here, and when he does you’re to report to Captain Masterson here on the tank deck.”
“Yes, sir, but what are my duties?”
“You’re the best radioman we have, and you’re to ride with the captain here and work the portable radio. They need someone who knows what he’s doing.”
“Yes sir,” he said.
In a minute, Lockwood arrived to relieve him; he too was puzzled by Casey’s new assignment.
“Did they ask you to volunteer?” he wondered.
“No, Captain Nelson just ordered me to go.”
“Do you want to go? It’ll be dangerous.”
“I guess, but I worry about Evelyn and Merritt back home. I keep telling them I have a safe duty.”
“We’re not that safe, Bob. Remember Jap subs out there and enemy bombings.”
“Safer than those Marines, I bet,” Casey said with a smile.
“And now you’re going with them.”
http://www.ibiblio.org/hyperwar/USMC/USMC-C-Tarawa/
*****
Back in Riverdale on November 19, Evelyn and Merritt sat together on the couch, reading the latest batch of “V-mail” letters from Casey. There were about six of them each written a day apart during the early part of Casey’s trip from San Diego. They came in the same mail, all carrying the “F.P.O. address from San Francisco.” http://www.skylighters.org/encyclopedia/vmail.html
“It’s so boring,” he wrote on the first of them. “We’re just out of port now on a long trip and I don’t know where. I just know we’ll be at sea a long time, and I’m battling seasickness. The Pacific seems unusually rough, but I know I’ll be over it in a few days. Got to get my sea legs back.
“It’s still been a boring trip. I even finished ‘War and Peace’ this time. I promised myself I would read that monster book. It makes me feel war can be so silly. (Then there was a sentenced which had been totally blackout by the censor.) They’re finally going to collect our mail here and I look forward to you letters.
“I love you darling and our sweet dear son, Merritt. May he never have to serve in another war after this one is over. Hugs and many kisses, my pumpkin face. Love, Bob”
Mother and son cried. She hadn’t seen her husband in over a year now. She yearned for him dearly, but, strangely, that was overshadowed by her growing desire to again be in the arms of Viola.
“Mommy, he’ll be OK,” Merritt said.
She held her son tightly, kissing him, relishing in the feel of his slender, almost fragile body and hoping against all hope that Bob was right: Merritt would never have to serve as a fighting man. The boy was too gentle, too sweet to take up arms, she knew.
*****
The doorbell rang at supper time early in December 1943.
“You better get that, Merritt. My hands are full with dinner.”
Merritt went to the buzzer to query into the speaker: “Who’s there?” The Casey residence entrance was at the back of the store building and had a speaker and buzzer system to regulate who could enter and come to the second floor.
“Western Union. I have a telegram for Mrs. Casey.”
“Mom,” Merritt screamed, immediately terrified over the contents of a telegram they might receive. “It’s Western Union, for you.”
“Well buzz him up, dear,” she said, almost automatically.
It took only an instant more for Evelyn to realize the potential news such a telegram might contain. “Oh no! Oh God, no. Please, please. Not our Bob.”
She opened the telegram slowly, as if to negate its message.
“The Secretary of the Navy deeply regrets to inform you that Radioman Third Class Robert Xavier Casey, Serial No. 325 20 68, has been killed in action on Nov. 20 . . .”
The message was brief and to the point. There were no details; did Bob suffer? Did he die in a hospital? Did he drown at sea? “Killed in action,” what did that mean? Evelyn thought he wouldn’t be in any direct action.
“What difference does it make?” Viola said later that night, having come over to comfort Evelyn and Merritt. “The facts won’t bring him back, honey.”
“I know, Vi, but he was such a sweet man, such a good man and was so good to me and Merritt.”
Viola hesitated not even a minute to offer to stop by when she got the phone call from Evelyn with the news. They sat together on the couch, holding hands. There would be no sex between the two women that night nor for many nights to follow. Both women knew they must respect the memory of Bob Casey.
Merritt cried himself to sleep that night; he couldn’t imagine what it feels like to die, to feel the pain of death. Never had he experienced a death of someone so close.
*****
In March, 1944, the family got a visit from a Navy Captain.
“You’re husband has been awarded the Navy Cross for heroism,” he announced, when entering the residence and joining them at the kitchen table.
“Oh?” was all Evelyn could say.
“We don’t even know how he died, sir,” Merritt added.
“Well, this will explain everything,” the captain said. He handed Evelyn a two-page document.
“I think you’ll see he was an extremely brave man, Mrs. Casey,” he added. “I must say I’m truly sorry this has to be awarded posthumously.”
Evelyn teared up as she opened the document. She began reading:
“Robert Xavier Casey is hereby recommended for the Navy Cross for heroism on November 20, 1944, in the battle for Tarawa Atoll in the Gilbert Islands.
“In temporary assignment as a radioman to Marine Corp Battalion 22, Casey distinguished himself by remaining with the LVT (Landing Vehicle Tracked) after its driver and squad leader was killed by enemy fire. Though he had been assigned to assist Captain Willard Masterson with radio duties and had little skill in operating the LVT, he assumed the controls to free the vehicle from the reef upon which it was stuck and as he maneuvered exposed himself to heavy enemy fire.
“With enemy shells bursting in the area, he finally freed the LVT from its perch and successfully piloted it to an opening in the reef barrier depositing the marines in the craft to the beach. He returned to the sea, piloting the LVT back through the gap in the reef, locating other LCVPs which were seeking to transfer their troops, taking two more loads to the beach, always under enemy fire.
“Returning to the sea for a third time, he ran out of fuel, and wallowed near shore when an enemy shell destroyed the LVT, causing Radioman Casey to be killed. He died instantly.
“Robert Xavier Casey acted in the highest traditions of the U. S. Navy and acted without regard to his personal safety to help make the difficult landing at Tarawa Atoll.”
The signer of the commendation was the Secretary of the Navy.
*****
Two nights later, Merritt had a dream, a pretty dream, so sweet and gentle and so real. He dreamt that his stepfather was returning from the war in his Navy blues and that he and his mother met him as he got off the train at the Milwaukee Road station in town.
He saw Bob Casey with a widening grin on his face as the two approached him, his lovely wife and their dainty daughter, both wearing spring dresses of yellow and green.
Merritt felt himself in the arms of his stepfather and receiving soft kisses, and hearing his words: “My little girl is prettier than ever. So grown up. I bet the boys are all over you.”
“Oh daddy,” protested the little girl, now a slender, blond 14 year old, looking so cute.
Too soon the dream ended and Merritt awoke, his room still cool in the chill of early spring. He awoke smiling, so happy that he was “that little girl”, wrapping his arms about himself to ward of the chill. He was cold in his a light yellow nightie with only shoulder straps.
Soon, he realized that he wasn’t a girl and that his “daddy” would not be returning home.
The reality was that he lived outwardly as a boy most of the time, his mother succumbing to his nagging to dress as a girl by allowing him to sleep in a nightie and to dress on Saturdays if there would be no one around to see him.
The dream haunted him, though. Finally, several days later, as he finished getting ready for bed and was stepping into his nightie, his mother entered the room, as she often did. This was often a special moment for the two, as his mother would brush his hair; it was longer than most boys wore, but not too noticeable or out of fashion.
She called him “Marilyn” on those nights. He smelled of sweet soap and his voice was soft. They would lie together and the girlish boy would feel so weak and protected in his mother’s arm; he loved her smell, her softness and her gentle voice.
“You’re too old for us to be doing this, dear,” his mother said often.
“I know mommy, but I feel so good with you. We’re not hurting anyone,” he answered.
“But it’s still wrong honey.”
“We’re not doing anything wrong, mommy.”
It was true. They only hugged, and sometimes even fell asleep together, and Evelyn would arise in the middle of the night and return to her bed.
It was during those nights that Merritt began to experience regular erections. He had heard other boys talk about “jacking off,” at least that’s what he heard them say, perhaps a year before, but Merritt knew his growth had been slower than most boys. His penis was small, compared to most he saw in the gym locker room, and he was embarrassed, always dressing to shield his puny penis from stares of other boys.
It was only after his mother left the room that he would ejaculate, usually spurred on by her parting “sleep tight, dear Marilyn.” And, he would lay there, his hardening penis pressed against the nightie’s cloth, and thinking he was a lovely girl, and he would gush forth, staining the nightie and the bed. After the first such “accident” he began sneaking a towel into bed with him to contain the milky fluid. He loved those moments, dreaming of being a high school girl, giggling with the other girls and prancing about in dainty dresses and teasing the boys. He never thought of himself as a boy, and the idea of making love to a girl scared him. How do you do it, he wondered.
“Would daddy have cared if I was a girl, mommy?” he asked one night several days after his dream.
“He loved you, honey, and he would have loved you either way,” she reassured him.
“I think he wanted me to be a girl, mommy.”
“I don’t think so, dear. You know he was trying to make you more of a boy when he entered the Navy.”
“Maybe,” he said, hesitating before continuing. “But I had a dream and he called me his ‘little girl.’”
“You had a dream.”
“Yes, he called me ‘Marilyn,’ just like you do.”
“Oh honey, that was just a dream,” his mother said. “He would have wanted whatever was best for you.”
Merritt said nothing, but the thought never left him: his beloved stepfather loved him as “Marilyn” and his “little girl.” He was indeed, he felt, a girl, but most of the world would never know that.
Chapter 14: Budding Friendships
To the outside world, Merritt was a boy; he worked hard at strengthening his muscles so that he could compete more completely. He even tried to find friends among some boys, with some success, while slowly reducing his time with Donna Mae and Edith. Besides, they were becoming “boy crazy,” and Merritt obviously didn’t fit their definition of a “boy friend.” They had grown to think of him as only another girl friend. The three remained good friends, but the shopping trips and the stops at the soda fountain became fewer and fewer.
When he finished 9th Grade, he realized, he’d be going into high school, a prospect that frightened him; the other boys would be larger, stronger and so much worldlier than he was. Other boys yell, and taunt each other; they push and shove and punch each other in the arm. He hated that.
Each afternoon and Saturdays, of course, Merritt spent in the sewing room at Swenson’s, working on repairing dresses and other works taken in by Hilda Swenson and his mother. If there were alterations, the two women fitted and marked-up the garments, leaving them to be fashioned by Merritt. Surprisingly, there were few problems; both women were skilled in fitting clothes, and Merritt’s skill with the sewing machine had become so precise and speedy.
“I marvel at how the boy can turn these items out,” Hilda said to Evelyn one day. “He’s easily the best seamstress I’ve ever had.”
“I know it surprises me, Hilda, but I think he loves doing it.”
“Sometimes, I think he should be a girl, Evelyn. He even moves like a girl sometimes.”
“I know, but he never was much for boy things, but we hope he’ll grow out of this.”
“Right,” Hilda nodded. “Not all men have to be crude.”
“I guess not,” Evelyn said. “He’s certainly not crude.”
*****
“Mom, where are you?” Merritt yelled from the kitchen. “Mom, tell me how I look?”
“Be right there, honey, I'm getting ready for work and I have to catch the bus,” she yelled from her bedroom.
“Hurry, mom,” he urged.
He had worried about how he looked for the first day of high school, as he entered the 10th Grade. He was headed for Riverdale West, a four-story, red brick structure dating to the 1890s, but with a brand new addition containing a gym. Despite its ancient appearance, the school was considered the “jewel” of the city system, both in academics and in its athletic teams, particularly the football team, which were perennial champions of the tough city league and sent many players off to star in colleges.
Evelyn was out of breath as she entered his room, exhausted from preparing a breakfast for the two and dressing herself for the job in the hosiery works. The pace of the work in making parachutes had told on her; she had lost some weight, yet she still retained the cherubic look of a women many years younger than herself. She wore dark slacks, a beige work blouse that buttoned in front and a multicolored scarf tied tightly around her head. She wore no noticeable lipstick.
“Now what must I see?” she asked.
“Mom, do I look OK for school?”
“Of course you do.”
“I don't want to look too dressed up,” he said, adding, “You know how kids make fun of that.”
Evelyn examined her son. He looked neat and clean, and was dressed in dark blue slacks and a blue shirt with a collar.
“You look fine, honey. It's the first day of school, and you want to look sharp for your teachers. They won't like a slob.”
“I know mom, but what will other kids say?” he said.
In truth, Evelyn didn't know how her son, always fastidious in his clothes and appearance would be viewed by kids, who she knew to be often so cruel in their judgments.
“I think they'll say you look handsome, dear,” she assured him. “The girls will like it.”
“Oh mom, don't,” he protested.
Despite his mother's reassurances, Merritt still was not certain he'd fit in. He still felt he looked too puny, with his slight shoulders and slender build, perhaps a candidate for more chuckles behind his back, or, even worse, some rough bullying.
Merritt was early for his homeroom assignment, easily finding his way to room 202, where he was assigned Miss Gottschalk as his homeroom teacher. There were only three others seated at desks, all girls who were tidily arranging papers on their desktops.
“Take any seat, young man,” the youngish, slender woman at the door said. “I'm Miss Gottschalk, your homeroom teacher.”
“Thank you ma'am,” Merritt replied.
The teacher's face beamed into a smile that the boy found most appealing. He felt a little less tense now, as he took his seat in the middle row, third seat back. Another girl with light brown flowing hair, and wearing a pressed white blouse and a plaid skirt, took a front seat, and Merritt wondered if she would be the “teacher's pet.” The girl eyed Merritt closely as he entered, while the two other girls sat in the rear, chattering softly, paying no attention to the newcomer.
Merritt sat primly, his two feet planted firmly on the floor, knees together, awaiting the class to begin. Slowly, others entered, most paying no attention to him; he did notice the girl in the front sneaking glances in his direction, and he wondered what she was thinking: was he weird looking? too skinny? maybe a sissy? But, few others paid him any attention, so maybe, he told himself in hopeful expectation that she is just curious.
Miss Gottschalk entered the room, as a few latecomers followed, including Billy Johnson, his onetime friend from junior high school. One of the few remaining seats was directly behind Merritt, and the boy took it.
“Hey nice seeing you, Merritt,” Billy said, as he took his seat, breathless, obviously from running to get their before the bell.
“You're the only one I see from our class,” Merritt said, turning his head to greet his onetime friend.
“Yes, this is the 'J' through 'M' homeroom, I guess,” Billy said.
The bell rang, quickly ending their conversation, as Miss Gottschalk yelled for attention from the class.
“Welcome to Riverdale West, students,” she said. “We're off and running on a new school year, and all of you are new to this school. This is Homeroom 202, and we'll meet every morning for ten minutes; usually I'll take roll and have some announcements. Most of the time will be 'quiet time,' when you can spend a few minutes in last minute studies. But, there'll be no talking. And, if you have any questions, or concerns, feel free to raise your hand and ask it. Finally, I'll always be here early, so if you need any advice, just come in a few minutes before homeroom and we can talk. OK? Any questions?”
There were none, and she read the first class day announcements.
“She seemed nice,” Billy said as the class ended and students began searching out the location of their first hour classes, some stopping by to ask Miss Gottschalk.
“Yes,” Merritt answered. “I hope all the teachers are nice.”
“I'm so glad you're in my homeroom, Merritt,” Billy said.
“Oh?”
Merritt wondered about the other boy's renewed interest. Wasn't this the same boy who in junior high school ditched him and the two girls for the gang of toughs?
“What's your first class?” Billy asked.
“Ah, it's geometry.”
“Mine, too. You also with Mr. Grant in 415?”
“Yes, Billy.”
“Call me Bill, now,” the boy said. “Good, then we can go together.”
Thus, began a friendship with Bill Johnson, who, as Merritt soon learned, had never felt at home among the gang boys. In fact, Bill admitted to Merritt some days later, the gang boys had taunted him as well when he wouldn't go along on an excursion to “de-pants” the Student Council president who they claimed was too close to the principal. They called him a “fairy” for speaking out against rowdyism that happened at a recent football game and the plan was to attack the senior boy as he left school late one day after a school activity, and pin him to the ground, remove his pants and raise the pants on the flagpole in front of school. (Note: “De-pantsing” was a favored form of hazing in the 1940s.)
Bill Johnson had grown to be a bit taller than Merritt, but had developed a lanky, loose-jointed body. He was moderately muscular, but was not active in any of the sports teams, like Merritt, and they found great kinship in talking about “the great questions of the day,” such as whether President Roosevelt was doing enough to end the war soon, or should there be a world government, like the League of Nations formed after the war, or whether there was a god.
“We were just talking mom,” Merritt said one autumn Saturday night when he got home 30 minutes after his mother's imposed curfew hour of 11 p.m.
“You're sure? Not fooling around with girls?” she quizzed.
“No, mom, honest. Bill and I were just standing on the corner near his house talking, and I guess we lost track of time.”
Evelyn shook her head; she had trouble figuring out what her son would find so interesting just “talking” with another boy. Yet, Merritt had never done anything to show he was not telling the truth.
Meanwhile, Merritt continued to work in the sewing room of the Swenson's shop, altering dresses and even sewing a few. He found great joy in the creativeness of his projects, often trying on the clothes himself, partly to see how well they might hang but, in reality, to enjoy the thrill of seeing how he would look in the dress. He loved the idea, and he told himself, that such viewings would inspire his own creativity. He had two distinct feelings: one of arousal as his smallish penis would grow erect and sometimes begin to hurt in a need to be released and the other of wishing he was a girl.
It wasn't until Christmas vacation season that he finally admitted to his friend Bill that his after school job at Swenson's had far more to it than stocking shelves and cleaning up, as he had said before. As far as Merritt could tell no one, except Donna Mae and Edith, his two girl friends who now attended Our Lady of Angels Catholic Girls' Academy, and the Swensons and his own mother, knew he really worked as a seamstress.
“You do?” Bill answered when Merritt told him.
“Yes, Bill, and I hope you don't find that too weird,” Merritt said, blushing. The two were in Bill's bedroom where Bill had invited Merritt to look at his model houses. His friend wanted to be an architect and had actually created two model houses of his own design from balsa wood.
“Well, it's different,” Bill replied, after some hesitation.
“It was to help out while mom worked at the hosiery factory,” he explained hurriedly. “It was her business and we needed the money, and I guess I got good at it.”
“I think it's OK, Merritt,” Bill said sincerely.
“Really?”
“Yes, just don't tell others.”
“Don't worry about that,” Merritt said. “I've kept it a secret, 'cause I know I'd get teased. So far only Donna Mae and Edith know, but they won't tell.”
His friend smiled at him, a knowing smile, Merritt felt.
“Do you ever wear the dresses after you make them?” Bill asked suddenly.
Merritt merely blushed, and looked toward one of his friend's model houses; they were masterpieces and Merritt could see Bill had an artistic nature.
“You do, don't you?” his friend finally said.
Merritt nodded.
“Bet you're pretty,” the boy said.
“Aww, come on.”
“No, really, I bet you are, and don't worry, I won't tell anyone.”
“Please don't Bill,” Merritt pleaded. “I'm doing OK in high school now, and I don't need to be teased again.”
“Oh, I won't, Merritt. Cross my heart.”
Merritt smiled. “Thank you.”
“What do ya wanna do? How about going ice skating?”
Merritt agreed that would be a good idea. It was a cold clear winter day, and they expected lots of friends would be at Washington Park lagoon. Besides, Merritt had received a new pair of hockey skates for Christmas and was eager to try them out.
*****
Bill Johnson was the first friend, other than Donna Mae and Edith that Merritt ever invited to their apartment above Swenson's.
It was two days after Merritt revealed to Bill that he worked as a seamstress, and the two boys seemed to have found a bond, a closeness in which both shared their feelings and secrets. It was the first time in his life he ever could tell how fearful he was of his life in the future; and, Merritt was shocked to find out that Bill Johnson, too, had similar feelings. Neither boy felt confident that they could find a good job to support themselves, or to find a girl who would want them as husbands and fathers. It was a fearful world they would enter, they both agreed.
They found comfort in each other, in sharing their secrets. Soon they began sharing their dreams, Bill Johnson of becoming an architect building fancy houses and Merritt, more or less fabricating his desires, stating he hoped to be a journalist, covering foreign wars and exciting incidents. He was yet to reveal to Bill his real desire: the impossible dream of being a woman, married with children.
“What are you doing today, Merritt?” It was Bill, calling on the phone just before noon on New Years Day.
“Just finishing up on some work here,” Merritt answered. “Should be done about one o'clock. You wanna do something?”
“How about it?”
“Come on over then and we can figure something out, Bill.”
Bill arrived about 2 p.m. while Merritt's mother was out for the afternoon, enjoying a day of shopping with Viola. The two women had been spending more and more time together, and Merritt expected they'd be gone all afternoon.
“Wow, what a nice apartment?” Bill said, upon entering the second floor living room.
“Thank you, I helped mom decorate it, too,” Merritt said, genuinely pleased because he knew of his friend's appreciation of decorating and design.
Bill's eyes roamed around the room, spotting the lace covered shades and the light blue diaphanous curtains, which gave the room a light, airy appearance. The boy noticed each of the curtains were trimmed with lace.
“The lace gives a nice touch,” Bill said. “Was that your idea?”
Merritt blushed. “Yes. Don't you like that?”
“Oh yes,” his friend said. “It's a nice touch. So . . . ah . . . ah . . . light.”
Merritt knew what his friend was thinking, that the lace design touch was a “feminine” touch. “I thought it gave a nice look to the room,” he said. “Mom had a more plain idea of design; I guess I just enhanced it a bit.”
“Really, Merritt, it's nice.”
“What do'ya wanna do, Bill?” Merritt asked.
“I dunno. Maybe you could show me some of the dresses and stuff you're doing,” he said tentatively.
“You really want to?” Merritt said. “I didn't know you'd want to see that girl stuff. It's just my job.”
“Sure, why not?” his friend replied. “Don't you think I have a good eye for design?”
“No, of course, you do, Bill, but it's just dresses and stuff.”
“Show me.”
Merritt had two dresses hanging in his room; Mrs. Swenson had provided him with an older sewing machine which he often used in his room, making it unnecessary to go downstairs to the workroom to do some of his work.
“This is your room?” Bill asked, astonished at what he saw.
The only window had oversized curtains, carrying the same design and lace trim as the ones in the living room, also containing lace trim. Only, these curtains were white; a similarly designed skirt was hung around a table, looking very much like a vanity with mirror attached. The bed spread was white with pink ruffles.
“Yes,” Merritt replied.
“But . . .” his friend began to question.
Merritt interrupted his question, quickly explaining: “I know it looks like a girl's room, but I still like it. Who needs cars and airplanes and Wisconsin football pennants around the room.”
“Sit down,” Merritt said, pointing to the bench -- also trimmed with lace -- that sat before the vanity.
He sat on his bed, sitting a bit to one side, and curling his legs up. He brushed his hair back with a light swipe of his hand.
“You really like this girl stuff, don't you Merritt?” his friend finally asked.
“I don't know if it's girl stuff, exactly. I just like this design and the colors.”
“OK,” said his friend, his eyes roving the room, before lighting upon two dresses hung on the inside of the open door to the closet. “Are those the dresses?”
“Yes,” Merritt said, getting up from the bed, and lifting a dark blue dress off the door to show his friend.
“Wow is that nice,” Bill said. “I like the use of those little floral touches of cloth.”
“Thank you. This is a gown for a girl who's going to the debutante ball on Saturday,” he said, holding it up against his body. “I had to let it out a bit; I think she gained a little weight since mom took the measurements.”
“Who designed it?”
“Mainly me,” he said. “Mom told me what the girl wanted and I drew up the pattern and the girl loved it.”
“Let me see how it really looks, Merritt,” Bill said suddenly. “Try it on for me.”
Merritt looked at him, not knowing how to respond. “Try it on?” he asked.
“Yes, let's see how you look in it,” the boy said, smiling.
Merritt didn't know how to respond to his look; the boy had a strange look, one that seemed full of expectation.
“Oh, I couldn't,” he responded. “I might tear it.”
“Oh, come on, what are you afraid of?” his friend answered. “It's just you and me. I bet you've already worn it.”
Merritt blushed. Yes, he had worn it, as he had many of the dresses he made; usually he told himself he wore them merely to see how they would look when worn, whether a hem might be crooked, or some other obvious defect detected. He had worn this dress several times; indeed, when he first created it, he wore it several times, since it fit him so well. The young woman's measurements were very close to his own; with some breast enhancement, he fit neatly and attractively into the dress. Now, the dress would be somewhat larger.
“Yes, Merritt, I know you've worn it,” Bill pressed. “Let me see.”
Merritt told his friend to leave the bedroom so that he could dress. “I need to show the dress off properly,” he said, “So, I need time to get ready. You can start on our homework in the kitchen. Mom won't be home 'til 5 p.m. at least.”
Merritt's pride in the dress design meant that he had to show off the dress in it best context; he had to look as completely feminine as possible to do so. Merritt wanted to show his design-oriented friend that his own creations were as spectacular and excellent as the models of homes the boy had constructed.
It took all of a half hour for Merritt to prepare himself for putting on the dress; he washed his upper body in a sweet-smelling soap, brushed his longish hair, found a light blue hair band and a pair of clip-on earrings with a blue stone. He put on a bra, stuffing it with hose and a corset with snaps, which he used to affix hosiery.
Examining himself in the bedroom mirror over his vanity, he felt he had achieved a sufficiently girlish look. His narrow shoulders, slender arms and tiny waist seemed to render him as any other 16-year-old girl. He smiled, and did a partial pirouette to celebrate the look.
He put the dress on over his head, letting it fall neatly into place. The dress had a square bodice, with light multiple layers of cloth; scattered throughout the dress were light bows of cloth, and the dress ended at mid-thigh. Merritt hoped the girl for whom it was intended had lovely thighs, since they would show. His own thighs were lovely as were the gentle curve of his calves and thin ankles. He wore a pair of dark blue pumps, with two-inch heels. The dress was sleeveless and Merritt knew his own arms were slender and remarkable for their softness and lack of muscle tone.
As a final touch, he applied light rouge to his cheeks, a bit of eyeliner and bright red lipstick. He smiled at his image in the mirror.
Merritt entered the kitchen where his friend was making a show of doing homework, announcing:
“Here she is!”
He gave a quick turn-around so as to give Bill a quick look at the young lady before him.
“She's so lovely,” Bill said, after what seemed an eternity.
“You like?” Merritt asked, his voice assuming a thin, soft tone he had adapted when he liked to pretend he was girl.
“Do I like?” Bill replied. “Do I like? You're beautiful. Are you sure this is Merritt, or some girl you brought over?”
“It's me, dear,” Merritt answered in flirting tone.
Merritt dreamed of this moment when he would show himself off as a girl to another boy; he was so happy to finally have found someone he thought he could trust due to his friendship with Bill Johnson. Merritt seemed to lose himself in his girlishness at the moment, walking over to his friend, and presenting a hand to beckon him to rise from the chair to be led into the living room.
Bill took Merritt hand, as he would take a girl's soft, slender hand, and let himself be led to the living room couch, where the two sat down next to each other.
“Merritt,” Bill said. “You're the prettiest girl. I can't believe it.”
“Call me Marilyn,” Merritt responded, leaning his body against his friend who still held onto his hand.
Merritt felt his friend's arm go over his shoulder, onto his slender arm; he felt himself being pulled toward the boy and he raised his head in expectation. Soon they were kissing passionately.
“Oh Marilyn, Marilyn,” Bill said. He was fidgeting wildly, and Merritt knew his friend’s penis was hardening. His own had been hard since he led Bill to the couch.
Merritt felt he was in heaven; never had he felt so desired, so wanted, as he did now in Bill Johnson's arms. Bill wanted him as a girl. He felt his friend's excitement grow; finally ending with a gasp.
“Oh darn,” Bill said. “I need to clean myself up.”
Merritt smiled.
He supplied Bill with a pair of briefs to wear and his friend went to the bathroom to clean himself up, as Merritt returned to his own bedroom, reluctantly, to return to boyhood.
Later as the pair shared a Coke at the local drugstore's soda fountain, Bill whispered. “You're the first girl I ever kissed.”
Merritt smiled. “And you're the first boy I ever kissed.”
“As Marilyn, I'll want you again,” his friend admitted.
“But I'm not a girl,” Merritt said.
“You are now to me,” Bill said, his smile now sweet and adoring.
Merritt had never felt so wanted, so desired. He wanted so much to be demure, sweet, soft and feminine and to his friend, Bill, he must have achieved that.
*****
Some of their friends at Riverdale West High School, they knew, had dates for the evening of New Years Eve; others were going to a party at Barbara Wingstead's, one of the “richer” kids who lived in a large house atop a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. Both Bill and Merritt had been invited, but the party was viewed as being “square,” with the Wingstead parents keeping a watchful eye for any youthful indiscretions.
Bill seemed eager to go, even though the so-called “in” crowd would not be there. Merritt who was battling his image of being “square” and a “sissy” felt awkward attending the party, not because he had anything against Barbara Wingstead, who was viewed as a “goody two-shoes,” but just because it would further taint him for being “just not one of the boys.”
“I could take you as my date,” Bill said, as the two exited the drugstore and into the near zero-cold of Dec. 31.
The boy had a mischievous glint in his eye.
Merritt loved the idea, but knew it was impossible, since most of the people would know him.
“I would lu -a -v that dah-ling,” Merritt replied in an exaggerated faux feminine voice.
“You must wear that lovely gown, Marilyn,” Bill replied, carrying on the play-acting role. “I'll pick you up at eight.”
“Oh, you're so strong, my Bill,” Merritt continued, raising his head toward Bill, pursing his lips as if to kiss.
Bill backed away. “Not out here in the street. People will think we're homos.”
“But, I'm a girl, and you're a boy,” Merritt responded, using his feminine inflections. “How can we be queer?”
“You're cute,” Bill said, pushing his friend gently away.
“I guess I'll stay home tonight, Bill,” he said. “Mom and I'll listen to the dance band programs from New York and Chicago as the New Year comes in. Maybe we'll play canasta, too.”
“I know, Marilyn,” Bill continued, persistent on using the feminine name. “I have to baby-sit my sister anyway.”
“I loved everything today,” Merritt said. “But, I guess it's wrong.”
“Wrong? Yes, I guess it is, but it's just between the two of us, Merritt,” Bill said seriously.
“Yes. I wouldn't want this to get out.”
The boys parted company, each with their dreams. Were they impossible dreams?
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terriblebattle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.)
Chapter 15: The New Years Eve Party
“Make yourself beautiful, my darling Marilyn,” his mother announced when she arrived home after her visit with Viola. She was addressing her son, Merritt, calling him "Marilyn," the name he used sometimes. It was the afternoon of New Years Eve.
Merritt was curled up on the couch, legs tucked under, reading Louisa May Alcott's “Little Women.” He was already in a slip, his hair pinned up with a scarf wrapped around his neck. He had fluffy pink slippers on and had a soft light blue blanket warming his slender body against the coolness in the apartment.
“Oh, mommy, I was hoping you'd want me to be Marilyn tonight,” he said, his voice light and airy, a quality he was adapting to lessen its maleness.
“I know, honey, but we're not staying home tonight,” she replied. “We're invited to a New Years Eve party at Viola's.”
“Really, and you want me to go as 'Marilyn?'” he asked.
“Yes, honey, and I hope you want to go.”
“I do, mommy, but dressed as a girl for all those people?” he asked, since he had been careful not to be dressed as a girl in public.
“Yes, dear. It'll be OK, since this is an all-girl's party. No men invited. And frankly no one will ever see you as a boy. I'm sure.”
Merritt blushed, hoping his mother was correct.
“Will Beth be there?”
“I think so, and both she and Viola are so eager to see you as the pretty young girl you are.”
Merritt put down his book, and spurted up to hug his mother firmly. His mother always felt so soft and comfortable to him; as she had entered her mid-thirties, his mother and put on a few pounds and her breasts had grown and he loved to lay his head upon them. She held the boy, her hands soft upon his slender upper arms.
*****
“Here's my Merry,” an enthusiastic Elizabeth Buckner greeted Merritt and his mother when they arrived at the Buckner household for the New Years Eve party.
Merritt beamed at the greeting, so happy to see Beth, now a recent college graduate who had found a job working as a reading specialist in the public school system.
“Take off that coat and let me look at you, darling,” Beth said. “You look like a Russian peasant in that babushka and those heavy boots.”
Having just come in from the below-zero wintry night, Merritt was still wrapped in a heavy cloth coat, with a wool scarf protecting his ears from the cold. Since the frigid weather had followed a snow storm of a day earlier and there were still piles and drifts of snow to navigate, both Merritt and his mother wore snow boots and carried their heels in separate bags.
Both Merritt and his mother wore black cocktail dresses, nearly matching in style. They had shoulder padding, in the style of the years, and short, puffed sleeves, but a high neckline; the dresses ended just above the knees, as was normal during the World War II period, as dresses tended be short on the supposed belief that they saved cloth that could be used for the nation's fighting troops. Merritt's short light brown hair was bobbed, helping to accentuate his smooth, fine-featured face. His lipstick was bright red, along with light rouge on his face.
“Merry, you're just lovely,” Beth gushed. “Go sit there, and I'll help you off with the boots and your heels.”
“I think she likes to be called 'Marilyn,'” Viola, who had just entered the foyer, instructed her daughter.
“Isn't she so sweet, mother?” Beth asked.
“Of course, she is,” Viola said. “She always was a pretty girl, and now even moreso.”
“Now, now,” Evelyn warned. “Don't praise her too much. She'll get a big head.”
“I bet she's the loveliest girl in her class,” Beth argued.
“And no one here will know you're a boy,” Viola said. “Only Beth and myself.”
Merritt sat on the bench and Beth kneeled, taking his legs one at a time in her hands, and carefully removing the boots. He wore tan sheer nylons, with back seams showing. He had carefully maneuvered the stockings as he put them on to assure the seams would be straight.
Beth took one foot in her hand, holding it, massaging it lightly. The action excited Merritt, and his penis hardened. He felt her fingers work on the slender foot, and then felt her other hand work up the leg, almost encompassing his narrow ankles, and massaging the firm, but undeveloped calf. He squirmed, wishing she'd hurry up to put on his heels before his penis would become uncontrollable, though he enjoyed the feel. He loved looking at his legs, which he knew were those of a girl, being so smooth and unmuscular.
Beth finished the task, and Merritt settled down; he looked carefully at the young woman as she assisted him. Beth was light-complexioned, wore little makeup, and wore a simple flowing peasant skirt and blouse, looking almost plain in comparison to himself.
“Come let's meet the group,” she invited Merritt, helping him to his feet, now garbed with black pumps in three-inch heels.
They first came upon a young woman, also about Beth's age, who was squarely built, a bit chunky and with short hair.
“This is my friend, Jamie,” Beth said, as she introduced Merritt as “Marilyn McGraw.”
Jamie kissed Merritt lightly on the cheek, giving him a hug, and Merritt felt momentarily weak in her strong embrace.
“Jamie is my roommate in town,” Beth announced.
The rest of the group included two other pairs of women, each pair seated tightly next to each other. There were small cups of what Merritt believed to be egg nog and small sweets on the coffee tables before them. Viola and Evelyn also sat together on a love seat.
A girl, who appeared to be about Merritt's age, sat alone on a side chair, with a dining room chair empty next to her.
“Let me introduce you to Dolores,” Beth said. “She's the daughter of Mrs. Graham here. Maybe you two girls will enjoy each other.”
Merritt looked at the girl, a slightly beefy girl with a round red face, wearing a plaid, pleated skirt, white blouse and no makeup. She had firm legs and wore white socks with saddle shoes, looking very much like a schoolgirl in contrast to Merritt's own more sophisticated look. But, he noticed the girl had a sweet smile and sparkling eyes.
He took the seat, while Beth and her friend sat on the floor, propped up against cushions.
Soon conversation developed, and Merritt learned Dolores also went to Our Lady of the Angels Academy, where Merritt's two friends, Donna Mae and Edith, attended.
“That's a pretty dress,” Dolores commented, apparently more to make conversation than any real curiousity.
“Thank you,” he said.
“And your mom's, too. Where did you get them.”
Merritt hesitated, answering, “We made them, mom and I.”
“You did? That's nice,” she said. “I can't sew a lick.”
“I like it,” Merritt said truthfully. “I love creating dresses and skirts and stuff.”
“You designed these?”
“Well, I modified a pattern.”
“You have lovely hands, Marilyn,” Dolores said. “Mine are so fat and clunky, I think it's holding me back on my piano playing.”
The two girls drank a few cokes, and talked about their schools; Merritt learned that Dolores knew Donna Mae and Edith both, and played basketball with Donna Mae. He could see that Dolores and Donna Mae could both be athletic; he had seen both Donna Mae and Edith only once over the Christmas vacation, the two other girls having developed new friendships in their new school. Merritt knew he'd have to contact both Donna Mae and Edith and alert them to his conversations with Dolores in case she discussed it when school resumed. He's sure that they'd play along with his girl-role if warned in advance.
As the clocked approached midnight, the group all rose, holding their glasses high, and when the hour was reached, they toasted the New Year, following that up with lots of hugging and kissing. His kisses with Dolores were awkward, and soon he found himself engulfed in the strong arms of Jamie, Beth's good friend. She held him captive, it seemed, as she voraciously kissed his mouth and he felt her hand wander toward his crotch.
“You're such a luscious girl,” Jamie whispered in his ear. “I want you.”
The embrace was ended when Beth intervened, breaking the two apart, warning her friend quietly, “She's only 15, so hands off.” Only Merritt and Jamie heard the warning.
Jamie muttered something unintelligible, and the two wandered off hand-in-hand, before Merritt found himself in his mother's arms, and the two kissed as two lovers would kiss. It was a lovely way to bring in the New Year of 1945.
*****
As might be expected, everyone, except the two teens, Merritt and Dolores, drank too much. Evelyn elected not to drive home, and it was agreed they'd spend the night with Viola and Beth. Also Dolores and her mother along with her mother's friend would also stay.
“Would you two girls mind sleeping together, tonight?” Viola asked Merritt and Dolores.
“That's OK,” Dolores quickly agreed.
Merritt, unsure of how it would work and whether he could continue to hide his penis, hesitated, finally nodding yes. He felt Dolores had a naíveté and shyness about sex that would prevent her from being too curious about what was present in his crotch.
“Beth has nighties for both of you, as well as change of undies for the morning, dears,” Viola said.
Merritt knew that his mother and Viola would sleep together, since they had revived a steady habit of being together once Evelyn's period of mourning over Bob had ended.
The two girls were assigned to sleep in his mother's old room, where a larger than normal double bed had been installed. The room had a strong feminine touch, being painted white, with pink woodwork and light blue accents.
“This room is so pretty, Marilyn,” Dolores said once the two had been settled in bed.
“Yes, my mom used to have this room when we lived her, but it wasn't as nice as this. I wonder who usually stays here.”
Merritt tried closing his eyes to go to sleep, but all he could think about was the girl lying next to him. He was on his side, and he heard her change positions, and he opened his eyes to see she was looking into his eyes, there being enough light drifting in from the moonlight reflecting upon the new snow.
“Are you awake,” Dolores asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“You're so pretty Marilyn,” the girl said. “I bet you have lots of boy friends.”
“Not really, mother doesn't want me to date yet,” Merritt replied.
“No boy friends?”
“Well, there's one boy, and he's nice, but we've never gone on a date,” he admitted, referring to Bill Johnson.
“I'll never get a date,” Dolores said. “I'm too fat and ugly.”
“Oh yes you will, Dolores, you're such a sweet person,” he responded quickly. “And you're not fat. You're so strong and so good at sports, I bet.”
The girl was silent, finally admitting she was captain of the girl's lacrosse team at Our Lady of the Angels Academy.
“Could you help make me pretty, Marilyn?”
“I suppose I could, Dolores. I know something about dresses and such and makeup.”
“I know you do, Marilyn. Beth told me you made those dresses you and your mom wore tonight. And you're both so pretty.”
“Sure let's get together some day, and we'll have some fun.”
“Oh I love you Marilyn,” Dolores said exuberantly, and quickly kissing Merritt on the mouth.
Her kisses this time was more alive and passionate, and Merritt liked the feel of her lips, and he returned the kiss strongly, taking her in his arms, and dragging her next to him. Their kisses grew intense and Merritt ran his hands around her strong shoulders, feeling the rippling muscles of her back and shoulders. He suddenly felt so weak and defenseless in her arms, and succumbed to her advances.
Her body which at first had smelled of fresh soap now became sweaty and slippery, and she grabbed his arms, her large hands able to nearly encircle his tender, soft and slender biceps.
His penis grew hard, and even though it was not large, he feared that Dolores would soon feel the erection against her body; and he was beginning to hurt. He needed her to quit; yet he didn't want her to stop.
The bed rocked, and Dolores' moaning became more and more impassioned; finally she stopped and he felt something wet and warm at his crotch area. Was he ejaculating, he wondered. No, it was Dolores, she had become wet, the passion having made her own juices come.
“Oh,” the girl said suddenly, quickly rolling off him.
“What happened?” she asked. “I must have wet my pants.”
“It's OK,” Merritt said.
“I'm so embarrassed. I'm so sorry.”
Merritt assured her it was OK, and just normal.
“Really?” she asked, her naíveté obvious to the boy. “I've never kissed anyone before except mother.”
“I've not done much kissing myself,” he admitted.
“Is it wrong for two girls to kiss?” she asked.
“Not if they like each other,” he said, “And I like you.”
“And I like you.”
“And you're so strong, you can protect me,” he giggled, as he pressed his body against his friend.
“And you're so weak and need protection,” she laughed.
“What a pair!”
*****
It was nearly eight on the New Years Day morning before the sun made an appearance, glistening across the white expanse of snow on the Buckner vast yard. The house was bright, and chilly, the temperature kept down to preserve coal so vital to the war effort.
Reluctantly, Merritt left the comfort of Dolores’ arms, padding his feet into the fluffy slippers and making his way to the bathroom, shivering in the coolness of the house. His face was red, his eyes a bit puffy, but he felt so excited by his time in bed with this athletic, sweet girl.
Taking off his nightie, and standing there in panties only, he examined himself in the mirror, look at his smooth, white body, so slender and soft. How a girl could be so much stronger than he was, he wondered. He even flexed his arm to see if he could raise a muscle, but the bicep remained flat, without tone. “I must really be a girl,” he mused, smiling at the realization.
As he gave himself a sponge bath, and brushed his hair, he wondered how long he could continue to pose as a girl for his new friend. He truly enjoyed the few hours they had known each other, and he knew she would eventually learn of his gender, a thought that horrified him. He wanted to keep her friendship, but he knew she’d likely feel deceived after he had posed totally as a girl, and had shared a bed with her. True, nothing sexual happened; their affection for one another had consisted of only kisses and cuddles, but he sensed a real awareness of each other’s presence and warmth had developed.
“Mom, I like her so much,” he confessed to his mother as they drove home along the lake front drive, car exhausts rising into large puffs of white smoke in the frigid still air. A white layer fog blanketed the waters of Lake Michigan, and the lake was fringed with dunes of ice sculptures created by waves crashing onto the shore.
“She seemed to like you, too, dear,” his mother said, concentrating on her driving since a layer of “black ice” had developed on the asphalt, forcing caution against sudden turns or stops.
“We like each other, and she liked how pretty I was and wants me to help make her more pretty,” he said. “I told her I would. She knows nothing about clothes or makeup.”
“I’m sure you can teach her plenty.”
“But she thinks I’m a girl,” he lamented. “What will happen when she finds out?”
His mother didn’t respond, slowing down as they approached scores of parked cars along the drive and a huge number of people gathered on the cold beach sand. “It must be the polar bears, Marilyn,” his mother said, still using his girl’s name.
“Polar bears? Oh, those crazy people who swim on New Years Day here?” he queried.
“Yes, them,” she answered, smiling.
“Do girls also jump in the water?”
“I think there are some, but mainly it’s guys, usually still drunk from last night.”
“I couldn’t do that,” he said.
“Nor I honey,” his mother agreed.
Later, at home, Merritt donned a polka dot frock that went to his ankles, wearing plain pumps with low heels. He had a violet wool sweater over the frock, since the Swenson’s also kept the heat down in the two apartments over the store.
“Mom,” he said, raising the subject of Dolores again. “I think she wants me to take her shopping before vacation is over to help her buy clothes. She’s really doesn’t know how to dress and I guess her mom’s no help.”
“As I said, you probably know more about how to dress and do makeup than any girl in school.”
“I know, mom, but I’m still a boy. Oh, mom. How will she act when I tell her I’m a boy?”
“I don’t know, honey, but she’ll be shocked at first, since she knows you only as a girl. But, she may accept the idea, or reject you totally.”
“I know.”
His mother pondered the question further. “You know she seems very kind and smart, Marilyn, and I don’t think she’d want to hurt you. So whatever she does, I think she’ll be nice about it.”
Merritt smiled, realizing that Dolores seemed considerate and understanding in their moments together. It was true, too, that her own innocense and humbleness would indicate she’d be kind and understanding. If he wanted to keep her as a friend, he knew he would have to tell her the truth, and soon; he might still lose her friendship, but he realized that was the only way to go.
Chapter 16: A Night at the Movies
“It’s for you, honey,” Evelyn yelled to her son.
Still in the polka dot frock, with no makeup on and his hair pinned up, Merritt had been trying to read “Little Women,” but his fatigue from the night at Viola Buckner’s home had tired him, and he had snoozed. He lay on the living room couch, and his mother had covered him with a baby blue blanket.
“Uh huh,” he awoke with a start.
Taking a minute to orient himself, he wandered to the kitchen where the phone stood on a sideboard.
“Hello,” he said.
“Marilyn, it’s Edith,” came the high voice of his friend from junior high school.
“Hi Edie,” he replied. “I’ve been sleeping. Mom took me to a party last night.”
“Oh, did you have fun?”
Merritt mumbled that, yes, he had fun, but at first was reluctant to add more information. Instead he inquired, “What did you do last night?”
“Oh nothing,” she replied. “Wayne had to stay home last night, and today his family is visiting an uncle. I’ve hardly seen him this vacation.”
Edith was referring to Wayne Corrigan, a boy who was a junior at Riverdale West. Both she and Donna Mae had developed boy-girl friendships with boys who had been with them at Gould Junior High.
“Donna and Lloyd went to a movie, I guess,” Edith explained.
“Can I ask you something?” Merritt said, impulsively.
“”Sure.”
“Do you know Dolores Graham at your school?”
“I know about her, Marilyn,” Edith replied, using his girl’s name, as she had done in private with him for several months now. It sounded like Edith’s reply contained a hint of a laugh.
“What’s wrong with her?” Merritt asked defensively.
“Oh nothing, I don’t know her very well, she’s a junior. Why do you ask?”
“I met her last night at a party.”
“Oh, did you talk with her?”
“Yes, I thought she was nice, but she knew me only as ‘Marilyn.’”
“And she doesn’t know you’re a boy?” Edith answered, unsuccessfully suppressing a giggle.
“Yes, and I hope you and Donna Mae never let her know that I’m a boy.”
“Oh, you want us to lie?” his friend teased.
“Come on, Edith, it’s important. And, you promised.”
“Well, I guess you’re more a girl anyway, and we’ll keep it our secret.”
“Thank you, Edie. I’ll always love you and Donna Mae. You’re my best friends.”
“Yeah, that’s why I called. Wanna go to a movie tonight? With Donna Mae and me and you as Marilyn?”
“Just like when we were at Gould. Yes, I’ll check with mom, but I think I can go.”
“Good, can you meet me at my house about 6:30?”
“Yes, but what’s so funny about Dolores?”
“Oh nothing,” Edith protested. “Did you like her?”
“Yes, I did, but she seems a bit different from most girls,” Merritt volunteered.
“I’d say she is,” Edith replied, pausing in her answer. “The story at Angels is that she’s dyke.”
“A dyke?”
“Don’t you know what a dyke is? Sometimes, Marilyn I think you’re so dumb. A dyke is a girl who likes girls and not boys.”
“Oh,” he answered. “You mean like she’s ‘queer?’”
“Like that, dummy, only ‘queer’ usually refers to boys.”
“But she’s very nice, Edie,” Merritt said. “She’s smart, too, but she’s not much of a dresser, and she’s so strong.”
“Well, I don’t know for sure, but that’s what’s going around school.”
“Maybe just ‘cause she’s in sports,” he reasoned.
“Maybe.”
“Anyway, you and Donna Mae must keep my secret. OK?”
“Yes, Marilyn,” Edith replied. “I’ll see you tonight.”
*****
Merritt had never felt as totally girlish as he did after he hung up the phone; he realized as he spoke with Edith, he stood in the kitchen, leaning against the door jamb, his legs crossed and his free hand daintily playing with his hair. After an evening of being Marilyn with a group of women and another girl and of being accepted totally as a 15 year old girl, his excitement was growing.
His mother must have noticed how feminine her son was acting, he thought, since he noticed how she looked at his behavior during the conversation. Even his voice, he believed, had taken on girlish inflections and moved to a softer, higher register.
“What did Edith want?” his mother asked.
“She wants me to join her and Donna Mae to go to the movies tonight.”
“I guess that’s OK, but you better dress warm,” Evelyn said. “It’s going to be well below zero tonight.”
“I know mom, but we’re just going to the Tivoli,” he said, mentioning a neighborhood movie house, located a short four blocks away.
“You’ll have to wear those wool pants and your long johns tonight.”
“No mom, I can’t. I’m going as Marilyn tonight.”
“As Marilyn? Are you crazy? You’ve never gone out in public as Marilyn, and I don’t think you chance it.”
“Oh mom, why not? No one thought I was a boy last night.”
His mother shook her head in a negative motion. “You’ll be in the general public, and you know you might run into kids from your school there, too. And, what will happen then?”
“Mom, I’ll wear heavy white cotton hose, and that long wool skirt, and the long coat,” he said. “And with the babushka, I’ll just look like one of the other girls.”
“You probably will look that way, too, dear, but what happens when you meet up with some kids from school? What will Donna Mae and Edith say?”
“I’ll be their girl cousin from Green Bay or somewhere, visiting for the holidays.”
“I don’t know honey,” she said. “Don’t you think you’re taking this Marilyn thing too far? I said only in the house.”
“But you let me dress last night for your friends,” he argued.
“That was different,” Evelyn replied. “You were with my friends and they’re all open-minded about stuff like this, even if they figured the lovely girl before them was a boy. You were so pretty last night.”
Evelyn finally gave in, hoping against hope that she didn’t make a mistake, and that Merritt, as Marilyn, would have a safe evening.
*****
Merritt’s excitement grew in anticipation of venturing into the public as Marilyn for the first time. His mother was right; if anyone saw him and recognized him as Merritt, there’d be terrible consequences. Boys of that era just didn’t dress up as girls; they were to be strong and masculine and ready to bear arms in defense of their country, still in the midst of a terrible World War. There would be shame and humiliation not only to himself, but to his mother.
Yet, he felt so natural in being a girl in public, or anywhere for that matter.
He got out of the apartment and across the alley to Donna Mae’s house without meeting anyone; the streets were quiet on this frigid New Years evening and most people were home sleeping off last night’s revelries and staying in out of the cold.
As if on cue, Donna Mae left her flat and walked into the alley in time to meet Merritt so he didn’t have to ring her bell and meet her mother, who still didn’t know about Merritt’s dressing; she merely thought the boy, Donna Mae told him, was just a bit of a “fairy,” a favored word for homosexuals of the era. She accepted Merritt’s behavior because of her friendship with Evelyn and because she knew he was a safe friend for her daughter.
“Mom almost wanted me to wear snow pants,” Donna Mae said, as the two met. “Are those heavy stockings you’re wearing?”
“Yes, but it still feels cold,” he said, his voice a bit squeaky.
“Let’s run then,” she said. Donna Mae was wearing a long coat, snow boots and wool socks, leaving only a small part of her calves exposed.
“Oh, look at Marilyn,” squealed Edith, who had been waiting on her front porch for the pair as they arrived.
“This is my first time out as Marilyn,” he said. “You girls will have to protect me.”
“Don’t worry,” said Donna Mae, her words accompanied by the clouds of breath hitting the cold air as she spoke. “We’ll say you’re my cousin Marilyn from Green Bay.”
“Besides, you look so cute,” Edith said. “I’m afraid all the boys will look at you, not us.”
Merritt smiled, though he was tense and nervous as they approached the theater. “But you both already got boy friends,” he said, somewhat easing his tension as his two friends laughed.
There was a short line at the movie house ticket office, mainly of teens, with a few older folks mixed in. The feature that night was “Anchors Aweigh,” with Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly, and it was Sinatra that the girls wanted to see. He had excited girls from the ages of 12 to 18 throughout the country, and Donna Mae and Edith had joined in the audience of squealing, giddy girls that had filled the Riverside Theater several years ago when Sinatra appeared with the Tommy Dorsey Orchestra.
Several boys who appeared to be about their own age stood at the end of the line that the three friends joined, and Merritt noticed several of them looking directly at him, two of them smiling broadly, while whispering conspiratorially to each other. Merritt averted their not so discreet glances, turning to look at Donna Mae and Edith. He had noticed the two boys had not paid attention to either of his friends, and seemed to focusing their eyes upon him.
Did the two boys suspect he was not a girl? He began wondering whether to bolt the line and run home. His heart seemed to pick up a beat and he felt his face grow flushed.
Donna Mae and Edith had been talking about the live appearance of Sinatra, giggling over how his singing and performing had excited them.
“I think those two guys know,” Merritt whispered, interrupting their conversation.
“What?” Edith said.
“That I’m not a girl.”
“Don’t be silly,” Edith said. “They probably think you’re cute.”
The line moved quickly, and the girls soon were at the window buying their tickets. Merritt realized that the boys likely were admiring his feminine beauty; he truly was prettier than either of his companions, he had to admit. Donna Mae had a round, freckled face and was rather plain; she wore little makeup and her best feature was her sparkling blue eyes. Edith had a thin, almost emaciated look and a hard, angular face; her best feature was her vivacious personality and openness that immediately won her friends. All three had realized that Merritt indeed made the prettiest one of the lot when he dressed as Marilyn.
As luck would have it, the three friends found themselves in the popcorn line right behind the two boys.
“Fancy meeting you here,” commented the shorter of the two boys, who had removed his wool cap to expose of crew-cut blonde head.
The comment was addressed to Merritt, who responded with a smile.
“Cold out there, wasn’t it?” the boy said. “Don’t your legs get cold?”
“It’s OK,” Merritt responded, using a weak, almost muffled voice.
“I go to Lincoln High,” the boy volunteered, looking directly at Merritt, apparently hoping to get the lovely girl he saw before him to reply and start a conversation.
Donna Mae interrupted quickly, obviously hoping to shorten this conversation. “Just buy your popcorn and leave us be,” she said sharply.
“Sorry,” the boy said, obviously taken aback at the sharp response from Donna Mae.
The boy’s face grew red and he turned his back on Merritt and the two girls to await his turn at the popcorn counter.
Merritt felt sorry for the boy and was a bit embarrassed at the tart words out of his friend’s mouth.
“That boy seemed nice, Donna Mae,” Merritt said, after the three had taken seats and were awaiting the start of the movie.
“You told me to protect you,” she answered. “I just don’t want you getting into something you can’t handle.”
“I guess you’re right,” Merritt admitted.
“We told you the boys would be hot for you, Marilyn,” Edith said.
“Shhhhhhhhhhh, girls,” said a voice behind them. “The movie’s starting.”
Merritt was nestled in the seat between his two friends, and his mind wandered as the show began with a short subject and the newsreels, before the feature. In his mind, he was Marilyn, a happy and pretty teenage girl who attracted the looks of many boys.
*****
“Let’s go to Morgan’s for a Coke,” said Edith as they left the movie.
“OK with you, Marilyn?” Donna Mae wondered, obviously worried that putting Merritt into the after-movie crowd at Morgan’s Sweet Shoppe might expose him to classmates or others.
“I guess,” he answered.
The three climbed over the hardened snow piles left by the plows and scooted across Winnipaca Avenue to Morgan’s, a popular hangout for high schoolers.
“Good we hurried,” Edith said, as they entered the shop whose windows were coated with an icy frost on the inside caused by the condensation of moisture upon the cold windows.
They got one of the last booths, and Merritt was concerned he’d be identified, since he had stopped at the shop many times before. He had always been friendly with the owner, Gary Murkowicz, a cheerful rotund man who endlessly scurried about the shop, always seeking to keep a good business working. Merritt often considered possibly working at the place, but the truth was he made more money as a seamstress at Swenson’s.
“Who’s your friend?” asked the waitress, whom they all knew as Katie Murkowicz, who was a senior at West and who worked at her father’s shop.
Merritt had lowered his head to avoid looking at Katie, for fear the girl might recognize him.
“Oh, my cousin from Green Bay,” Donna Mae answered quickly, turning to Merritt. “Marilyn, meet Katie.”
Reluctantly, he looked up at Katie, who stood there with order pad in hand. “Hi,” he said, turning his eyes down quickly to look at his hands.
“Nice meeting you Marilyn,” the waitress said. “What will you all have?”
“Chocolate soda,” said Donna Mae.
“Cherry coke,” said Edith.
“Lime phosphate,” Merritt said, his voice hardly audible.
“My you’re a shy one,” said the waitress, smiling. “Not like you at all Donna Mae.”
They all laughed, and Katie turned on her heels to get their order.
“Do you know her, Marilyn?” Edith asked, once the waitress was gone.
“Yes,” he answered. “She was in the school play this fall, and I was backstage, helping with costumes and such.”
“No wonder you’re so shy,” Edith said, with a twinkle.
“Don’t look now, girls, but those guys from the movie are coming in,” Donna Mae said. She was seated looking toward the entrance.
“Oh my,” said Merritt. “Are they headed this way?”
“Yes, I don’t think they saw us, but the only empty table is that one next to ours.”
Soon the two boys were seated at the table, not more than five feet away. At first, the boys didn’t notice the three friends at the nearby booth, just getting their eyes accustomed to the brightness of the sweet shop. Merritt looked down as they boys took their seats, studying his hands, and mainly admiring his slender fingers and polished nails.
He heard the boys chairs scrap on the floor, and finally got the courage to look up, finding he was staring directly into the face of the boy who had spoke to him while they were in line for movie tickets.
“You,” the boy said, showing recognition of the girl he spoke to at the movie ticket line. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hi,” said Merritt, giving a dainty wave toward the boy. He saw the boy’s sparkling eyes and his cheeks red from the frigid evening air.
“And hi to your friends, too,” the boy said, looking at Donna Mae and Edith.
They both acknowledged his greeting with perfunctory “hi’s” and turned away. The two boys seemed to busy themselves with their own conversation and giving their orders to Katie.
After their drinks arrived, Donna Mae queried her friends, “I thought Frank Sinatra was so adorable as a sailor. Didn’t you also?”
“Oh in that sailor suit, he was,” Edith echoed.
“How about you, Marilyn?” Donna Mae persisted.
“Sinatra is too skinny,” he replied. “I thought Gene Kelly was so handsome, and such a great dancer.”
“That scene where Kelly danced with the cartoon mouse was so cute,” Donna Mae agreed.
“Would you want Gene Kelly to be your boy friend, Marilyn?” Edith giggled.
Merritt beamed. He loved this girl talk. He did find himself wondering what it feel like to be a girl in the sinewy and trim arms of a man like Gene Kelly.
“Oh yes,” he said.
Their conversation continued on this vein for a while, with some giggling, before the boy from the other table interrupted the conversation, saying, “Well, I liked Kathryn Grayson.” He was referring to the female co-star in the film.
“Who asked you?” Donna Mae shot back.
“We couldn’t help but hear your conversation,” he responded. “You girls were so loud.”
“You’re rude,” Donna Mae responded.
“I’m sorry,” the boy said quickly. “I really don’t want to bother you, but I kinda just wanted to join in the fun.”
“Don’t bother . . .” Donna Mae began, but was quickly interrupted by Edith, who said:
“That’s OK,” Edith interrupted. “He didn’t mean any harm, Donna Mae. By the way, I’m Edith, and these are my friends Donna Mae and Marilyn.”
“What are you doing?” Donna Mae whispered to her friend. “Ignore them.”
“No they’re OK,” she whispered back, turning to the boys, and saying, “Who are you?”
“I’m Jim and this is Leo,” the boy said. “We go to Lincoln.”
“So you said,” Donna Mae said sarcastically.
“Don’t mind her,” Edith said. “She’s miffed ‘cause her boy friend’s out of town.”
Jim smiled. He had taken off his coat and he was wearing a Lincoln High School letter sweater, a big white “L” emblazoned on its blue background with two hashmarks on the sleeve. He was broad-shouldered and his hands were large with thick wrists; his complexion was pale and his crew-cut hair was light brown. But what Merritt noticed almost immediately were his eyes, they literally danced, indicating an adventurous, restless nature. Merritt liked what he saw.
“We’re both juniors,” he announced.
“We’re just sophomores,” Edith said. “Donna Mae and I go to Our Lady of the Angels, and this is our friend, Marilyn, visiting for the weekend.”
“There’s room in the booth, can we join you?” Jim asked.
Leo, his friend, taller and thinner, interrupted. “No, Jimmy, don’t you see they don’t wanna be bothered.”
“No that’s all right,” Edith volunteered. “There’s room next to Marilyn.”
Merritt was seated singly on his side of the table and he moved over, letting the boy named Jim move in next to her. He felt the boy’s firm thighs touch his as they scrunched together in the booth.
“Oh, sorry,” Jim said, looking at Merritt. “Hope this isn’t too tight.”
“No, it’s OK,” Merritt said, almost inaudibly.
He began to feel strangely excited by the presence of his strong boy next to him. As the five teens giggled and talked he noticed that Jim took quick, almost embarrassed glances toward him. Merritt had folded his hands in front of himself on the table, and for his part Merritt tried to remain quiet, saying little, and laughing only quietly when something funny struck his fancy.
“You’re awful quiet, Marilyn,” Jim said softly into his ear after the five had finished their drinks and ice creams. “Don’t you like us?”
“Oh no,” Merritt said, looking up and directly at the boy. “I like you fine.”
“My cousin’s just kinda shy around boys,” Donna Mae explained.
“Don’t you have a boy friend?” Jim inquired.
Merritt shook his head “no.”
“And such a pretty girl, too.”
“My aunt won’t let her date boys, yet,” Donna Mae said, quick to the rescue of Merritt.
“Maybe I could be your first date,” Jim said in a teasing tone.
Merritt blushed, excited by the interest this handsome boy had shown. He found himself loving the attention and the obvious effect his femininity had on this boy.
“Really,” the boy said. “We’ll just go to a movie or something. How about it? How long you going to be in town?”
“She doesn’t want to,” interjected his friend, Leo, who was becoming somewhat embarrassed by the forwardness of his friend in pursuing the girl.
“No, it’s not that,” Merritt said weakly, his voice small and almost squeaky. “My mom doesn’t think I’m ready yet.”
Leo had been chatting up Edith most of the time, but having learned she, too, had a regular boy friend, had turned his attention to his friend’s conversation with the lovely girl they saw before them.
“I won’t bite,” Jim said.
Merritt giggled, but shook his head “no.”
“Oh well, can’t say I didn’t try,” he said.
The conversation soon died out, and all five got up to leave, putting on their heavy winter coats before braving the windy, cold night. As Merritt was tying the scarf around his head, Jim looked at him, saying, “You really look so cute, bundled up like that.”
“Thank you,” was all Merritt could muster.
As they began to leave, Jim hung back and Merritt could see he was asking Edith something in a whisper. He saw Edith nod her head “no.”
“What was that all about?” Donna Mae asked Edith as they trekked home.
“Oh he wanted Marilyn’s phone number or address,” she laughed. “He thinks you’re quite a babe, Marilyn.”
“I think we’re both jealous,” Donna Mae kidded. “I think it’s the last time I’ll go out with Marilyn here; she gets all the attention.”
“I don’t mean to,” Merritt responded.
“Honey, you can’t help it that you’re so darn pretty,” Edith said.
“And so feminine and dainty,” her friend echoed.
It was a fact, Merritt mused. He thought back to Bill Johnson and his desire to kiss and treat him as a girl; Billy’s actions toward him were not “queer,” since he fancied Marilyn, not Merritt. Now, this boy Jim had found a similar attraction in Marilyn.
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl. His joy in being a girl seems limitless. Must it still be nothing but a dream? )
Chapter 17: The Shopping Trip
The following day was a Saturday, and Merritt awoke, suddenly reliving the excitement he felt the previous night by the attention from Jim, the boy from Lincoln High. He wondered about being held in the arms of such a handsome, strong boy, and pondered about what it would be like to kiss him. Both Billy and now Jim found him so attractive and tempting a girl, he knew. And, his friends Donna Mae and Edith were jealous of him, calling him “prettier” than most girls; and now Dolores Graham wanted him to help her become prettier and more attractive to boys. As if he was an expert at feminine beauty.
Merritt lay on his side, his left arm folded under his pillow. He was wearing a lavender nightie, and there was a sweet, but faint, scent of lilac in the room, a result of his continuing to use a scented soap and lotions. His right hand began to fondle his left upper arm, relishing in the soft, smooth flesh of the slender bicep. He had long wondered why other boys had such muscular arms, while his were so obviously weak, even girlish in appearance. Sometimes, he envied the strong boys, and wished he could do some of their athletics; yet, he knew his limitations, and shied away from such activities, finding solace in feminine ways.
“I love being Marilyn,” he said to himself. “I’m a girl, I’m a girl, I’m a girl.”
His musings were interrupted by his mother, who yelled from the kitchen. “Marilyn, you’ve got a phone call.”
He was so involved in his musings he didn’t hear the phone ring, and he looked over to the ticking alarm clock on the nightstand. “Oh my, it’s nine o’clock already,” he said bolting out of bed. He ran to the kitchen, running his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to look more presentable.
“It Dolores from the other night, dear,” his mother said, her hand cupping the phone and smiling. “She asked for Marilyn.”
Merritt looked at his mother, somewhat upset at seeing a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Beth said she’d take me downtown to shop today,” Dolores said once the introductions had finished. “I hope you can join us, Marilyn.”
“Let me check with mother,” he said.
His mother said it was OK as long as he was up-to-date on the sewing he had to finish for Swenson’s.
“I can,” he told Dolores, “But it’ll have to be after lunch, since I have some work here first.”
“It’s a deal, Marilyn. I can hardly wait and I love you so much, Marilyn.”
“And I enjoyed you, too,” Merritt said.
They agreed that Beth would drive to Merritt’s apartment and pick him up at 1:30 p.m.
*****
“Oh, darn. This traffic is terrible. I forgot there’d be sales on this day all over town,” Beth said as she drove into the downtown area, stopping in traffic at each light, having to be careful because of the string of street car operating on the tracks in the middle of the street.
Merritt was squeezed into the middle of the front seat, between Beth and Dolores. He smelled the sweet perfume that emanated from Beth, and smiled at the light fragrance. He wondered about Beth, who had been partnered at the New Years Eve party with such a masculine young woman, while she herself remained rather soft and feminine. He began to understand that his own mother’s attraction to Viola went beyond mere friendship; the same seemed to have been true for Beth and her girl friend. In fact, every woman at the party seemed to be teamed up, almost like husband and wife, and Merritt soon realized that all of these women liked other woman. The thought puzzled him a bit, since he was aware of men loving men and he knew they were called “queers” or “homosexuals.” It dawned on him that women could have the same trait, too.
Yet, many of the women at the party had borne children; they must have been with a man at least once. His mother bore him and now she was in love with Viola. What does it all mean?
“A penny for your thoughts,” Dolores said, poking him in the arm.
Merritt was jarred out of his stupor, as Beth found a parking lot to deposit the car. “We’re just a block from Gimbels,” she announced, referring to the largest department store in town.
“Oh, I was thinking about something, that’s all,” he said.
“I hope it was just a little about me,” Dolores said with a mischievous grin.
“Yes, a little about you, too,” he said, realizing that his musings involved his own sexual awakenings and his own attraction to this rather plain girl. It puzzled him greatly.
Dolores grabbed his hand, which felt small inside her firm grasp as she squeezed it.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” Beth said, aware of the obvious attraction between Merritt and Dolores. She pulled the car to a stop in front of the parking lot shack to await the attendant.
“We just like each other,” Dolores volunteered.
Merritt merely nodded.
*****
Even in the cold weather, Beth and her two friends wore skirts, along with knee length socks to protect their skin against freezing. All three wore wool coats, which mainly ended just at mid thigh, or so, and protected their heads with wool scarves, Merritt’s being a plain navy blue with both Dolores and Beth wearing plaid.
It was easy to mistake the three as high school girls, since Beth’s cherubic face belied her mid-20s age. Yet, Beth was clearly the leader of the group; she led the girls into the huge department store, just teaming with shoppers amid the Holiday decorations, still prominent from the now-ending Christmas season.
“Come on, little sister,” she addressed Merritt, “Let’s lead Dolores into some nice fashions.”
“Little sister?” Dolores questioned.
“Yes,” Beth explained as they approached the revolving door entrance. “You know, Merry and her mother lived with us for several years and she became like my little sister.”
“Really?” Dolores asked, looking at Merritt. “And you called her, ‘Merry?’”
“She was always smiling, particularly when she played with my dolls. Weren’t you, Merry?”
He smiled, but began to worry where this conversation was headed.
“And she still likes dolls, don’t you dear?”
Now he blushed completely, and Dolores sensing it, quickly changed the subject. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“To the teen department on the third floor,” Beth replied, beginning a charge through the shoppers who clogged the aisles, until they reached the elevators.
*****
It was a mob scene in the teen department, and girls were picking dresses, skirts and blouses off the racks, holding them up and giggling.
“Let’s start with skirts,” Merritt suggested.
Eventually, they settled on two plain wool skirts, both with pleats that went to knee length. Merritt suggested that the skirts should be longer. Dolores had stocky, athletic legs, which detracted from her potential femininity, but both Beth and Dolores had wanted a short dress, typical of the wartime tendency to have short skirts on the pretense to save material for the uniforms of the troops. Beth also suggested some brighter, paisley print cotton skirts, but Merritt again felt the plainer style fit Dolores’s personality better and would tend to draw attention from the girl’s legs. In addition, he had plans for his friend’s new wardrobe, and felt that more colorful blouses might accentuate her truly attractive face and her sparkling blue eyes.
The knee-length, plain wool skirts became a compromise and Merritt could tell his friend was pleased with the choice. While no one mentioned Dolores’s legs, it was apparent the girl was self-conscious about her body, particularly her legs.
They settled on three colorful blouses, including a low-cut peasant top with busy purplish and red and black swirls, a plain silky teal blue top with a high neck and long, full sleeves and a knit brown and pink top with a scooped neck and long sleeves.
“And now I want to get my little sister a gift,” Beth announced when they had finished outfitting Dolores.
“Oh,” Merritt protested. “You don’t need to do that, Beth.”
“Why not? I missed you at Christmas.”
She led the pair to the jewelry counter, and announced, “I want to get my Merry as nice bracelet. And Merry I want you to pick out something you like now.”
“Oh I couldn’t, Beth,” he said. “This is all the expensive stuff. I’ll be happy with some costume jewelry.”
“No honey, this is my gift.”
“May I help you young ladies?” a clerk, middle-aged and graying but still well-coiffured and dressed like she might be headed to a fancy cocktail party soon.
“I want my pretty friend her to have a nice bracelet,” Beth said, nodding in Merritt’s direction.
“Pull up your sleeve, honey,” the clerk said to Merritt. He took off his heavy coat, handing it to Dolores, and then pulled up the left sleeve of his turtle neck sweater, holding his hand out to the clerk.
“Such a lovely arm and hand,” the clerk said. “She should have only the best.”
“That’s what I think,” Beth said.
“I think this is what you need to add some sparkle here,” the clerk said, reaching from the rear into the glass display case. She handed a silver chain bracelet, with dainty star-shaped designs in jade, handing it to Beth who affixed it to Merritt’s arm.
It looked lovely, and Merritt fell in love with the bracelet immediately. It added so much to his femininity, he felt.
“But it’s $24,” he said, looking at the price tag. He knew that was equal to more than half of his mother’s weekly wage at the hosiery works. “It’s too expensive.”
“Nonsense,” Beth said. “We can afford it.”
“Yes, she can,” echoed Dolores. “You know the Buckner fortune.”
Reluctantly, Merritt accepted the gift, giving Beth a sisterly kiss.
“I’m famished,” Beth said, when they had completed the transaction. “Let’s get something at the cafeteria here. They have great sundaes and desserts.”
It was a ritual for women of the era to finish off their shopping with desserts at cafeterias of large department stores; nearly all were renowned for their food and generally reasonable prices.
When they finally found three seats together at the lunch counter, Merritt found himself in the midst of the two girls.
“I want to thank you both for taking me shopping and helping out,” Dolores said.
“We enjoyed it as much as you, dear,” Beth said.
“I’m so happy with what you selected for me,” Dolores said. “I could tell that Marilyn here really knew her fashions.”
“That’s why I wanted her with us,” Beth said. “She’s always better at clothes than I am.”
They both simultaneously kissed Merritt, as the waitress appeared before them. “What’ll it be, girls?”
“A hot fudge sundae,” Beth said quickly, followed by orders for a chocolate malt from Merritt and a strawberry sundae for Dolores.
“I wish I was young again,” a woman sitting to their left. “If I ordered one of those sundaes, I’d put on ten pounds.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Merritt said, not sure what he was sorry about.
“Oh, no worry, dear. I just enjoy seeing three young ladies enjoying themselves.”
“Thank you,” Beth said, turning away from the woman.
“You’re really so lovely, Marilyn,” Dolores said, suddenly.
“Oh,” he said, taken aback.
“Yes, she’s always been so dainty and cute, even when she was small,” Beth added.
“Did you call her Merry before,” Dolores asked.
“Yes, that’s what I called her when she was small. But her mother didn’t like it. She wanted me to . . .
“Call me ‘Marilyn,’” Merritt interrupted, fearing that she might be headed to telling Dolores that his mother wanted him called by his boy’s name.
“But Merry’s kind of nice,” Dolores said.
“And it fits her, doesn’t it?” Beth said.
“Yes,” Dolores agreed.
Merritt smiled. It was so nice to be a girl among girls.
*****
Dolores was insistent. “Marilyn, you have to spend the night with me,” she said as the three were driving home.
Beth had suggested that the three return to the Buckner estate for dinner and to play records; she said that her friend Billie would be there, too. “We can have such fun,” she said. “Billie liked meeting you both, and besides maybe Marilyn will provide us with some fashion advice. Goodness knows, we all need it.”
“Yes, Marilyn, we all need you,” giggled Dolores. “You just have to come tonight.”
“I should get home,” he said. “Mother will wonder about me.”
“No, no, no,” pleaded Dolores. “It’s our last free weekend before school starts again. I love you.”
With that Dolores reached over and kissed Meredith on the mouth.
“But Marilyn’s a girl. She’s not a boy,” Beth said, trying to concentrate on her driving.
Merritt looked toward Beth, who merely winked at him. What was the older girl doing? Did she want Merritt to find his manhood while embracing this strong, plain girl? Or, more likely, was she encouraging a romance between two females, a woman-to-woman romance as she was obviously practicing with her friend, Billie?
“I know I’m supposed to like boys,” Dolores said. “Is this so wrong?”
“Not if we like each other,” Merritt said.
“Oh we do, Marilyn,” Dolores continued. “You’re the first real girl friend I’ve ever had.”
Dolores took his hand in hers now, almost crushing it in her firm grasp. Her hand moved up slightly encircling his slender wrist, one finger moving under the cuff of Merritt’s coat and sweater, gently caressing the soft underside of his forearm. Merritt grew excited by his own powerlessness, feeling so weak in the hold of Dolores’ hand.
“OK, I'll go with you,” Merritt finally said. “We better call mother.”
*****
Billie Orton, Beth’s friend, had close cropped dark hair and wore slacks and a jacket with a white shirt and oversized tie, which enhanced her masculine looks. Yet, she had a pretty face and an open, gregarious disposition. It was easy to why Beth had such affection for her friend.
“Does Billie know about me?” Merritt asked Beth when they were alone.
“No, she thinks you’re all girl. I don’t know how she could ever mistake you for a boy.”
“I didn’t think so,” Merritt answered, smiling. “I like her, Beth.”
“Don’t you dare lead her on, Marilyn,” Beth said, her voice a bit stern. “She really likes sweet tender girls like you, dear, and she’s mine, all mine.”
“Oh Beth, I wouldn’t do that. I just said I liked her.”
“Ok darling, but you’re so pretty, you seem to attract all sorts of attention.”
Merritt blushed, pleased with the compliments.
“So hands off, dear,” Beth said, but the warning was accompanied by a smile.
The evening was spent playing charades, and Merritt found his impersonation of Gypsy Rose Lee, a famous stripper of the day, to be the hit of the night. Gypsy Rose’s tantalizing show was marked by the fact that she never too it all off, and used her considerable acting talents to arouse her audience with the unfulfilled expectation of seeing everything. Merritt that night stripped down to his bra and panties, careful to hide the stuffing in the bra and the tucked penis. His slender, white, smooth body could only be seen as that of a girl, he felt certain; neither Billie nor Dolores thought otherwise.
After his performance, Billie hooted and hollered, beckoning Merritt to sit on her lap, playing the role of a love-struck middle-aged man at a Burlesque show.
Merritt feared he’d be forced to sit on her lap, where the mannish woman’s hands might eventually locate his diminished manhood, exposing his own charade as Marilyn. He was pleased when he saw Beth give Billie and angry jab in the ribs, and he danced out of the room, to put his clothes back on.
*****
“What else do girls do when they have sex?” Dolores asked, as they were in bed together, both in nighties.
It was so naive, Merritt felt, but it was something he seemed to like about this girl -- her open honesty and frankness. Did Dolores feel, he wondered, if the girl in her arms was vastly experienced in these areas? The idea made him want to blush; the truth was: he was pretty much in the dark about women, like what his mother and Viola and the others did in private. He really was in the dark about how it worked between a man and a woman.
“I don't know,” he said, echoing her honesty.
“I thought you might,” she volunteered. “You seem to know so much about how a girl should dress and present herself.”
“I guess we'll find out someday,” he replied. “Maybe it'll come naturally.”
“You're so sweet,” Dolores said, gathering his fragile body in her strong arms, kissing him almost to suffocation, as his tiny penis swelled in pain.
How he loved being held by this girl. He loved her athleticism, feeling the smooth, trim muscles of her arms and the hardness of her husky thighs. As the two hugged, kissed and caressed, the excitement in both grew to a frenzy; the bed rocked in the rhythm of their passion. Both of their bodies grew wet with perspiration, and Merritt's penis grew amazingly hard and the pain intensified. He licked the salty sweat from Dolores' right armpit, burying his head tightly against her body.
Suddenly, almost in unison, a flow of juices filled between the legs of both of them, their passion giving mutual satisfaction.
Merritt weakened when he finished, but Dolores seemed to continue to hold him firmly.
“You too,” Dolores said, giving out with a slight laugh.
“Yes, and we did it together.”
He collapsed in her arms. Never before had he been so happy.
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl. His joy in being a girl seems limitless. Merritt finds his attraction for the girl to be growing, and he worries about telling her he’s really a boy. His adventures continue. )
Chapter 18: Second Thoughts
There were more kisses and lots of caresses in the morning between Merritt and Dolores until Viola Buckner rapped on the door, ending the moments of rapture between the two.
“Time to get up, girls,” came Viola's husky, commanding voice. “We've got to get the two of you back home by nine this morning. There's church you know.”
Merritt and Dolores were on their sides, facing each other, with Dolores squeezing Merritt's arm, and looking fondly in his eyes in the half-light of a gloomy winter morning. They giggled almost in unison when Mrs. Buckner rapped. “Shhhhhhhhhh,” cautioned Dolores.
“Come on you two girls, get up!” Viola's voice rang again.
“We're up, Mrs. Buckner,” Dolores said, looking at Merritt, and giggling a bit.
“I can't hear you. Up now, or I'm coming in.”
“We're getting up, Mrs. Buckner,” Merritt answered this time.
“OK, girls. I want you down here by 8:30. It's nearly eight now.”
The two exchanged quick kisses, and leaped out of bed. “You can clean up first, Marilyn,” Dolores offered. “But don't be long.”
They kissed again and Merritt skipped off to the bathroom.
*****
“You look tired, honey,” his mother said, once Beth had dropped him and Dolores off at their respective homes. Beth, knowing the need to keep Merritt's secret, dropped Dolores off first, and watched as Merritt leaned across the from seat where he was sitting to kiss his friend. Beth watched with interest at this budding love affair between the two teens, wondering what would happen once Dolores finds out her girl friend is a boy.
“Oh, I just had so much fun with Dolores, mom,” he said. “We kind of talked and giggled late.”
“Well, get yourself back into your boy stuff, dear, “We're going to 11 a.m mass.”
“Dominus vobiscum,” the boy was awakened from his day dreams, as Father James Mulcahy droned out the Latin verses of the mass, followed by the mumbled response from the altar boys
“Pay attention to your missal, Merritt,” his mother whispered firmly in his ear.
St. Patrick's Church was packed, as it usually was at 11 a.m. mass, the last of the morning, and Merritt and his mother arrived just before the priest came into the altar from the sanctuary. They squeezed into a pew, forcing the earlier arrivals to squeeze tightly together, their arrival greeted with grudging accommodation.
Father Mulcahy's sermon was his usual colorless version of the theme that the pastor had repeated over and over again: “You must worship God and the Lord Jesus Christ,” and that the only way to do that was by “being a good Catholic.” Every so often, “being a good Catholic” meant making donations to St. Patrick's. The only positive thing about Father Mulcahy's sermons was that they were short, not much more than ten minutes.
Usually, Merritt would kneel and stand and sit in mindless unison with the rest of the congregation, dreading the minutes he must kneel on the bare wooden kneelers; neither his mother nor the nuns would permit a child to sit back against the pew to relieve the hurt on the knees; so Merritt began to try to distract his mind from the pain by day-dreaming. This day, his dream took him down a country road on a lovely autumn day, hand-in-hand with Dolores, both looking fresh and girlish in plaid skirts and pigtails. He dreamed, too, of finding excitement in the company of Billy Johnson, maybe as his prom date.
Merritt looked at his missal to find the spot where the priest had reached in the mass, realizing he had missed a whole two pages of the priest's ministrations. It little mattered, Merritt felt, since it was the same every Sunday. He, too, began to worry about whether he should go to communion, since the Church said a person must be free of serious sin to take the Lord into his or her mouth. Had he sinned by his kissing and hugging and caressing with Dolores? Had he sinned seriously by wearing dresses? Were these “mortal sins” as defined by the Church as so serious as to deny a person Heaven? Maybe they were just “venial sins,” too minor to condemn a person to damnation?
His worry about whether to take communion became overwhelming, and he decided, just to be safe, to not go to communion this Sunday, and go to confession next Saturday, confess his sins and receive absolution from the priest.
“Aren't you going to communion,” his mother asked, when the time came.
“No mother, I can't,” he whispered back.
“Oh? Why?”
“I better go to confession first,” he said.
She nodded and left the pew, heading to the altar rail for communion.
*****
Evelyn also was wondering about whether she was a sinner in the eyes of God; she had taken her Catholicism seriously all of her life, but her relationship with Viola had caused her to question the validity of her faith.
“I shouldn't be doing this,” she said several times to Viola as their sexual relationships become regular.
Viola's reaction always had been to the effect that the two women loved each other and what they were doing was not hurting anyone else. “Even if the church doesn't like it, Evie, it doesn't make it evil or wrong.”
Her parents had begun to wonder about her constant mention of Viola and of the great amount of time the two spent together. She wasn't sure they knew how sexual the friendship had become, or even suspected. Her parents were of a generation that rarely contemplated such relationships.
“Don't you have any men friends?” her father asked on their recent visit.
“No daddy, and I still miss Bob,” she said, referring to her husband who was killed in the attack on Tarawa.
“Ok, but I think Bob would want you to get on with your life, dear. He was a caring man and he would want you to be happy.”
“I know daddy, but have you noticed, there aren't many men around who are single. They're all in the army or navy.”
Evelyn had never confessed her love affair with Viola to the priest; yet, she knew her son must be worried about what he'd tell the priest in confession about his dressing as a girl and sleeping with Dolores. Evelyn had been able to get Merritt to tell her that he and Dolores had slept together, but that they hadn't done anything more than kiss and cuddle. She suspected there may have been more to their “sleeping together,” but she was certain he had hid the fact of his penis from the girl.
He told her how fond he was of Dolores, and it troubled him that he was lying to her about being a girl. “Mom, how can I tell her I'm a boy now?” he had asked.
“If you are going to be in a long term friendship with her, honey, you better tell her soon,” she had advised.
“But I don't want to love her as a boy,” he said.
“I know, honey,” she said, taking the boy in her arms, holding him tightly.
*****
“Bless me father for I have sinned,” Merritt began as he knelt in the confessional, seeing the faint outline of Father Mulcahy through the veiled opening. The priest appeared to be lounging, his ear to the opening, as if he was having difficulty hearing the whispered outline of petty sins coming from the lips of his parishioners.
“It has been two weeks since my last confession,” Merritt continued. “And these are my sins. I said bad words about three times a day. I didn't do my daily chores two times. I forgot to say my daily prayers five times, and that's all I can think of, father.”
“And was that all, young man? Boys of your age get into all sorts of things,” the priest persisted.
Merritt panicked, wondering, “Does the priest have some magical powers so he knows about how bad I've been?”
Should he confess? He was afraid of what the priest would say. But ,God know, he thought. I better confess.
“Father there's this one thing,” Merritt began, “But I don't think it's a sin though.”
“What is it, my son?”
“Well I sometimes dress up in girl's clothes,” he said quickly, as if the priest wouldn't hear.
“Oh?” Father Mulcahy said.
“And, I have kissed a girl.”
The priest was silent for a minute, and Merritt grew tense awaiting his reply. It finally came:
“Do you look pretty as a girl?”
The question astounded the boy. What was this?
“I guess so,” he replied.
Merritt could see the priest adjust his position and heard the creaking of wood; the priest seemed uneasy. He awaited his penance. It took awhile before Father Mulcahy spoke:
“For your penance said five 'Hail Mary's' and five 'Our Father's' and make a good Act of Contrition.”
“Yes, father,” he said, relieved that the penance was the same he always got for his petty sins. He wondered if he confessed to murder if he'd get the same penance.
The priest spoke his prayer in Latin while Merritt said the Act of Contrition in English; both finished at the same time, and the priest said, “Go with God, my dear.”
“Thank you father,” Merritt said leaving the confessional, heading to a pew to say his five “Hail Mary's” and “Our Father's.” As he did the Litany, his mind wandered, wondering what the priest meant when he said, “Go with God, my dear.”
Nonetheless, he felt relieved. Apparently dressing as Marilyn was not much of a sin at all; nor was kissing Dolores. Or, he also wondered, was his confession such a shock to the old priest that he merely gave out his usual penance as always?
Then, something strange occurred. As Merritt knelt in a pew near the front of the church to say his required prayers as penance, he noticed the priest had left the confessional, which priests never did during their confession periods. He watched surreptitiously, his head bowed slightly, but his eyes following the priest as he walked slowly down up to the altar, genuflecting halfway in front of the Blessed Sacrament, and into the side room. He watched as the priest seemed to steal a prolonged look in his direction. A few minutes later, he saw the priest return to the confessional, again looking in Merritt's direction.
What was that all about? Did the priest have to go to the bathroom, or tend to something personal? But, why did the priest look at him so strangely?
Merritt completed his penance, and left the church in a quandary. He vowed in the future never to go to confess about wearing his lovely girl's clothes or his kissing of Dolores. If they were sins, let God himself provide the punishment, he felt.
*****
“What do you hope to do after you graduate?” Miss Henningson, asked Merritt during his scheduled session with the school's counselor. It was the first week of school after the Christmas holiday period. Such appointments were planned early in a student's second semester of high school, to help set a student's class schedule for the rest of time in high school.
“I don't know yet,” he said. “Mom's a widow, so I don't see a possibility of college.”
“I see that, Merritt,” said Miss Henningson. “It's a shame, but I see you have excellent grades.”
“Thank you, ma'am.”
“You're not the type I see spending the rest of your life in a factory,” she volunteered. “What do you like to do, say, for hobbies?”
“Oh, I don't know. Since mom works and my stepdad is dead, I help a lot around the house.”
“Oh?”
“I like to read and go to movies,” he added. What he'd like to tell her that he also loved sewing and creating dresses; but how could he say that?
“Well, Merritt, I think you should consider some business courses, like typing and shorthand. Those are good skills to have.”
“Typing and shorthand?”
“Yes, those courses are not only for girls, you know.” she said. “And offices always need girls . . . err . . . I mean . . .people with those skills.”
Merritt blushed, growing red in front of this middle-aged and matronly looking woman. Then, before he could stop himself, he asked:
“Can boys take home econ courses, too?”
“Ah,” she hesitated. “I don't see why not, but you'd have to drop shop classes.”
Merritt liked the idea, but merely nodded.
“Why do you ask, Merritt? Do you like cooking?”
“Oh, cooking's OK, but I like to sew and make clothes.”
Miss Henningson arched an eyebrow. “Make clothes? Pants and shirts?”
Merritt hesitated, suddenly mad at himself for bringing the subject up; yet, he felt strangely relieved now that the topic was broached.
“Well . . . ah . . . no. Dresses.”
“Dresses?”
“Yes, ma'am, I've been helping mom out sewing dresses and even designing them.”
The counselor looked at him, suddenly placing Merritt under a more studied eye, obviously seeing his gentle and fragile nature.
“Aren't you a good son? That's so nice to hear, Merritt.”
The counselor explained that Merritt would be the first boy, to her knowledge, to ever take home economics. She'd have to seek a variance to the school policy that all boys must take shop classes and all girls home economics.
“Do you really want to do this, if I can arrange it, Merritt?” she asked.
“If it's not too much trouble, ma'am.”
“No it's no real trouble, but you know some others may make it difficult for you. Some students don't understand nice boys like you.”
Without stating it, Merritt knew the counselor was warning him that he may be subject of teases and bullying once he made the decision to take home economics.
“I know, ma'am, but can you check into it, please?” he asked.
*****
Except for Billy Johnson, Merritt had developed no friendships at Riverdale West; he sat quietly in most of his classes, never volunteering answers, but always giving the correct answer when called upon. Teachers after a few weeks discovered that the shy, slender boy was one they could count upon to give appropriate responds and to generally move the class forward.
Most of the time in school, Merritt walked quietly and alone from class to class, maybe exchanging a “hi” now and then to someone from his middle school days. He hated the three days a week of gym classes, where he shied away from the locker room hijinks, dressing himself with his body facing the lockers, as much to hide glances at his still maturing penis and his generally puny build. He rushed into and out of the showers quickly.
His weakness in physical activities was shown in virtually every class, where others shunned him when passing basketballs or tipping volleyballs and where he was usually struggling to complete the calisthenics. But, in high school, he found, others were far more forgiving of his ineptitude than kids were in middle school.
Billy met him for the walk home from school most days, sometimes stopping at the Sweet Shop for a candy bar or for a coke.
One afternoon in mid-January, the sun shining almost blindingly bright on the snow, and the breaths of the two boys turning almost immediately to fog in the near zero temperature, Billy said to Merritt:
“Are you going to the prom, Merritt?”
“Why? It's January and the prom isn't 'til May, isn't it?”
“Yeah, but I was just wondering who I'd ask.”
“I'm not going, so I don't care,” Merritt said.
“You should go.”
“But I don't have a girl friend, and I doubt I'll have one then,” Merritt said.
“I don't either, that's why it's not too early to think about it.”
“Oh gosh, Billy, you're always such a worry wart.”
“You know who I'd like to take? You.”
“Me?” Merritt said in shock.
“Yes, you, as Marilyn. I still think of you in that dress, every night Marilyn. You'd be the prettiest girl on the floor.”
Merritt stopped walking, grabbing his friend by the arm. “I can't do that, as much as I'd like to, Billy.”
“Please, think about it, and also about dressing for me as Marilyn again, Please.”
There was a pleading nature in his tone. Merritt reflected on his desirability as Marilyn, so pleased with his own femininity.
“Maybe you can come over next Saturday,” Merritt said finally. “Mom's going to visit my grandpa and grandma, but I have to work. I need to try on a new dress I'm making for a college girl's prom.”
“I'd love to see you in it,” he said eagerly. “When can I come?”
“How about 3 o'clock or so? I should be done working at Mrs. Swenson's then.”
Billy let out a “whoop” and did a quick skip. His foot landed on a patch of ice, and a flipped onto the frozen sidewalk, landing on his back.
“Are you hurt, Billy?” Merritt asked, rushing to his side.
“No,” the boy replied, more shocked than hurt, though with all the winter clothes the boys wore it was doubtful such a fall would cause any injury.
Merritt leaned over to help his friend up, and Billy grabbed him, pulling Merritt down upon him, and the two wrestled briefly.
“I love you Marilyn,” Billy said, giving Merritt as quick kiss on the lips as the two grappled in a mock wrestling match.
*****
Still dazed by Billy's newest profession of love for “Marilyn,” Merritt absent-mindedly picked the mail out of their box at the bottom of the steps toward their apartment. It wasn't until he had taken off his outer clothes, and changed into a light skirt and smock (his usual after-school outfit if he was not going out later) that he noticed a square pink envelop.
It was addressed to: Marilyn McGraw, 2034 S. Konewoc Ave., Riverdale 7, Wis. It was marked “Personal.” The return address, neatly printed on the back was Dolores Graham, 6314 Clark Ave., Riverdale 10, Wis.
Merritt looked at the envelop, half afraid to open it. He noticed a sweet scent coming, and wondered what this rather plain, husky girl would be writing. His thoughts raced to the two nights they spent together: how he relished being held by her, feeling her protective warmth! The scent grew more pungent as he tore open the envelop, and drew out a half page of pink note paper. On it, was a rather tight scrawl of ragged writing, filling the page totally.
My dear, dear Marilyn,
Doesn't this sound strange? Me a girl writing a love letter to you, another girl?
I hope you don't mind, but I can't get you out of my mind. I dream so much of holding you and protecting you. You're so dainty and sweet, I love you so much.
And how I envy you. You're so pretty, but not like all the pretty girls in my school. They hardly talk to me. I guess I'm not pretty, but you make me feel pretty. I love you!
I'm dreaming of when we can get together again. My mom says you're welcome to come over anytime. How about Saturday afternoon?
Kisses, kisses, kisses. I love you, Dodo
P.S. Did I tell you I love you? My phone number is Riverdale 4682.
Merritt shivered as he completed reading the note; it was a delightful shiver, and his penis hardened at the thought of being smothered by the smooth, hard body of Dolores. He loved the feel of her hands holding him tightly, caressing his smooth back. Mostly he thought of himself as a pretty, fragile girl deeply in love with another girl.
He sat on the couch, curling his legs up, reading the letter a dozen or more time, he figured. His penis grew hard and he was afraid he'd ejaculate, spreading his juices upon is clothes and the couch. He got up and went into the bathroom.
*****
Afterwards, he lay on his bed, wearing only a light lacy full slip over a training bra and panties. He fantasized about being the “dainty and sweet” girl described by Dolores. And, he soon dreamed of Billy's desire to have him as his prom date. Two sweet dreams? Could they ever come true?
Suddenly he realized his conflict was immediate: both wanted him to be “Marilyn” with them on Saturday afternoon and he wanted to do both. The reoccurring second question arose suddenly, too: Should he tell Dolores that he was a boy?
His sweet dreams soon became terrible dilemmas as reality set in. He cried and cried and cried until he fell asleep, only to be awakened by his mother when she arrived home from work.
“Where are you darling?” his mother's voice boomed into his ears.
“In here, mommy,” he said, his mind still a blur in its sleepiness, and reverting to his feelings that he was still a little girl.
“What no supper ready?” she asked, entering his dark room. By five o'clock in winter, the city was already in darkness, the sun having set nearly an hour earlier.
“No, I'm sorry, mommy,” he said, sobbing.
“What's the matter dear?” she said sitting down on the bed, pulling a bedspread over his body. “You must be freezing.”
“Oh, mommy, why can't I be a girl?” It was a question he asked both himself and his mother endlessly.
“My sweet child,” his mother said, pressing his head against her thigh.
It then poured out of him, in words so quick and hurried that his mother had to interrupt him and tell him to slow down. All his dreams and all his realization of a reality which would forever block the dreams from ever becoming true. His worries about losing his friendship with both Billy and Dolores over the conflict in his mind; his fear of losing Dolores' affection when she learns he's a boy; his future as a man in a cruel hard world when all he wanted was the soft nature of womanhood.
“You best tell Dolores now that you're not who she thinks you are,” his mother counseled after he was done with his litany of troubles.
And, she added: “You can enjoy both as your friends, darling, but try to base that on more than your bodily desires. You must enjoy them for their whole selves, and they must like you for all of you, not just your prettiness.”
“Yes, mommy,” he said, kissing her. “I'll make supper now.”
*****
But how should he tell Dolores he was a boy? Should he telephone her before Saturday, when she wanted him to come to her house for supper with her parents? Should he write her a note? Should he wait until Saturday? Or, should he go next Saturday as Marilyn, and tell her afterward?
He liked the last idea the best. It meant putting of the horror of telling her, and facing her angry or disappointed reactions, off for a few more days. But, no, that really only put off the pain, and prolonged his own anxiety.
“I need to tell Dolores in person, mommy,” he said, as the two were doing the dishes after supper. This was often his favorite time of the day, being alone with his mother, cleaning up the kitchen and sharing the gossip of their daily lives.
“Good for you, darling. That's best.”
Evelyn watched her son; he was so precise about how he did the dishes, always assuring that the tiniest speck of food was removed and the dishes were totally rinsed off. His slender fingers moved carefully as he did the chores, and his actions were always abbreviated, never broad and rough. And, she mused, he's so much more determined in cleaning up the kitchen than she ever was. Watching him, she was almost drawn to tears, lamenting how totally feminine he was in nature and how he would somehow have to live as a man he seemed incapable of fulfilling.
“I think I'll call her and ask to meet her after school tomorrow,” he volunteered.
“Don't you have to work for Mrs. Swenson tomorrow?”
“Yes, but I'll tell her I'll do the work in the evening. She won't mind.”
“OK, honey. You go call her.”
Dolores seemed excited to receive Merritt's call. “Did you get my note, Marilyn?” she asked.
“Yes, and I read it over and over,” he admitted.
“You did?” she giggled nervously. “I was afraid you'd get mad. I was so . . . ah . . . I don't know what.”
“Why would I get mad? I loved it.”
He stood in the hallway of the flat where they had the only phone in the house. As he imagined her hard body next to his, his penis grew hard.
“Can you come Saturday?” she asked.
“That's what I need to talk to you about. Dodo. Can we meet somewhere after school tomorrow? I need to tell you something.”
“What? Can't you tell me now?”
“Well, it's kind of personal,” he said.
“You don't like me, right. You think I'm ugly.” Her voice seemed to rise in anger.
“No, no, no,” he protested.
“You have another lover? Right, that's it?” she persisted.
“No honey, it's me,” he said. “It's not you. It's me, something about me.”
“Why can't you say what it is now? I'll never sleep if you don't.”
“I want to see you.”
“Tell me now, and besides whatever it is, I'll still love you.”
Merritt believed her, her feelings toward him had grown so strong. Yet, what he had to tell would be so shocking. He remained silent, trying to figure out what to do.
“Say something Marilyn,” Dolores pressed him.
“Gimme a minute,” he said.
His thoughts raced through his head. It finally dawned on him that he'd have to take the No. 10 streetcar to meet her, and he'd be dressed as a boy. Maybe he should tell her now.
“You won't like what I'm going to say,” he began. “And if you hang up on me and never want to see me again, I'll understand. But I hope you'll still want to at least be my friend.”
“Oh, just tell me, Marilyn. Now.”
“Ok.” He took a deep breath.
“I'm not who I appear to be, Dodo. I'm not really a girl. I'm a boy.” Merritt was shocked at how quickly he said it, and without any explanation.
“What did you say?”
“I'm a boy,” he said.
“A boy?” her voice cracked. Merritt thought he sensed she was crying.
“Yes, but I feel I really am more like a girl,” he said. “I know it sounds bad.”
“But you felt like a girl to me, Marilyn. How could you be a boy?”
“I'm sorry,” he said, beginning to tear up, cursing his own weaknesses.
“Oh this is too much,” she said. “Were you tricking me, just to get me to bed?”
“No, no. I feel I am a girl,” he said. “I wasn't acting like a boy then. I wanted to be with you as your girl friend. That's all.”
There was silence on phone. It may have been only second, but it seemed minutes went by, before either talked. Finally, Dolores said, “Thank you for calling. I guess Saturday is off now. Let's not tell anyone about this, please. I presume you go to school as a boy?”
“Yes, everyone knows me as a boy, but Mrs. Buckner and Beth and two other friends are the only ones who know I sometimes like to be a girl. I won't contact you unless you want me to, and this will be our secret. I promise.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I loved you so much Marilyn. But I think I'll have a good cry.”
She hung up. Merritt ran to his room, grabbed and hugged his fluffy bear and cried too.
Merritt Lane McGraw feels he is a girl, but he is living through the Great Depression and World War II. It is a period before the words “crossdresser” and “transgender” were in the vocabulary and a time before sexual assignment surgery was a possibility. How is this lovely boy going to survive this?
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His joy in being a girl seems limitless. Merritt finds his attraction for the girl to be growing, but she has rejected him as a boy. His sorrow over losing her is mitigated by the romance of his best friend for ‘Marilyn.’ His adventures continue. )
Chapter 19: School Days
His eyes were still red and his face flushed when he awoke the next morning. His mother had tried to comfort him after he ran off to his room, but she could do little to end his sobbing. His fragile body shook in the depth of his sorrows.
“Honey, you have school today,” his mother said, her voice soft and caring. She had gone into his room to awaken him. “Now let's get up and get a nice shower, and clean up your face after all that crying.”
“Oh mommy,” he said, holding back on what he feared might be another crying spell.
“You're so young yet, honey, and your heart is broken, but there'll be other friends for you.”
“No there won't,” he protested. “She was so special. There'll never be another like her.”
“Well, maybe she'll still like you. Give her time to absorb it.”
“Oh mommy, but she loves Marilyn, and I'll never be able to be Marilyn,” he said. “I'll never be a girl.”
Evelyn held her son tightly, finally he seemed to settle down. “Now let's get you ready for school. OK?”
“Yes, mommy.”
*****
To make matters worse, that morning he noticed the fuzz on his cheeks was becoming heavier; he had seen the fuzz growing denser, meaning, he was certain, he'd have to start shaving. He was getting a beard, it was obvious, just like all the other boys, only his seemed to be coming a bit later in his teen years than many others. Nonetheless, it was growing.
There also was some light hair emerging on his chest and arms.
He was becoming a man. It frightened him, this prospect. How could he be a man? He was so much a girl in his mind.
*****
“Do you think you could wear my sister's stuff?” came the question from Billy Johnson.
Merritt and his friend were huddled in the cold, having gone outside for the lunch hour from West High School, and trekked along the icy sidewalks, sliding and laughing to the Terminal Square, a major intersection with a few shops, including a news vendor who sold snacks. They shared a five-cent Hostess Twinkie package, each taking one of the Twinkies.
“I think so. She's about my size, and not too big in the chest.”
“Cool, on Saturday, I want you to try on her prom dress from last year,” Billy said. “She looked so 'hubba hubba' in it.”
“I remember, Billy. You showed me a picture of her in the dress. She was so pretty.”
“Oh, and you'll be even prettier, Marilyn,” Billy said, using his girl's name.
“Not so loud,” Merritt warned. “Don't want these jerks to hear that.”
“OK, then you'll come Saturday? As you promised?”
“Yes, about 3 p.m. OK?”
“Good, both my mom and sis will be gone.”
*****
That afternoon, Merritt was called out of geometry class, and told to report to the Miss Henningson, the counselor.
“I'm afraid we can't accommodate you on your request to be enrolled in the home economics classes,” she told Merritt.
“Oh? Why is that?” he said, showing disappointment.
“Well, as I told you, we've never had a boy in those classes before, and you might cause a disruption.”
“Me? I won't cause trouble.”
“I know you won't, Merritt,” she said, showing sincere interest in his situation. “You've got an excellent record here at West, and I checked at your junior high school, and you were excellent there, too.”
“Then why?”
“The other reason, and the main reason,” she explained, “Is that some of the classes will be dealing with subjects that only girls should hear, like female hygiene.”
“Oh I know all about that,” he said. “My mother explained that all. I know what girls have and what they do.”
The counselor smiled. “I'm sure you do, but some of the other girls maybe embarrassed by your presence when those topics come up.”
“Then I'll have to take shop classes and drafting?”
“Yes, Merritt, and you'll do fine there,” she said. “You might just enjoy them.”
“I guess,” he said. He rose to leave, but she beckoned him to sit back down.
“Now, are you sure you want those secretarial classes next semester?” she asked.
“I think so,” he said, after a short hesitation. “I need to learn something like that to get a job.”
“You're wise, Merritt, but you may be the only boy in these classes. Does that bother you?”
“What can I do about that? I guess I'll have to accept it.”
“OK then, I'll set up your tentative schedule then and we can talk again.”
“Thank you Miss Henningson.”
He left the room, both disappointed; yet, he felt somewhat relieved since it might have been so difficult being the first boy in school history to take home economics. Everyone would look at him as sort of weird, he felt, but he knew he would have loved being “one of the girls” in the classes where he'd no doubt shine with his already honed skills in sewing and cooking. Still, there were his secretarial classes in the future, where he might be the focus of attention for his girlish ways.
*****
When Merritt was in a classroom, or doing his homework, he felt so safe and happy. He loved learning since it involved his mind and prompted his curiosity. He particularly liked history, constantly wondering what it would have been like living in the 14th Century among the Medici’shfg or in ancient Rome or Greece, perhaps enjoying the circles of young scholars around Socrates.
It was in the hallways, the cafeteria and the times before and after school where he found trouble. Boys still heckled him, calling him “sissy” or “queer” or “fairy” or “homo,” the favored terms of the era for suspected homosexual boys. Worst of all was gym class where the need to strip and change into his gym outfit, thereby exposing his puny body and undersized piece of manhood, always opened him to wisecracks, and sometimes even physical bullying. In the class itself, his physical weakness was demonstrated, where he was always among the last chosen in any competition.
There was no way to be excused from gym, which was held three days a week, and he vowed he'd stick it out as best he could. Merritt was learning how to endure through all sorts of shame and humiliation, just to prove he could survive.
As the 10th grade year continued, Merritt surprised himself -- and maybe even some of his tormentors -- by showing unusual skills dribbling and passing the basketball, and soon was pleased to find himself chosen by some of the better players for pickup games. To be sure, when he was involved in the pushing and battle for rebounds, he was easily pushed aside by the stronger boys, but he had an unusual ability to scoot around opposing players or keep the ball while dribbling.
“You handle the ball very well, Merritt,” his gym teacher said one day as he was leaving the locker room headed for his next class.
“Thank you, Mr. Lawson,” he replied, surprised that the gym teacher, an older man who was slender and balding. The teacher looked unprepossessing, almost meek, but in his gym clothes, the teacher showed strength in his sinewy arms and legs.
“You're very graceful, and you show good coordination,” he continued. “Let me ask you something.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Have you played tennis?”
“Yes, a little,” he said, remembering when he and Donna Mae used to go to the Humboldt Park courts when they were in junior high school.
“I'd like you to try out for the tennis team this spring,” he said.
“But, I'm not very good,” Merritt replied, appalled at the thought of competing in anything athletic. “I've only played with a girl.”
“That doesn't matter, Merritt. I think you could do well.”
“Anyway, we're beginning to hold some tennis lessons on Saturday morning in the gym, and I'd like you to attend.”
“Me?”
“Yes, and there'll be no charge,” he said. “I'm the tennis coach you know, and I'm looking out for talent. I'm trying to build a team.”
“Really, Mr. Lawson, I suppose I could try. I'm not sure I'm good enough.”
“Good, we start next Saturday at 9 o'clock. I'll give you the details Friday. See me after class then.”
“But I work on Saturdays,” Merritt said, remembering his work at Swenson's.
“Maybe your employer will let you come in a bit late. The class is only an hour, and we have tennis equipment.”
Merritt nodded, and hurried off to his class. He was both excited and scared; never before had he been praised for having any athletic talent, and here was the coach inviting him to try out for the tennis team.
“Hey Donna Mae,” Merritt yelled at his friend as she went through the alley behind the store on the way home. He had planned to stop her before she got home from school, and found his timing was perfect, getting out into the cold just as she entered the alley from the Bennett Street entrance.
“What Merritt?” she stopped.
“Wait up? Need to tell you something,” he said, running to catch her, his breath crystallizing in the frigid air.
“Hi,” she said, as he reached her.
“Remember when we used to play tennis?” he asked.
“Sure, a couple of years ago.”
“Well, Coach Lawson wants me to tryout for the tennis team this spring, and I don't think I'm good enough.”
“You were getting better each time we played,” Donna Mae answered. “Why does he think you could make the team?”
“You always beat me,” he said. “And you're a girl and I don't think he was recruiting me for the girl's team.”
“But you really were getting better, Merritt,” she said. “I had trouble beating you the last few times, you'll remember.”
“I guess I could learn,” he said. “They're beginning tennis lessons Saturday and he wants me to go.”
“Do it, if you can. You've got good coordination.”
“That's what Coach Lawson said, and he said I'm graceful.”
“Well, that you are,” she said with a smile.
Donna Mae said she was going to be on the Our Lady of Angels Catholic Girls' Academy, tennis team this year and indicated that once Merritt got through his tennis lessons, she'd love to beat him again. They both laughed.
*****
“You're so pretty, Marilyn,” his friend Billy said on Saturday after Merritt had put on the prom dress that Billy's sister had worn the previous year.
It had taken Merritt nearly a half hour to change, putting on the panties, bra and dress, along with fixing his hair and applying makeup and nail polish. Merritt wanted to look so beautiful and girlish for his friend that he was careful with each detail. He had prepared a pair of firm sponges the size of a B-cup breast for himself, and once stuffed into the bra filled him out as a lovely, well-formed teenage girl.
“Come on, Marilyn, hurry up,” Billy yelled through the door of the bathroom where Merritt was changing.
“I wanna be pretty for you, Billy,” he yelled back, his voice squeaking a bit. “It takes time for a girl to get ready. Don't you know that?”
“Oh I know, but I wanna see you.”
Finally, Merritt emerged, wearing the green halter dress, which exposed his almost dainty shoulders and thin arms. The dress was cinched at the waist, but flared out, ending just above the knees. Merritt wore no hose, since it was still in short supply due to wartime shortages, but had put on a pair of open-toed sandals with three inch heels. His toe nails were painted in a light pink tone that matched his lips. The sight was of a wholesome, girl next-door type, since Merritt had understated his eyeliner and shadow and his soft color on his lips. He was able to brush a slight bob to his longish hair, and fix a small bang on his forehead
Billy, who was waiting anxiously, leaped to his feet, hugging Merritt firmly, but avoiding kissing the lovely girl in his arms.
“You are prettier than my sister was,” he said. “She'd be so jealous.”
Merritt relished the moment in his friend's arms, at that moment feeling as if by magic he had become a complete girl in a half hour. He relaxed into the hold of this tall lanky boy, felt the boy’s larger hands caress his arms and wrap themselves around his shoulders.
“I want to show you off to the world, Marilyn,” Billy gushed. “I'll be the envy of every boy in school.”
Merritt accepted his friend's words as sincere, since at the moment he felt nothing other than a pretty girl. He turned his head up, as gave Billy and short kiss on his lips.
“What do you want to do now?” Merritt asked, finally breaking loose from his friend. They had settled on a couch, and Billy continued to place his right arm around Merritt's shoulders, while the other hand caressed the lovely girl's thighs.
“What does a guy do with a pretty girl?” Billy asked, quickly answering his own question. “Let's dance. I've got some Glenn Miller records and someone all you girls like -- Frank Sinatra.”
Billy went to the combination radio-phonograph console, lifting the cover on the large piece of walnut furniture, and placed a 78 rpm record on the turntable. He placed the needle on the record, and in an instant the familiar strains of “Stardust,” a popular Hoagy Carmichael piece, filled the room.
Merritt settled into the grasp of Billy, resting his head on the boy's shoulder as they danced slowly about the room. Merritt surprised himself on how well he followed; he had never danced much, except for a few times when they did it in junior high school. He had never dated a girl, either, so he had no great experience on the dance floor. Yet, he remembered in a recent visit with Beth she had taught him how a girl must follow on the dance floor, and he found he could play the role easily.
In less than three minutes, the record ended, and Billy had to release his grasp and change to another song. He picked another Hoagy Carmichael favorite, “The Nearness of You.” Soon the two were dancing again.
“That's perfect for us, Billy,” Merritt whispered into his friend's ear.
Billy drew him even more tightly as they did a slow fox trot around the room, dodging the easy chair and a coffee table they had moved to one side.
“You smell so nice,” Billy whispered back.
“Thank you, Billy. I wanted to be so perfect for you.”
“You are perfect, my perfect girl.”
They danced through half of the song, and Merritt began to feel tears in his eyes. He cursed himself for it, since he was so happy, but the realization hit him quickly. This would not last; in fact in less than an hour, Marilyn would have to vanish.
“You're so sweet, Billy,” he said. “How I'd like to be Marilyn forever.”
“I know, honey,” he said, leaning down to give him a short kiss. “Maybe you can be my prom date this year.”
“Oh, Billy, I'd love that,” he cooed.
“The prettiest girl on the floor, the prettiest girl in our class. That's you, really.”
“But I'll have to go as a boy, I guess,” Merritt said. “And that means finding a girl who'll go with me.”
“I know,” Billy said.
The afternoon continued for about an hour longer, filled with more dancing, sitting on the couch hugging and kissing. Neither boy said anything, but it was obvious to each other that they were shy about carrying their sexual pleasures further, largely because both boys were ignorant about most sexual activities and uncertain how to go about it.
Merritt's penis grew hard during most of the afternoon with Billy, but he seemed to be sobered by the reality that he would have to live his life out as a boy and then a man. He didn't begin crying until he walked home, when he feared his tears, running down his cheeks would freeze in the cold. He cried that night in bed, too.
*****
The phone rang shortly after Merritt and his mother got home on Sunday from the 11 a.m. mass, and his mother picked it up. “Marilyn,” his mother yelled, as Merritt had gone to his bedroom to change clothes. “It's for you.”
“For Marilyn?” he said back quickly. No one ever called him at home by that name.
“Yes, honey,” she said. “She said she was a friend.”
“OK,” he said, trying to use his soft feminine voice.
“Marilyn,” the voice said. He recognized it.
“Oh Dolores,” he answered, somewhat puzzled.
“I've been thinking about you since we last talked,” she said.
“Me too. I've had you on my mind. I was sorry, so sorry for fooling you.”
“I know, but I've been thinking about you so much,” she paused. “I was in such shock. I guess I wanted you so bad to be a girl.”
“I still feel I am a girl,” he said, reverting to his deeper voice. “But I guess I'm really not one. I'm weird. Why do you care about me?”
“You were so kind, so nice.”
“You too.”
“I'd like us to be friends still,” she said, suddenly.
“Me too.”
“Can we meet again, maybe for a soda or something?” she volunteered.
“Sure, I'd like that.”
“And,” she said, hesitatingly. “I'd like to see you as a boy. Is that OK.”
“I guess, but I'm not much of a boy,” he laughed outloud.
“Oh I think you'll be a handsome boy. Really.”
They agreed to go to a movie the following Friday night. Merritt hung up the phone, now feeling so happy that his honesty had paid off; he was still a friend of this marvelous, warm girl, Dolores.
*****
As pleased as Merritt felt over Dolores' renewed interest in him, he couldn't help but feel anxious over his pending date with the girl.
“Mom, how will I act with this girl?” he asked his mother one night after they cleaned up following dinner. “I don't know what a boy is supposed to do, or say.”
“Oh I think you'll do fine,” Evelyn said. “Just be yourself.”
“You mean act like a girl?”
“No silly, just be your own self. Respond to her questions, and be honest,” his mother said.
“About everything?”
“Yes, dear. From what you've told me, Dolores is a very smart girl and she's not too experienced in this dating business either.”
“I guess.”
“You said she told you she's never been on a date before, right?”
He nodded “yes.”
“Well, no doubt she's as embarrassed as you are thinking about Friday night.”
“I liked it better when we were girl friends,” he admitted.
Evelyn kissed her son, recognizing his very real concerns, and she wished totally that he would soon accept his role in life as a boy and man. She loved him both as a girl and a boy, but had to admit he made a better daughter than son. She was so pleased that Merritt was so open with her, and so eager to share his thoughts, desires and concerns. Most teen age boys, she knew, hid their lives from their parents. Not so with Merritt. Perhaps, she thought, the two had more of a mother-daughter relationship.
*****
“You're going on a date?” his friend Billy said in response to Merritt's mention of the Friday movie night.
“Yes, my first,” he admitted.
“As a boy?”
“Yes, Billy, as a boy.”
“But I love you as Marilyn,” Billy said, a twinkle in his eye.
“Me too, but I guess I better see what being a boy is all about.”
“Are you going to kiss her?” Billy said.
“I don't know,” he said, having never confessed to Billy that he and Dolores had already slept together, and done prolonged kissing and cuddling. “Besides, I don't think a boy is supposed to kiss on the first date.”
“It all depends,” Billy said.
“Are you jealous?”
“A little, but since you're not going out as Marilyn with a boy, I guess I'm not too upset,” Billy said.
Actually the two boys had developed a tight relationship, confessing to each other their darkest thoughts and most outlandish hopes. Perhaps it was their outsider status among the other students, and their general lack of confidence in being with others that created such a common bond. Billy, tall and awkward, had a pock-marked face from a childhood bout with chicken pox and short straight thick black hair along with a pointed nose. Not a handsome lad by any stretch of imagination, but with an open warm-looking face and luminescent dark eyes that one day would serve him well. But not in the doubting teen-age years.
*****
The question of what he was to wear for Friday night's date with Dolores troubled Merritt all week. He really had never concentrated much on his male clothes; he had a nice jacket and pants that he wore to church, but he felt that would be too formal for a movie date. He settled on a v-neck pullover sweater over a blue shirt and grey pants finally, looking at himself in the mirror.
He hated what he saw. The boy looking back had narrow shoulders and a thin neck, along with a rather cherubic face, that made him look puny and several years younger than his 16 years of age. He did a girly pirouette in front of the mirror, and giggled, thinking he really should go as a girl. He would have felt much more comfortable.
Yet, Dolores seemed pleased to see him when Merritt presented himself to front door at her house after the six-block walk from his home. His sorry appearance had been toughened up by the heavy winter coat he wore and the wool cap, so necessary in the cold.
“Hey you look so handsome, Merritt,” Dolores crowed upon opening the door.
“Not really,” he said, not willing to take a compliment.
“Well, you do. I didn't know what I'd see,” she said.
Dolores ushered him into the house, whispering in his ear, “Mom wants to see you now, as a boy. She remembered how pretty you were from Mrs. Buckner’s New Years Eve party.”
“Oh, really?”
“It'll be fine,” she said. “She’s OK with you. In fact, she urged me to call you up again. She thought you were nice.”
She yelled: “Mom, Merritt's here.”
Merritt's knees felt weak, and he wanted to melt away out of sight, but it was too late.
Dolores' mom was tall and thin, but also solidly built.
“Nice meeting you, Merritt,” she said, holding out a firm, calloused hand, in such contracts to Merritt’s own slender hand, soft and smooth.
“You kids are early,” Mrs. Graham said. “Come in a sit a minute.”
“So what does your father do?” Mrs. Graham asked when they were settled in the living room, after Merritt took off his rubbers.
“His father was killed in the war,” Dolores said quickly.
“My stepdad, actually,” Merritt corrected, “But I felt he was my father.”
“And he was a war hero, daddy,” she continued.
“Yes, he got the Navy Cross,” Merritt volunteered, adding that his mother worked in the hosiery mill making parachutes.
Mrs. Graham seemed pleased with these revelations, and Merritt grew more at ease as she asked some other questions, such as what he wanted to do in later life.
“I dunno,” he said. “I'm enrolled in business courses now.” It was technically true, but in reality the courses were more of a secretarial nature and mainly for girls.
“Well, you can't go wrong with that,” Mrs. Graham offered.
Thankfully, the question-and-answer process ended soon, and Merritt and Dolores were on their way.
“See, she liked you, Merritt,” Dolores said as they walked.
“I liked your mom, too.”
“I'm lucky,” she said. “You're my first real date, and I think she was more excited than I am.”
“It's my first date, too,” he said.
“We're a pair of squares, aren't we?” Dolores laughed, and Merritt giggled along with her.
Merritt felt tense the entire evening, truly not sure of whether he was acting as a boy should on a date with a girl. He had heard the other boys bragging about their “conquests” of girls, of “planking” this girl or that one, and he had always felt they were so crude. He was bothered by the tension he felt, and it certainly wasn't Dolores, who seemed to be totally receptive to his presence and seemed to like him immensely.
Yet, he wondered, how am I to be romantic with her? Will she reject my approaches, maybe laugh at me because of how awkward I was? His doubts consumed his thoughts that night, so that he hardly saw the movie they were supposed to be watching. He couldn't figure out why he was feeling so hesitant; after all this was the same girl he had found so easy to hug and kiss when he was Marilyn. Now, as Merritt, a boy, he felt totally ill at ease and inadequate.
Merritt wanted to put his arm around Dolores as they sat next to each other in the movie, but he was afraid she'd resent this move. He sat with his hands folded in his lap, trying to concentrate on the movie, “30 Seconds over Tokyo,” a World War II movie. He looked around him, seeing other couples, many with sitting with arms over the girls' shoulders, wondering whether they shouldn't do the same, but he was frankly afraid.
Finally, he felt Dolores' hand on his own, as she covered his hands lightly with her left hand, and looked into his eyes for a moment. He flushed with embarrassment for a moment, and even in the dark theater, he felt she must have felt his moment of humiliation.
Why did he feel this way? Something didn't feel right to him.
They held hands during the movie, but that was it. After stopping for a coke, they were soon walking home, and Merritt gave Dolores a short kiss on the lips at her front door.
As he walked home, he felt acute embarrassment for the entire evening. What kind of a boy must she think she was dating? I'm such a sissy, he thought to himself. I'm not much of a boy, he mused.
(To be Continued)
Merritt Lane McGraw feels he is a girl, but he is living through the Great Depression and World War II. It is a period before the words “crossdresser” and “transgender” were in the vocabulary and a time before sexual assignment surgery was a possibility. Can he live a double life?
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school.)
Chapter 20: The Homo Tag
Little he did in school seemed to help him come to any other conclusion that he was not much of a boy. In gym classes, he continued to be one of the weakest of boys, always losing in his weight class when wrestling and usually failing in such activities as rope climbing and doing pull-ups. He looked with some envy on other boys as they changed in the locker rooms, their arms rippling with muscles and their thighs firm with visible sinews. If he had looked further, he would have noticed many other boys didn't have such Adonis physiques; certainly some were chubby and soft and others skinny.
He was the only boy among 19 students in the Secretarial I course, in which typing skills and beginning shorthand were taught. At first the girls in the class looked at him as an oddity, and he wondered whether he should quit the course; as the semester continued, he was soon accepted as just one of the other classmates.
“You type so fast, Merritt,” Sally Orlowski said from her desk as the class was doing exercises on their ancient Underwood typewriters, the clacking raising an irregular cacophony.
“Oh?” he said, as he had finished typing the paragraph exercise just a few seconds before she had.
“I can't keep up with you,” Sally said. “Do you practice at home?”
“No, we don't have a typewriter,” he said.
“I don't know how you do it, except that you have such long fingers.”
In the typing exercises, the two of them usually finished ahead of the rest of the class, and they had developed a friendly rivalry, with Sally announcing that day as they left class together: “You beat me today, and that means you're ahead of me now. You've won three times, and me only twice.”
“Oh I'm sorry,” he said, and he truly was sorry, since he and Sally had developed a warm friendship and he didn't want to hurt her feelings.
“No, no, Merritt, I'm not sad,” she said. “I like competing with you. It's fun. I'll beat you tomorrow.”
He smiled.
“But how do you do it?” she asked. “You're a boy and now you're better at typing than all the girls.”
Merritt didn't know how to answer her; he wanted to tell her the truth that the deftness of his fingers probably came to the fact of his sewing, a talent he was trying to hide, for fear of the teasing it might prompt from other students, particularly other boys.
Several times Sally joined him at the lunch table. He enjoyed the fact that the girl did this on her own accord, rather than sitting with a gaggle of girls who were from working class families and seemed to separate themselves from the girls from the Highlands, an affluent part of the community. The girls from the flats -- a low area along the River -- tended to be taking non-academic courses, like Secretarial and Dressmaking and were mainly interested in finding a husband before their 20th birthdays.
Sally was slender, fairly swarthy in complexion, likely due to her Polish heritage, with tiny breasts. Her hair was dark and fell loosely about her shoulders, and Merritt thought she was beautiful, even though her dresses were often shapeless and plain. Her beauty, he felt, must come from her always cheerful and upbeat attitude, always ready to find humor in some of the mundane happenings in school.
“Tommy is getting jealous,” she announced on that lunch period. “I'm always talking about you.”
“Oh?” he asked, wondering what she was saying.
“I just tell him how nice you are, and how you've helped me in class, but you know how boys are. He wants me all to himself.”
“Yes, I guess I do,” he said. “I do like you, Sally, but I wouldn't want you to get in trouble with Tommy.”
Tommy was a burly lad who was an ordinary to indifferent junior who had constantly oil-stained hands from his parttime job at Joe McBride's garage. Chances are he'd volunteer for the Army right upon graduation, and probably looked to take Sally as his bride in the process. The idea haunted Merritt, not that he had any romantic designs upon the girl, but that he felt Sally was a talented lovely girl who deserved better than a life as a harried mother with four or five dirty-faced children living in the flats.
“I know you don't Merritt,” she said, leaning over and beginning to talk in a whisper.
“Can I tell you something, Merritt?” her voice was hesitant.
“Sure.”
Their voices were low now, and the cafeteria table was empty except for the two of them.
“I don't want to hurt your feelings, Merritt,” she began, “But, I almost look upon you as a . . . how should I say it? . . .”
Merritt suddenly had the feeling he knew where she was headed with the conversation. Nonetheless, he urged her to continue. “As I what? Go ahead, I won't mind.”
“As like I would another girl friend,” she whispered so softly now he barely heard the words.
He was momentarily dumbfounded and didn't know how to answer, realizing how true he remarks actually were. How could he feel any differently?
“Oh Merritt, I'm sorry, but it's true.”
“That's OK,” he admitted. “Sometimes I feel like that too, that I'm like one of the girls. I feel I'm just different.”
“Different, but nicer.”
He smiled, adding: “But I'll still beat you tomorrow in typing.”
“No you won't,” she giggled.
*****
Two days a week, on Wednesdays and Fridays, the class took shorthand, using the Gregg system; it meant complicated drills and repetitions of symbols, employing the squiggles and little tails of lines that so featured the popular shorthand of the era.
“Girls who know shorthand will almost always get a job,” Miss Appleton, the Secretarial Class teacher, told them.
Suddenly she spied Merritt in the classroom, adding that boys will always find the skill useful if they go to college for note-taking or even as courtroom reporters. The tallish, severe-looking woman, her hair tied back in a bun was still uncomfortable having a boy in her class, since she kept referring to her students as “girls.”
“Now for your posture, young ladies,” Miss Appleton began during a Friday class period, this time forgetting to correct herself to include Merritt in the references.
One of the girls, Amy O’Hara, sneaked a look in Merritt’s direction, when Miss Appleton referred to “young ladies” and smiled conspiratorially. Merritt blushed and looked away.
“Sit erect, ladies,” the teacher continued. “And hold the pad in your hand, meaning your left hand if you’re right-handed and right hand if you’re left-handed. Some of you girls may find it easier to cross your legs, but you must cross your legs very daintily, like this.” She demonstrated, carefully pulling her skirt down so that her knees were not exposed.
“Never, ever, girls, wear a skirt that is so short that the person who is dictating can see above your knees as you sit,” she said, still ignoring Merritt.
Out of the corner of his eye, Merritt could see Amy was trying to suppress a giggle, while looking in his direction. He wanted to hit the girl for her obvious enjoyment at this ridiculous situation.
“Now, all of you, I want you to stand up and sit down as I told you, folding your skirt underneath you as you sit,” the teacher continued.
Merritt joined the girls in the exercise, even pretending he wore a skirt as he sat down. He felt he had participated perfectly.
“Good,” said Miss Appleton. “Most of your girls did just fine, but Amy O’Hara you don’t seem to be taking this seriously. You sat down almost like a boy and your posture was terrible.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Appleton,” Amy replied, still trying to stifle a laugh.
“What’s so funny, girl?” the teacher demanded.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Amy O’Hara. Are you laughing at the teacher?”
“No, Miss Appleton.”
“What, then? Out with it girl. Share it with the class.”
“I can’t,” said Amy, a round-faced, chubby girl with freckles.
“Well?” The teacher stood over Amy, staring down at her, bringing the girl nearly to tears.
“Oh,” Amy said finally. “It’s just that you keep calling us girls, and there’s a boy in this class.”
Miss Appleton looked shocked, finally saying. “Of course there is and he’s one of the best students here. I don’t see anything funny in that. He executed the proper position perfectly. You should follow his example, Amy.”
Merritt suddenly felt so exposed to the girls in the classroom. He knew his years of pretending he was a girl had resulted in picking up feminine habits and mannerisms. Maybe Miss Appleton saw that femininity in his presence in the classroom and unthinkingly considered him to be one of the girls.
“Now, enough of this,” she said finally, changing the subject. “I’ll dictate a few simple sentences. If you studied your Gregg assignment, you should all know them.”
As the teacher began to dictate, Merritt assumed the proper position automatically and he could see Amy eyeing him warily as he began his shorthand scribbles. Suddenly he felt curiously dividing, feeling both humiliated and elated at being identified as assuming his posture in such a feminine manner.
*****
“Tommy’s not jealous anymore,” Sally said to him when they were seated together at lunch.
“Oh, how do you know?” he responded. The two were talking in their conspiratorial whisper.
“He thinks you’re a homo, and so he doesn’t care if we’re friends.”
“A homo?”
“Yes, although I don’t think so,” she said. “I just think you’re nice.”
“Thank you,” he nodded.
“A lot of guys think you’re a homo,” she added. “But just because you are always neat and are so polite doesn’t mean anything.”
“I just like being neat,” he said. “And I like being with girls a lot, I guess.”
“I must say that in shorthand class today, you really did act like a girl when you sat down, a lot better than Amy. She shouldn’t have laughed.”
“I was just doing what Miss Appleton wanted us to do.”
Sally put a hand on his slender forearm, looking at him. “I think you’re one of my best friends, Merritt, even if I sometimes think of you as a girl.”
Just then the bell rang, alerting them to class. Merritt was disturbed by this conversation, and it clouded his mind as he went through the afternoon classes.
*****
“I have a girl friend, Sally,” Merritt explained after school, as he joined her for the walk home. They both lived in the same general direction.
Merritt had caught up with the girl, who was cradling her book in her arms at her breasts. He was eager to tell her that he wasn’t a homo, or queer, or a fairy, the popular terms of the day, all derisive.
“I didn’t say you were a homo,” she said quickly. “That’s just what Tommy says you must be, taking typing and shorthand and all that.”
“I didn’t think you thought that,” he said. “You’re such a nice friend.”
“You too,” she said. “Where are you headed now?”
“Home, and then to my job.”
At that moment, Sally slipped on an icy spot in the walk. She righted herself, with Merritt grabbing her arm, and both of their books and looseleaf binders fell to the snowy boundaries of the walk, papers blowing in the wind. The two scrambled to gather them up, finally managing to do so.
“Oh, I didn’t see that ice,” Sally said. “Thank you, Merritt.”
She quickly gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, apparently in gratitude for his quick action in keeping her from falling.
“You’re blushing,” she said, as she drew away. “That’s so cute.”
“It’s just the cold,” he said, defensively.
“No, you’re blushing, Merritt. Don’t lie to me. Haven’t you ever been kissed by a girl before?”
“Yes, I have,” he protested.
“I love it when a boy blushes,” she said. “How many girls have you kissed?”
Merritt hesitated, finally answering, thinking of his awkward date with Dolores and of his “girl time” with her: “Just one, I guess.”
“You’re cute,” she repeated.
Hoping to change the subject, he asked her: “Do you work now?”
“Yes, I work some after school and Saturday at the five and dime store,” she said.
“Which one?”
“The Ben Franklin. And where’s your job?”
“I help out at Swenson’s.”
“Oh, the fabrics store and the dressmakers?”
“Yes, we live upstairs over the store. It’s handy.”
They were near 2nd Street, where they’d break apart and Sally would go north and he south to their respective homes.
“What do you do there, Merritt?” she asked suddenly.
“Just help out,” he said, hoping the questioning would end soon.
“Really?” she queried. “I’m told they do lots of nice dresses there, even prom dresses.”
“Yes, they do,” he agreed.
In fact, the store was slowly getting a reputation for its great, and relatively inexpensive, dress designs. Mostly it was said that the Swensons had a great seamstress.
“Who’s the seamstress there?” she asked.
“Oh,” he said, his face growing red. “My mother,” he lied, knowing he had been doing most of the sewing since her mother’s job in the hosiery works included so much overtime.
They stopped the corner, and Sally, held him from leaving.
“Ever help her out sewing, Merritt?”
“A little,” he finally admitted.
“I thought so,” she said, triumphantly. “That’s why your fingers move across the typewriter keys so easily.”
He nodded, trying to turn away and leave.
“I bet you do lots of sewing, don’t you?” she pressed. “You are always so neatly dressed. I’ve never seen a boy so clean and neat as you.”
“Oh I just like being neat,” he said.
“Well, I like you, Merritt, and I bet you’re good at sewing, too.”
“Pretty good,” he agreed, reluctantly. “But I don’t like to tell people that. Most don’t think a boy should be sewing.”
“I guess not, but you’re secret’s safe with me, Merritt,” she said, turning to leave.
“Yes, please don’t tell anyone, I get called enough names as it is,” he said.
“I know, and I won’t. You’re sweet boy.”
He walked home disturbed how easily his secret came out. He knew he’d have to get another job if he was ever going to be accepted as a boy.
*****
Later that afternoon, as the day darkened in the early dusk of winter, Merritt lost himself in fashioning a new party dress for Abigail Hunter, a 16 year old girl from one of Riverdale’s affluent families. The girl was quite chubby, but insisted on having a dress that exposed her shoulders and arms, as well as her husky thighs.
“I tried to talk her out of such a dress,” Hilda Swenson told Merritt, as he settled down with patterns the girl had chosen while stopping in the shop. “She shouldn’t show that much skin, I told her, but that’s what the girls are wearing this year.”
“She should at least wear a wrap with it,” Merritt agreed, looking at the measurements Hilda had taken. Judging from the measurements, Merritt felt he would be designing a dress for a pig, but he wouldn’t say that out loud.
“Maybe you could fashion one for her, and we can just add it to the dress without charge,” Hilda said. “You know this is the first customer from the Highlands area, and maybe if we do this one well, we’ll get more business.”
Merritt was aware that the dress-making side of Swenson’s Shop was getting more and more business; among the families in the “flats,” the word was out that Swenson-designed dresses were not only affordable for the low-incomes of the flats families, but were stylish as well. Merritt was largely responsible for the success of their custom-made dresses, he knew, but was more than happy to let Hilda and his mother take the credit.
Making Abigail happy would be a challenge, Merritt knew, and that helped to take his mind off his troubled discussions with Sally on the way home from school. He got lost in his work, finally picking a dark violet material that he felt would help create a classy dress, and give him some hope of making his client look slim and attractive. It would be difficult, but a happy result would bring new fans to Swenson’s and more earnings for both the Swenson’s and himself.
Before he started on Abigail’s dress, Merritt completed putting finishing touches on a dress for another customer, one of the neighborhood girls who was in her freshman year of college and needed a dress for a sorority dance. The girl had a trim figure, judging from the measurements, and Merritt had not liked the belt he had designed to cinch her waist tight, and he had created a new cloth belt. As he often did, he closed the door to his workroom, locking it, and climbed into the dress himself. He did this on a regular basis, as he explained to a curious Hilda Swenson, to see how a dress would hang.
“Can’t you tell from using the mannequin?” Hilda asked him one day.
“Not really, it doesn’t show the natural curves,” he replied, embarrassed by her question, since he felt she must have suspected his real reason was that he liked to wear dresses.
Merritt was particularly fond of this dress, as he was aware that the customer had nearly the same dimensions as he did, except in the chest area. He took particular interest in creating a lovely dress, one that he himself would be proud to wear. When he modeled dresses, he put on bras and stuffed them to match the girl’s own measurements.
Once dressed, he examined the finished product in the full-length mirror, always astonished at how completely feminine he looked. Usually, he asked either his mother or Hilda to judge the dress, too.
“What a lovely girl I see,” he said softly to himself. He smiled, taking a few movements that would have wowed judges on a fashion runway.
He added a necklace and a pair of clip-on earrings, along with a pair of short heeled-sandals he kept in the shop to create a full package of femininity. Unlocking the door to the workshop, he called to Hilda to examine the final product.
“That is a masterpiece, Merritt,” the shop owner said. “And you look particularly ravishing in it, dear.”
Merritt twirled about, having the full skirt flow in the wind, as he viewed his slender, shapely legs and pretty shoulders which accentuated the dress. He particularly liked the shoulder treatment of the dress. It had been fussy work, creating and sewing ruffled shoulder straps that formed short sleeves and created a square bodice.
“Sit down, Merritt,” Hilda said after he had shown the dress from all possible angles.
“I have been wondering about something,” she began. “You’ve been the key to our success this year in the business. We’ve never had so many dress customers and more and more are coming, just by word of mouth. They like what you’ve created.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Swenson,” he said. He was seated primly, his legs crossed and his slender hands folded on his thighs.
“Maury and I were talking, and we think we should reward you in some way, such as making you and your mother partners in the store. We’d like also to begin advertising the dressmaking we do — actually, you do — to a wider sets of clients, and maybe even letting you create a line of clothes.”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Swenson. What would mother think?”
“I’ve sounded her out on the idea, and she wants me to leave it up to you, dear.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It sounds OK, but I still don’t know.”
“That’s OK, you have time to think about it,” she said. “By the way, would you like to make a copy of this dress?”
“Yes, I would,” he said enthusiastically.
“It’ll be yours, honey, but we may want to use it as a model to promote the business,” she explained. “The store will provide the material for you.”
He smiled. He loved the dress, and gave Mrs. Swenson a quick kiss.
*****
“Oh mother,” he said excitedly to Evelyn that night. “I just finished my favorite dress of all time, the prettiest, loveliest dress ever.”
“I know, Hilda told me about it.”
“And, I’m going to make a copy for myself. I look so beautiful in it, mother, really . . . so beautiful.”
“Honey, calm down,” Evelyn said. “Did she tell you what else she has in mind?”
It was a night for Marilyn, and he was dressed in a plaid skirt, white blouse, and pearls and wore saddle shoes with short white socks, making him look like a cute school girl. He sat down on a dining room chair, his knees together, hands folded primly.
“Yes, she did,” Merritt said, his giddy joyfulness suddenly subdued. “And I don’t know whether we should do it.”
Evelyn drew her chair close to his, taking his hands in hers, feeling the warmth exuding from the boy’s dainty hands.
“I think I understand,” she said. “You have such a great talent, though, Merritt, and this might be an opportunity for your future.”
“I know mother, but I would really be heading my life into one of dresses and fashions and being so totally feminine, and I’m not sure about that.”
“It’s a choice, and sometimes,” Evelyn said, “It seems that’s what you are and want to be, a girl and a woman.”
“I know, mother,” he said, “And it would be so much easier if I could turn into a woman right here and now, but that’s not possible. God made me a boy.”
Tears began to form in his eyes, and his mother lightly patted his hands, letting the moment linger.
“What do you want to do, honey?” she said. “You’re taking secretarial classes now and you’re good at that, but you could be so successful as a dressmaker. And make so much more money.”
“I don’t even know if I wanna be a secretary,” he said. “That’s no job for a boy . . . er . . . for a man.”
“Well, we don’t need to decide now, honey, but Hilda was sweet to make the offer.”
She kissed her son, his perfumed scent permeating the air. He was so pretty, so totally girlish.
*****
Merritt became more and more aware of the progress of the War as the winter of 1944-45 progressed. After the promise of the Allies taking Normandy in June 1944 had soured, due to the ambush worked by the Germans in the Battle of the Bulge, causing great casualties to U.S. troops, Merritt became conscience of the terrible horrors of war.
For a history course required essay, he dug into newspaper files to study the landing at Tarawa that had claimed the life of his stepfather, realizing the terrible loss of life in that ill-planned attack. He heard of the terrible bombing of Dresden by U. S. planes which had killed many civilians; even though they were citizens of the enemy country, Merritt felt it was unfair.
At first, Merritt kept his thoughts to himself, thinking he may be bordering on being unpatriotic. After all, shouldn’t he believe in the United States and its greatness. Well, yes, he did, but it still seemed that war had terrible horrors. Was there not a way to end such wars?
The cold winter was nearing an end, and as they walked home one day, he hinted about his concerns to Sally, fully expecting a rebuke from her.
“It’s awful, isn’t it, this war business?” she replied.
“But the Nazis are evil and the Japs, too,” he responded.
“Oh yes, we had to fight this war, but this should be the last war in history,” she said. “No more wars after this.”
“That would be great,” he said. “I guess there’s talk about having something like the old League of Nations.”
“It’s got to be better than that,” Sally said, surprising Merritt with her knowledge of world affairs.
“I know, the League had no power and the U.S. didn’t even join.”
Merritt’s interest in the war and its causes prompted him to read every issue of Time Magazine that the Swenson’s got, covering the news sections thoroughly. He shared his and Sally’s discussion with Billy Johnson, who also had been gaining greater interest in current affairs.
“I’ve heard of something called the World Federalists,” Billy said a few weekends later, as the two were listening to records at the McGraw flat. “It would be like a United States of the World, and could take away the need for wars.”
The idea intrigued Merritt, and soon the three of them were discussing forming some sort of a group at Riverdale West; it turned out, as well, Edith said she was with a group of girls at Our Lady of the Angels Academy were talking about the same idea. It appears that a national organization, called the United World Federalists, was leading the effort and was organizing student chapters across the United States.
The idea had become so consuming to Merritt that he forgot to tell Billy of his new dress, the copy had had made. He wanted to wear it and see what his friend thought about it.
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Meanwhile, he has worked secretly as a seamstress for a shop and his talents have drawn much business to the store. In high school, he has chosen secretarial courses, one of the few boys ever in the class.)
Chapter 21: The Mardi Gras Party and Merritt’s Lenten Promise
Merritt, too, looked more closely at God and began taking mass and his prayers more seriously. He had never really thought of himself as religious, in fact had wondered often whether the Catholic Church and all its glitter and ceremony was nothing but a major con job on people. Yet, the devastation of the War had raised his consciousness to the complexities of life, the cruelty of man to man and the lack of promise in the world.
He considered putting a complete halt to his dressing as his Lenten penance, but his mother informed him that Viola was planning a Mardi Gras party on Maundy Tuesday for women only, and she invited Evelyn and Marilyn to come. Dolores and Beth would be there, and Merritt suspected that Beth’s girl friend, Billie, would be there too.
By now, Merritt became aware that the women, including his mother, were likely homosexual, or at least bisexual. The parties held by Mrs. Buckner were for such women, and it was obvious that there would be sexual overtones. Merritt had heard of “free love,” a lifestyle that began a decade earlier in such exotic places as Paris and Manhattan and San Francisco, but only recently had found a toehold in the Midwest, and then only behind drawn curtains in private homes.
“I don’t think I should go, mom,” Merritt said. “I’m trying to give up being Marilyn for Lent.”
“Oh, come on, you’ll have fun,” Evelyn said. “Beth I know wants you there. You don’t have to dress up too girlish.”
Merritt worried, too, about how he’d respond to Dolores after their awkward boy-girl date of several weeks earlier. The two had not even talked on the phone since then; he queried Donna Mae as to whether Dolores mentioned him during their own conversations at Angels Academy. He was surprised to learn Dolores said nothing.
“No mom,” he said resolutely.
“Ok,” she said, not willing to push the matter. “But they’ll miss you hon.”
He knew his mother, too, had been concerned that her acceptance of Merritt’s girlish behavior may end up causing the boy terrible consequences as he began to enter the world of men.
“Well,” he said finally. “Since Lent doesn’t start ‘til tomorrow, I guess I can.”
*****
Merritt chose a saucy peasant-girl outfit for Viola’s party. The full print white skirt with loud lavender and red and yellow designs flowed from a tight, heavy black belt, topped by a lavender blouse with ballooning sleeves, a plunging square bodice. After he put the dress on, he let his hair flow freely.
“Mom,” he said vaulting from his bedroom into hers as she was preparing to ready herself, “Look, I’m Carmen.”
“Oh my yes,” she said, turning around as she stood dressed only in a slip. “The cigarette girl from the opera.”
“All I need is a rose in my teeth,” he giggled.
Merritt did a few quick pirouettes ending up hugging his mother tightly. It was a moment of sheer joy, which briefly relieved the tension of the coming evening when he’d have to again meet Dolores. He wanted so much to hug the girl, to resume their warm times together as girls; yet, he knew that may never again happen.
*****
“Marilyn, my lovely Marilyn,” Viola gushed as Merritt and his mother came in from the slushy February evening, leaning over to take off their boots.
“Here, honey, sit here, and let me help you.” It was Beth, Viola’s daughter. She rushed over to lead Merritt and his mother to a bench in the foyer, especially set up for visitors to remove their boots.
Beth took their coats, handing them to a young woman, obviously a maid, who walked off with the coats. Beth knelt down before Merritt, offering to accept a leg to assist in taking off the boots.
“Thanks, Beth, these are so tight,” he said, gladly holding out his leg.
Beth took his right leg, and began to pull off the boot, looking up at him. “Just as lovely as ever, my dear,” she said.
“Yes, I love her outfit. It’s so sassy.” Merritt looked up to see it was Billie, Beth’s longtime girl friend, who was commenting.
Merritt felt the woman was leering at him. Billie was in mannish garb, a suitcoat and slacks; her hair was trimmed short, and fixed tightly against her head. Her voice was husky.
Merritt smiled up at her, and Billie returned a quick wink. He quickly averted the look, looking down at Beth, who in tugging to get the boot off had missed the interchange.
Finally, the boot was off, and Beth looked up at her friend, a scowl communicating disgust with Billie’s innuendoes toward Merritt. It was a look that could hardly be mistaken as anything but one made out of jealousy. Merritt recalled the tentative advances the muscular Billie had made to him during the New Years Eve Party.
*****
It was with mixed emotions that Merritt awaited Dolores’ arrival to the party, apprehension at how the girl would react and worried even more at his own response. Would she welcome him warmly, now that he was back as “Marilyn?” Or, would she snub him, perhaps not even talk to him? After their troubled date, he had not tried to call her, fearful of her reaction. He hated his shy and tentative behavior: would he ever have the courage to face up to a personal rebuff?
As expected, Dolores Graham and her mother were the last to arrive, their entrance greeted with a blast of cold, damp air as they entered.
Merritt could see into the foyer, catching a glimpse of Dolores, who was untying her scarf, a babushka that gave her a peasant look that was surprisingly cute and appealing. And, to his joy, Dolores looked at him, seeing him again as Marilyn, and her face lit up. She gave a modest wave of the scarf in his direction. He smiled, and moved over on the couch, as if to open up a space for Dolores once she got her coat and boots off.
“Marilyn,” Dolores said, rushing to the space he opened up between himself and his mother and giving him a sisterly kiss as she sat.
“Hi Dolores,” he said simply, smoothing his skirt as he sat. “You look very cute tonight.”
“You think so? Really?”
Merritt could see the girl flush with embarrassment; he knew she always thought of herself as an ugly duckling, largely due to her athletic body and rather plain looks. He, however, always thought of her as beautiful with her plain, unadorned face, rarely with any makeup.
“Oh yes, that outfit looks so nice on you,” Evelyn said, sitting on the other side of Dolores and overhearing the two.
“It’s one that Marilyn insisted I buy when we went shopping that day. I love it. She has taught me so much about wearing pretty clothes.”
The dress was a one-piece halter style of soft cotton in a dark violet color, without any trim. If flowed gracefully to below her knee, and was belted. She wore flats, coffee-colored stockings and a short white knit sweater.
“My daughter always has the best taste in clothes,” Evelyn said.
“Yes, she does, Mrs. McGraw,” Dolores said.
The group played charades most of the evening, which ended before 11 p.m., since the following day was Ash Wednesday, and most would be going to mass and it was a workday for Evelyn and Mrs. Graham both.
“I like you better as Marilyn,” Dolores told Merritt when they snuck off to the den to finish their punch. The two drank non-alcoholic beverages, while the older women were into Tom Collins and Martinis, which had become popular in the 1920s and 30s.
“Me too,” he smiled, as they sat together on a love seat in the den, holding hands.
They hugged each other and kissed, this time with far more passion than they did on their date; Merritt felt his penis grow hard as he surrendered his body into her strong grasp. He loved being held firmly by the girl, feeling weak and defenseless in her arms.
“Dolores,” he said, after the two separated to take sips from their drinks. “I’d love to make you a dress for your prom.”
“Really, but I don’t know if anybody will ask me to the prom,” she said.
“Don’t you girls at Angel’s sometimes ask the boys, since you’re an all girls’ school?”
“Yes, but I’d feel so weird doing that. Who’d want to go with me?”
“I’ll make you look so pretty,” he said, smiling. “And it you don’t want to ask anyone, I’d take you, if you’d have me.”
“Would you?” she beamed.
“I could be your boy friend and secret girl friend all in one body,” he said, giving out with a giggle.
She drew him to her, and they shared playful kisses, giggling quietly.
Dolores agreed that she’d stop by Swenson’s so Merritt could make the measurements in the next week and so they could look at patterns together.
“That’ll be so much fun,” she said.
“I want to do it so badly for you, Dolores,” he said. “It’ll be a gift from me to you.”
“Oh, I can’t accept that, Marilyn,” she said. “I’ll figure out how to pay somehow.”
Merritt knew Dolores’ family was not wealthy and couldn’t afford the full price of a custom made dress. Finally, he suggested that she could pay for the materials, and he’d provide his labor as a gift.
After that was settled, he said, his voice taking on a serious tone: “Now I have something to tell you.”
“Oh, this sounds ominous,” she said.
He paused for a moment, finally saying, “This is my last night as Marilyn.”
“What?” she said, alarm in her voice.
“For Lent, I’m giving up being Marilyn, or even dressing up as a girl,” he said, tears forming in his eyes.
“You’re serious about that?” she asked, amazed. “I saw you as Merritt, and I like Marilyn better.”
He said nothing, and resumed the hug, trying to hold back tears. It felt like he was burying part of himself, that Marilyn was being murdered.
“Oh honey, I know this is weird, but you really are a girl,” she continued.
He began sobbing and laid his head upon her breasts and she held him tightly, feeling his body throb in his silent crying. He felt so protected in her arms.
The door opened, and in walked Beth and her friend Billie.
“What’s this?” Beth demanded.
“Marilyn here tells me she’s going to quit being a girl,” Dolores said.
“What?” Beth said, not believing what she heard.
“You can’t, Marilyn,” Billie said, rushing to engulf both Dolores and Merritt in her arms.
“Why, Marilyn?” Beth demanded. “Dry your tears now, and tell your Bethie.”
Merritt pulled himself away from the hugs, and accepted the hanky provided by Dolores, wiping his tears, rubbing some of the foundation and rouge from his face.
“I’ve got to realize I have to live as a man,” he said simply. “There’s no choice, otherwise I’ll never get a job and support myself. Mother can’t always support me.”
He explained that he and his mother had fully discussed this, and he came to the conclusion that he was going to strengthen his body, become more masculine and do well in school.
“My family and my grandparents nearly starved during the depression,” he said. “I’m scared, and I’m not strong like other boys. How can I ever work?”
The three argued with him, pointing out how talented he was as a seamstress; or, they said he could be a fashion designer; and, also, they said he could become a male secretary. There’d be jobs out there.
“Aren’t you doing well in that secretarial class?” Dolores asked.
“Yes,” he nodded. “I guess I’m the fastest typist, and I’m picking up taking dictation real fast.”
“There, you see,” commented Beth.
“But, I’m the only boy in the class,” he protested.
“Too bad you can’t live as a woman,” Billie said, giving Merritt a barely noticeable wink , turning her face so that Beth wouldn’t see it.
But, Merritt said he had made up his mind. He’d work hard at playing tennis, maybe win a letter. He’d start lifting weights, he said, so he could work in the factory or do construction. He’d quit his seamstress work, and maybe work at the country club in groundskeeping.
As it turned out, that night was Marilyn’s last night out, at least for now. When would she venture out again, I ever?
*****
He went to the 7 a.m. Ash Wednesday mass the next morning, kneeling primly at the altar rail as he awaited for Father James Mulcahy to get to him, watching out of the corner of his eye as the priest went down the altar rail, placing his ash and oil thumb on each penitent’s forehead. Merritt made sure his longish hair was pulled back from his forehead, making it easy for the priest to administer the mark.
If he had realized it, Merritt would have known his posture would have been that of a young lady, sweet and quietly prayerful. Somehow, he had told himself, he must now assume a most angelic demeanor, and he prayed long and hard to receive the intercession of God to assist him in living a more saintly life. He had taken to saying the rosary daily, a 20 —minute process in which he tried, often vainly, to repeat the decades of “Hail Mary’s” and the intermittent “Our Father’s” in a soft voice. So often his mind would wander, often to a vision in which he was a lovely, lithe angel in a flowing gown and long blond hair, approaching a heaven framed in white fluffy clouds when the Lord would greet him with the words, “Welcome sister.”
The dream was filling his mind as Father Mulcahy reached him, with Pete O’Brien, an altar boy whom Merritt knew, holding the urn of ashes.
Father Mulcahy, slowed his machine-like administering of ashes to the foreheads of the parishioners, pausing before Merritt, smiling, finally placing his thumb on the boy’s forehead and saying the Latin words for “From ashes to ashes.”
Merritt sensed a strange communication arising from the priest, focusing obviously upon him. Did the priest thumb linger just a bit longer on Merritt’s forehead than it did on the others also kneeling at the rail, he wondered. The altar boy got a “knowing look” on his face. As the pair passed on to the next parishioner, the altar boy leaned over slightly to Merritt and whispered something almost inaudible.
Did he say “sissy?” Merritt wondered.
That thought shattered Merritt’s sweet dream, bringing him back to reality.
*****
The following day, after Merritt returned from school, he received a phone call from Father Mulcahy.
“Merritt, I'm so happy I reached you, my boy,” the priest's voice was soft and lilting, almost like he was singing.
“Yes, father,” he said, wondering why the priest was calling.
“Merritt I have been observing you in church recently, and you always did so well in Sunday school,” he began.
“Yes, father.”
“And you look so very pious.”
“Yes, father,” Merritt's was becoming concerned as to where this was all headed.
“Do you know what an acolyte is?” the priest asked.
“Well, I guess it's like an altar boy, only more so,” he said.
“I guess you could say that,” Father Mulcahy said, his sing-songy lilt growing even more pronounced.
“Only it's like an assistant to the priest, someone who knows the sacraments and can help the priest out in many chores,” he added. “I'm hoping you'd consider trying out for that. I've got several boys in mind, but you always seemed to be so involved in our Sunday school classes, I immediately thought of you. Sadly, not many of our altar boys have ever taken an interest in this.”
“But, father,” Merritt said. “I've never even been an altar boy. You know, I go to public schools, and all the altar boys go to St. Pat's.”
“I know that, and I wondered why you never attended here.”
“We never had the money, father,” he responded.
“Well, that's a shame. What do you think about this? I'm interviewing several boys and I'd like to talk to you about it. Maybe next week, Wednesday, after school in the rectory?”
“Oh I don't know, father, I've got school and my job.”
“Well think about it son,” the priest said. “I'd so like you to join us here. You'd be a great help to me, my boy.”
Merritt agreed he'd talk to his mother about it, and let him know the next day. He hung up, wondering what prompted the priest's sudden interest in him. He almost sounded desperate, Merritt thought, in the way he pleaded with him to become his acolyte.
As he changed into his work clothes, Merritt began laughing outloud, even though he was alone. “If I was to be in a religious order,” he giggled, “It’d be the Sisters of St. Francis.”
He put a towel over his head, as if to mimic a nun’s habit, and smiled.
Evelyn was not enthusiastic about Father Mulcahy’s request, wondering whether Merritt truly had any “calling” for being religious. While Evelyn and Merritt had been regular mass-goers, it had not been with any great conviction as to the belief in the being deeply penitent.
“Do you really want to do this, Merritt?” she asked after he told her of the call from Father Mulcahy.
“I don’t know, mom, but Father Mulcahy sounds like he really wants me.”
“Well, you’ve always liked him, honey, but how much time would it take?”
“He said that he’d need me for Tuesday night devotions, to work with the Altar Society on Fridays and one mass on Sunday.”
“You’re so busy now with your job and school, honey, but if you wish to try it out, I guess it’s OK.”
Merritt agreed he’d accept Father Mulcahy’s invitation and interview for the position, but he felt he’d get the position since it sounded like he was the priest’s favorite. Besides, he felt, maybe this is a step to be accepted better as a boy.
*****
The six weeks of Lent — in which he never once wore a piece of girl’s clothing — became agony for Merritt. So often, he would see a girl, dressed simply in her school uniform, and so wished it was himself, going to school as a cute girl. He pictured himself in every gown he fashioned in the workshop at the rear of Swenson’s Shop; it was prom season, and he was sewing numerous gowns for girls at the high schools in town, and he dreamed of looking pretty and dainty in them while be twirled about the dance floor in the arms of the school’s star football player. And, why shouldn’t Marilyn have the hottest boy in school; she was, after all, the prettiest and most feminine of all the girls.
He lived through the Lenten period concentrating on his school work, taking his tennis lessons on Saturday morning seriously and trying mightily to act more masculine.
Still he was tagged as a sissy as often as before. He was pushed around in the hallways at school and snickered at time and again. He was still misidentified as a girl by store clerks and casual persons he’d meet on the street. And, he still hated his gym classes, where he continued to be scoffed at and humiliated due to his general physical weakness.
He cried many nights, alternately wishing he could be a girl, and then cursing the fate that gave him such a feminine demeanor, but with the anatomy of a male. “I am a girl,” he cried as he tossed and turned in his bed, awaiting sleep that was slow to come.
“No,” he’d argue with himself. “I am a boy and I will live as a boy and a man.”
Then he’d pray that God would provide him with the strength to become the boy and man. Did God ever listen to his prayers, he wondered.
*****
Surprising even himself, at the completion of the Saturday tennis classes in March, Merritt was named to the varsity tennis team. In truth, there wasn’t much competition for the team, since tennis was never a big sport at Riverdale, but Coach Lawson had been working hard to revitalize the sport at the school.
“You made the team,” Wayne Buttridge, a tall, lanky youth yelled to Merritt as he entered the locker room for the last Saturday morning session.
“I did?” Merritt said. “Really?”
“I told you that you would, Merritt,” the boy said. “You worked so hard at it, and Coach likes that.”
“But I’m not very good,” he said.
“Oh yes, you are, except that your serves are too weak, but you can work on that,” Buttridge said.
He was the senior captain of the team, and its No. 1 singles player. Merritt had grown to like the boy, who was fun to play with. Merritt always lost the set, but was able to win a few games along the way, and always forcing the star player to work for his points. The boy was the first to say “good shot” or to praise a crafty dump that Merritt had perfected in fooling his tennis foes.
Six boys didn’t make the team, and they were assigned to the JV squad. One of them, a tall, blond headed know-it-all loved to bully Merritt, calling him “fairy” or “queer” whenever he could. Things got worse when Merritt beat him in short head-to-head matches, forcing the Coach to draw the boy aside and caution him on his behavior. That didn’t stop the snide comments he’d make in whispers to Merritt in the locker room.
Merritt couldn’t wait to tell Donna Mae about his selection to the team, since she had introduced him to the game years before.
Merritt and Donna Mae, often with Edith there as well, made it a practice to meet on Fridays after school at Morgan’s Sweet Shoppe for ice cream sodas. He loved these sessions, often turning into giggling and trying to “one-up” each other with wise remarks. Merritt realized that he was just one of the girls in these sessions, and often other girls joined the group.
Occasionally, the tennis bully would also be in the ice cream shop, and would saunter by, making a snide remark at Merritt for being “girly,” but Donna Mae was always quick to respond, sometimes with a remark similar to: “What’s a matter? You scared of us girls? Be a man and join us.”
Normally the boy, taken aback at the sharp response, would slink off; occasionally a boy might make a remark like, “Well if I was a girl like Merritt, I would.”
Then Edith would pitch in with a comment, such as: “You’re not good enough to join us.”
Merritt had grown used to these situations, but never could get over the momentary humiliation they caused. But the fact was he felt right at home with the girls.
As the war had progressed, ice cream had become harder and harder to get, largely because the milk content had to be reduced, apparently due to food demands on the war front. In recent months, there was no vanilla ice cream, and soda and sundaes were made with pineapple sherbet, as a substitute for vanilla.
“You’re in luck today, girls,” announced Morgan, the rotund shop owner, “We’ve got a shipment of real ice cream.”
With that, Edith, sitting next to Merritt, poked him playfully. “He only sees girls here,” she chided.
Merritt smiled, feeling somewhat strange about the whole situation, but pleased nonetheless that he was apparently seen as a girl, always sitting in the midst of a group of girls, his longish hair and pretty face.
*****
“I heard you made the tennis team,” Donna Mae commented as he along with Edith began the walk home.
“Yes, I can’t believe it,” he said, still pleased that he was good enough.
“I told you that you’d do it, Marilyn,” she said, teasing him a bit with using his girl’s name.
“I would have been happy to make the girls’ team,” he said, joining in the fun.
“Well, you’re not that good!” Donna Mae said, with a laugh.
It was true, he still lost his matches against Donna Mae; but then, she was No. 1 singles player for the Our Lady of the Angels Academy team.
“I’m proud of you,” Edith said, grabbing his arm as the walked home in the gathering dusk of a late March afternoon, their breath crystallizing in the cold temperatures.
“Thanks,” he said.
“When Lent’s done next month, will you start being Marilyn again,” Edith asked. “I miss her.”
“I do, too,” he said, having grown comfortable sharing his deepest thoughts with both of the girls who had proven they could be trusted to keep a confidence. And, the two girls also shared that view of Merritt, who kept to himself all of the stories the girls told about their boy friends. Both Donna Mae and Edith had developed “up and down” relationships with their boy friends.
“Yes, Merritt, is Marilyn buried for now?” Donna Mae persisted.
“I think so,” he said. “Mom and Uncle Frank have been after me to stop.”
“Uncle Frank?” Edith queried. “What’s he got to do with it?”
“He just got discharged from the Army, and he’s living with us for a while.”
“That’s your mother’s brother, right?” she asked.
“Yes, he was injured pretty badly in France, and has problems walking,” Merritt explained. “I think they’re worried I won’t get a job unless I get a bit stronger and all that. Besides, I’ll have to go in the service if this war continues longer.”
“Oh, that’s too bad, Marilyn’s so pretty,” Donna Mae lamented.
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Now in his sophomore high school year, Merritt finds his effort to become more and more masculine challenged.)
Within two weeks of the Our Lady of the Angels prom, the war in Europe was over! V-E Day, as it was called, signifying the “Victory in Europe,” came with great celebration, and Merritt joined Donna Mae and Edith after school in taking the streetcar to Grand Avenue, the city’s principal street, where people poured out, filling the street shoulder to shoulder for eight blocks. People cheered and kissed strangers; some swigged whisky or drank from bottles of beer, as they caroused down the avenue.
The crowd had cleared an opening on the pavement in front of the Avenue Record Shop, which was blaring music into the outdoors, mainly fast swing music such as the “One O’Clock Jump” and the “Johnson Rag.” Several couples were jitterbugging in the opening, one *Negro couple being particularly demonstrative in their acrobatics, while two other couples contented themselves with more conventional forms of the popular dance of the time.
*At the time, the most respectful form of address would have been the word ‘Negro,’ as ‘African-American’ is a relatively new usage.
“We can do that Merritt,” Edith said enthusiastically.
“What?” he answered.
“Do the jitterbug. We did it before, remember?”
Merritt smiled, recalling several times the two of them danced together at the various house parties the teens had held, playing records, drinking soda and eating popcorn.
Donna Mae and Edith were still in their school uniforms, wearing plaid skirts and white blouses, with blue cardigan sweaters carrying the Angel’s logo. Merritt had changed from his school clothes (West High had no uniform) and into a pair of dark blue jeans, with the cuffs rolled up very neatly. All three wore saddle shoes. His longish hair flowed freely.
“Go ahead,” Donna Mae encouraged. Despite her athleticism, she never was much of a dancer.
Edith grabbed Merritt’s hand and soon they were the fourth couple displaying their talents on the asphalt roadway, as the speaker system blared out “In the Mood,” a swinging standard with Benny Goodman’s orchestra.
Edith and Merritt moved in a gracefulness that soon attracted the eyes of the crowd, his hair flowing with each twirl. “Go, girls,” and “Look at those two girls swing” came among the “oohs’ and “aahs” of the gathering. Merritt saw Edith smiling as the words of praise came from the crowd, enjoying the idea that Merritt was being mistaken for a girl. Merritt’s face began to burn in embarrassment. They finished to loud applause, directed both at them and the Negro couple.
“They thought you were a girl,” Donna Mae said when the two returned to her.
“I know.”
“What do you expect?” she said. “You wear those jeans like girls do and with the saddle shoes and long hair.”
It was true, he realized, along with the fact that it was not uncommon to see two girls dancing the jitterbug together, same as it was to see two girls doing the polka together, a common sight at weddings in the area. It was easy, he knew, to mistake him for a girl when he dressed as he often did, coupled with his gracefulness and dainty manner of walking and stepping about.
The three continued down the street, bumping into people, bursting into dance or “hoorays” upon impulse. Nothing was restrained, and Merritt found himself grabbed and hugged more than once, as did his partners. Sailors from a nearby Naval Training Base, their white hats askew in a most rakish, unmilitary-like manner, grabbed them several times, one telling Merritt exuberantly, “Gimme a kiss, honey.”
He never thought to correct the young sailor, not more than a year or so older, who hugged him passionately, Merritt turning his face as the kiss came, to avert direct lip-upon-lips touches. “Aww come on, it’s V-E Day,” the sailor protested. The sailor was a tall, gawky youth with pimples still prominently on his face; he looked more like a high school classmate than a young man who might soon be manning a gun on a destroyer in the Pacific, Merritt thought.
Merritt, hearing his plea and recognizing the young man’s strength, yielded, letting the sailor kiss him fully on the lips. Merritt’s face was smooth, with just a hint of beard, which was light and fuzzy, not noticeable at all.
“You’re cute, and so pretty,” the sailor said, as he released Merritt. “You got a boy friend?”
“No,” he said, slowly, his face growing red.
“Gimme your phone number. I’ll be having several more liberties before I’m shipped out. We can do something.”
Edith, overhearing the exchange, interrupted, “Move on sailor. Her mom thinks she’s too young to date.”
The boy looked at Merritt and shook his head. “A shame. And so pretty, too.”
The three quickly left the sailor, moving on down the block.
*****
“I remember you,” said the young man who approached the three a few minutes later. He point at Merritt.
“You’re Marilyn, right? From Riverdale West?”
Merritt nodded, cursing his attire that accentuated his femininity, and causing him to get all this attention. Yet, he knew he was excited by all the attention he gained looking so much like a girl.
“We met at Morgan’s last winter. I’m Jim from Lincoln. Remember me?”
Merritt did indeed remember Jimmy; he had thought about the boy many times since, wishing he was truly a girl and could accept the attentions of a boy, much like Jimmy. Jimmy’s friend, Leo, was with him and the group gathered to talk, shared hoorays about the end of the war in Europe and asked each other how school was going.
“I wondered about you,” Jim said, moving next to Merritt. His friend moved toward Edith, and a conversation ensued between them.
“You did?”
“Oh yes, often. Did you think about me?”
“A little, maybe,” Merritt said hesitantly, not willing to open himself up to more advances.
“How about going somewhere? Let me buy you a coke,” the boy said, advancing toward Merritt, who back up, but was stopped by the milling crowd.
“Gimme a victory, kiss, darling,” he said, grabbing Merritt in his arms and placing a wet smack on the lips.
Merritt stiffened, his lips pressed together, holding firm and not responding, but too weak to resist the embrace of the other boy. The kiss lingered, and soon Merritt softened his lips, accepting the kiss, which Jim ended quickly, sensing the uneasiness of the person in his arms.
“We better get going,” interrupted Donna Mae, as Edith and Leo also enjoyed a kiss, which Edith seemed to welcome more readily than Merritt.
“Oh, Marilyn,” Jim whispered into Merritt’s ear, “Gimme your phone number so I can call.”
“I can’t, my mom would kill me,” he said, his voice soft, almost sultry in tone.
“Oh, please,” he held onto Merritt, but Donna Mae dragged them apart, and started to move up the avenue.
“Why did you do that, Donna?” asked Edith, who had to break away suddenly from Leo.
“I could see Merritt getting in too deep,” she said.
“Yes, she was,” agreed Edith, using the female pronoun. “Marilyn gets all the gorgeous guys.”
Merritt blushed, his walk assuming a sway of the hips and swing of the arms that accentuated his femininity. He had to admit he loved the attention of Jim, just as he had loved Billy’s adoration of “Marilyn” and Dolores’ when she thought he was Marilyn. It was a heady feeling, and Merritt felt light-headed, but also in great spirits.
*****
As the tennis season went on, Merritt established himself as the No. 3 singles player on the team, a pretty good accomplishment for a sophomore, and he had won his last four matches leading into the team’s last event of the season against Lakeview High School, from a nearby affluent suburb. The Lakeview team was easily the class of the area, always finishing high in the league. They were also arrogant, wearing fashionable uniforms, compared to the ragtag outfits of the teams from the city, like West, which wore uniforms now several seasons old, clean, but washed out of their sheen.
To make matters worse, Lakeview played its home matches at Coventry Country Club, which had built a small stadium to accommodate its own tennis club, which created many of the best players in the state. The locker rooms were bright and clean, built into the Gothic style buildings that featured the country club.
“It looks like we’re in bloody ol’ England,” mocked Bill Battle, of the Riverdale’s players as their bus coughed its decrepit way into the parking area at the club.
“Ah, yes matey,” Tommy Floyd quipped back. The team laughed, but it was a nervous laugh, since the boys all were nervous over playing this high-flying team, and not only getting beat but being humiliated in the process.
“We can win this year,” Merritt argued, over the sputtering noise of the barely muffled engine of the bus. “We’re on a streak.”
“Easy for you to say, Merritt,” Battle replied. “I played here last year and these people out here are mean! You just wait and see.”
The bus driver finally got the vehicle into its spot, turning off the engine, with a cough and a slight cloud of smoke.
“Here boys, follow me,” Coach Lawson said, as he lead the boys, each holding his gym bag and their rackets in hand, into a small rear entrance of a grey stone building that seemed to duplicate a castle in Merry Ol’ England.
“How fancy for a locker room!” gushed Tommy.
It was indeed, wide aisles, freshly polish floors, lined with rubber mats, all sparkling clean. And, surprisingly, there appeared to be no “jockstrap” stink so typical of boys’ locker rooms.
“At least they give us a nice locker room here,” said Bill. “But I bet they won’t be so nice out on the court. Their fans are vicious.”
The team was given a 15-minute warm-up time on the court, which was even more dazzling to the boys from West who were used to playing on a public courts, with a sparse audience looking on from outside the fences. Three of the Country Club’s courts were nestled together inside a stadium setting, with bleaches 5 rows high set on each side of the courts.
“Wow, it looks like we’re playing at Forest Hills,” commented Battle, referring to the famed tennis stadium in Queens, NY.
Merritt eyed the stands, with a crowd already filling in the seats; his heart jumped at sight, knowing he’d have to play his fairly poor game of tennis in front maybe a hundred people. As was customary, Coach Lawson had the boys make three jogs around the perimeter of the courts.
“Is that a girl on that team?” he heard someone ask loudly as he ran past the gathering crowd, his ponytail bobbing as he ran.
The next time he passed the area from which the comment came, he looked up into the stands, seeing three boys stand up, all husky and tanned, and yelling in unison, “Here she comes!” follow by laughter.
“Keep running, and think of your tennis match, Merritt,” he heard Battle say as they continued the run.
Merritt knew that was the best tactic, to ignore such catcalls, but he heard others follow when they must have realized he was a boy, who just looked a bit feminine. Actually, he said to himself, I may look “very feminine.”
When his name was announced later as the No. 3 match players were introduced, he heard more giggles and catcalls from the stands, only to be countered by a loud clapping and isolated cheers of “Go, Merritt, Go, Merritt.” He bowed to the crowd (resisting the urge to curtsey) and looked up to find the cheers coming from three people in the stands, his mother, Viola and Elizabeth.
He smiled, remembering that Viola had been a tennis star in her youth and had played against such stars as Alice Marble and Pauline Betz. Their presence both stirred Merritt and frightened him, since he hoped not to disgrace himself in front of everyone.
His opponent was introduced as Nick Woodbury, an obviously self conscious beanpole of a slim young man and a senior. He looked athletic, in spite of his wiry body, and Merritt felt he’d have a tough time against the man, who obviously came from wealth and was probably well-trained and coached.
Merritt had the honors in the first game of the first set, a role he abhorred since his serves were the weakest part of his game. They were too slow, since he still hadn’t developed the strength to send bullet type serves; when they played, Donna Mae’s serves were always stronger.
And, too make matters worse, Merritt ended up serving from right in front of the stand where the nasty comments came. “Go girl,” “Go sweetie,” calls came, which Merritt tried hard to block out. He failed, and true to his fears, he doubled-faulted, not once, but twice, and soon the score was love-30. The guffaws got stronger.
“Concentrate, Merritt,” Coach Lawson urged from the sidelines. “Send that dark one in.”
The “dark one,” as Merritt knew, was his spin ball, which he had been practicing but never used in a game.
He served the ball, as slow as he always hit the ball, and Nick Woodbury awaited its arrival with relish, ready to boom it back into Merritt’s face. The boy swung at the ball, and it ticked off the side of the racket, cutting into the adjoining court. “15-30,” announced Merritt as he planned his next serve.
He did it again, and scored another point. He had perfected a spin on his serve that caused the ball when it hit the surface to scoot off to one side.
Merritt saw his opponent stand warily for the next serve, obviously anticipating the spin to occur again. He’d be ready.
This time the serve came a bit faster (still slow by any standards) but it didn’t skip off to one side, but scooted by Nick Woodbury, who whiffed badly. Merritt’s next serve was again a straight one, which his opponent was able to return weakly and Merritt skillfully dumped just over the net eluding the player’s racket for victory in the match.
Eventually Merritt won the match in sets of 6-4, 5-7, 6-2. Soon, he heard no more catcalls and only cheers from the three supporters of West High in the audience, his mother, Viola and Beth.
“Good game,” said Nick Woodbury, who leaped the net to congratulate Merritt. “You sure kept me fooled in that game.”
“It was the only way I could win,” Merritt said. “Thank you for a good match.”
“At least you silenced those guys,” his opponent said. “I hate them; they always heckle the opposition.”
“Thank you,” Merritt said, as their conversation continued, a strange occurrence after a close match. Usually the loser leaves disappointed and dejected, giving out only with the perfunctory “good game.”
“Maybe I could play you again this summer,” the boy volunteered.
“I suppose,” Merritt said, surprised.
“I still know I can beat you.”
“You and who else?” Merritt said, his smile indicating he was teasing.
“Just me. I can beat you. My family’s a member here and I can invite you.”
“Thank you.”
“Call me, our phone number’s in the book under J. T. Woodbury on Range Line Rd.”
Merritt nodded in half-hearted agreement, knowing he’d probably never call the boy; yet, he was intrigued by the boy’s interest in him. The two were from two completely different worlds: Merritt’s life with a single mother in working class background and young Woodbury’s as a son of an obviously privileged family. He scooted off to join the rest of the team which was awaiting the results of the last players still competing. They all clapped as he ran up in his girlish gait, his ponytail flopping in the wind.
When the match finally ended West High won the meet, with Battle taking No. 1 singles, Merritt winning in No. 3 singles, and the No. 2 and No. 3 doubles teams winning. The tennis team had developed an unusual level of mutual respect, even though the competition of trying for their respective levels on the team could have splintered the group. Perhaps it was because tennis was such a neglected sport that it failed to engender the jealousies that covered other competitions, but Merritt found he was universally accepted by his teammates, in spite of his girlish mannerisms that might seem to turn off the others.
“You sure showed those hecklers, Merritt,” Battle said, as they lined up to shake the hands of the other teams.
As the two teams walked to shake each other’s hands, Woodbury whispered as he went by, “Call me, I mean it.”
*****
When the ritual ended, Merritt ran to the stands to greet his mother, Viola and Elizabeth, who were standing at the fence.
“Great game honey,” his mother said.
“Oh mom, I’m so happy you were able to get off work,” he said.
“Viola picked me up at the plant, and I didn’t have time to change,” she said, obviously feeling out of place still wearing her rather ordinary skirt and blouse from work, along with her scuffed brown oxfords.
“You look good to me, mom,” Merritt said, then turning to Viola, saying, “Thank you for bringing mom.”
“You were great darling,” Viola said.
“Yes, Merritt, you were,” Beth echoed.
“You know, Merritt, we’re members here,” Viola said. “I’m sure I can get you in as a guest anytime, and darling I’d love to play you.”
“Oh you’d beat me badly, Mrs. Buckner.”
“I wouldn’t be too tough on you darling, and I could show you some tips.”
“Yes, Merritt, do it,” Beth added. “Mom’s a good teacher and we could visit, too.”
“Thank you,” he said, turning to go back to join the team as they left for the locker room.
“Hey, Merritt,” Beth said. “Hold up. Maybe you can come back with us? You can tell coach you’ll be leaving with your mother.”
After some urging from all three, Merritt finally agreed to join them; they said he could shower and change clothes at the Buckner estate and then join them for supper and a short visit.
*****
After the four arrived at the Buckner home, Merritt and his mother had both gone to their old rooms, the ones they occupied more than ten years ago while his mother worked as a live-in maid and nanny for the household. Soon Beth followed Merritt into his old room.
“This room’s almost as I left it,” Merritt marveled. “Even some of my dolls are still here.”
“Well, we’ve had no use for this room after you left, Merritt,” Beth said. “And it was a shame to throw the dolls and stuffed animals out.
Merritt saw the same pink and frilly bed cover that had featured his room, the place he slept until he was five years old. The memories of dressing almost daily as a little girl flooded back into his mind, some obviously vague in form, but still very real. He went to the dresser, realizing now how totally girlish it looked, and nice light blue, covered with pink and white fluffy designs.
“My nighties, too!”
He pulled one out, a light yellow with trim of little green and blue flowers, and held it up before himself.
“You were so darling in it, Merry,” Beth said, using the name she attached to the young boy then. “You were the prettiest little girl.”
He blushed.
“And now, you’re still just as pretty,” Beth said, coming over to hold his slender body, still sweaty from the match. She kissed him lightly, and then released him.
“Why don’t you put these on after your shower, dear,” Beth suggested. She held out a pair of white tennis shorts and a tennis blouse, obviously tailored for a woman.
“Really, what will mom and Viola say about that?”
“They’ll be thrilled to see you all prettied up,” Beth said, with a wink.
He grew even more excited as Beth also displayed a matching panty and bra set, along with some makeup materials. For a few hours, he could again be Marilyn and be in the loving embrace of the only home he knew in his first few years of life. It felt so natural.
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Now in his sophomore high school year, Merritt finds his effort to become more and more masculine challenged. Summer vacation is about to begin.)
Chapter 24: School Times and Summer Vacation
Merritt finished his sophomore year of high school, becoming more and more at ease in the school. While the tennis team failed to get into the Sectional finals, Merritt did succeed in winning his last three matches, and he was looking forward to next season. He got an “A” in secretarial class, as the girls got used to him being among them and began treating him as if he one of them. Amy O’Hara, who was always exuberant and said what was one her mind, constantly gossiped with Merritt about her girl friends and their jealousies and her need for a boy friend. Her conversation in no way suggested she considered Merritt to be “boy friend” material, but merely that he was a convenient and ready listener to her chatter.
As Merritt and Sally Orlowski continued to walk to and from school together, the girl almost daily had some issue to share with Merritt about her on-and-off romance with Tommy. It was as if Merritt had become one of the girls, and it was easy to see he accepted the role.
His sometimes outwardly effeminate behavior continued to raise taunts from some boys and lifted eyebrows even from some girls, but most of the insults seemed to stem from people who hardly knew him; it seemed most of his classmates, teammates and others who knew him well had begun to accept his occasional trips into girliness. His warmth and open approach to friends had helped to win over many, once they got to know him.
Bill Johnson was growing more and more concerned about the devastation caused by the War, and was becoming deeply committed to world peace. Merritt shared his ideals, but questioned whether the chance for having world peace was nothing but an empty dream.
“I don’t think I’ll sign up for the draft,” Bill said, even though the two were still two years away from doing it.
“You’ll go to jail, Bill,” Merritt replied. He agreed with Bill on the futility of war, even though it had been necessary to stop Adolph Hitler and the Japanese conquests.
Merritt, too, had wondered about the draft, but for a different reason. He feared going into service, not because he was frightened of being killed or injured in combat, but because he worried about how others would respond to his obvious girlishness and about how he would be able to be physically strong enough to perform his duties. The prospect of going through basic training alone scared him, with Merritt fearing how he’d fail miserably in the obstacle courses he knew the recruits often had to endure and the long physical marches.
The two often talked on the street corner as the evenings warmed up, talking for what seemed hours about the subject. Sometimes, they’d argue over a point, neither one willing to compromise on a principle, but in fact taking seriously the other’s views for further consideration. In fact, Merritt and Bill became true friends with great respect for each other in every aspect.
Yet, there was one major difference between the two, and it was Merritt’s femininity, and Bill was even more taken by his friend’s demeanor when Merritt exhibited a soft, warm coquettish smile, or just so faintly waved his hands or flicked his hair out of his eyes. And then Bill saw only a lovely, fetching girl. And, Bill would smile, wishing to take this girl into his arms and kiss her passionately.
“Oh I wish you could be my girl friend,” he said more than once. “You’re so pretty. I’ll never forget you in the green prom dress.”
Merritt usually would nod in agreement, secretly agreeing with his friend. Yet, he knew how wrong it would be for him to succumb to the desire, trying as he was to become more masculine.
*****
Nonetheless, as school ended, Merritt put aside his thoughts to abandon his seamstress work, realizing that his earnings making dresses were much more than he could make working elsewhere, such as for the Country Club as a clubhouse boy or bus boy or some other task. He had been tentatively hired for such work, but the pay was only 45 cents an hour, when his seamstress work was bringing in over $1 an hour, more than anyone else his age was earning, as far as he knew.
Earlier, Hilda Swenson had learned of Merritt’s tentative plans to quit the seamstress business, and it shocked her. The dress-making part of her shop was becoming a great success, as word got around the community that the custom-made dresses were not only economical, but very fashionable for the era. Several customers from the posh neighborhoods like the Highlands had been so pleased with the dresses that they had passed the words on to their friends. There were dress orders on the books that guaranteed several weeks of work as the school year ended.
“You can’t leave now, Merritt,” Hilda said. “Who’ll complete these dresses? Your mother is still on overtime at the hosiery mill.”
“But it’s just not right for a boy to be in this business,” he said. “I can work at Coventry this summer and work on the dresses at night until they’re done.”
“Oh, Merritt, don’t you see? You’ve a real talent here. It’d be a shame to waste it.”
Hilda and the boy discussed this at the end of May, one night as he labored in the sewing room of the shop. She had brought in tea and a few cookies and he had paused in his work as they chatted. He was wearing a colorful light blue smock with lace, with his longish hair pinned up so strands didn’t waft into his face. On his feet, he wore white ballet slippers, which had had found so comfortable when he worked at the sewing machine.
The shop owner knew of Merritt’s occasional dressing up, and at first considered evicting Evelyn and her girlish son because of the shame it would bring among her customers, the mainly Irish Catholic residents of the area. The Swensons were Lutheran, members of the conservative Wisconsin Synod, but they also shared a charitable streak that allowed them to have an open-minded attitude about others. She had told Evelyn that she didn’t care how Merritt behaved, as long as he kept it private.
As they chatted, Merritt realized how comfortable he felt in the workroom, designing and making dresses and feminine garb. There was a mirror across the room, and as he chatted with Hilda he saw how much like a girl he looked; he realized he had crossed his legs in a most feminine way and he held the teacup daintily by the handle with his thumb and forefinger.
“Now, Merritt,” Mrs. Swenson continued, “There’s something I want you to consider. My husband and I have talked this over, and we’d like to help you and your mother set up a dressmaking business here.”
The woman said that the two back rooms in the store could be set aside, one room as a small showroom and fitting area for customers and the other room as a work area, containing sewing tables, a sewing machine and other items.
“You’d pay no rent, darling,” she said. “And we’d get 15% of all sales you made.”
“I want you to consider this, Merritt. I have talked it over with your mother, and she is not sure about the idea,” Hilda said.
“Oh?”
“She said you wanted to break away and work at the golf club,” Hilda continued. “And I can understand that, but you really do have such great talent here, dear.”
“I’ve enjoyed it here do,” Merritt agreed. “I really like creating beautiful things, and when I picture the girls in the dresses, it feels nice that they feel happy about it.”
Hilda smiled, reaching over and putting a gentle hand on his hands. “I know you do, honey, and that’s why I am proposing it to you. Think it over, and if you and your mother don’t like the arrangement I propose, perhaps we can arrange something else.”
Merritt felt stunned. It sounded like it was up to him to decide. He could forget all about sewing dresses and begin doing jobs that boys and men usually do, or he could continue doing what he loves doing: making dresses and being financially rewarded. Maybe he could even afford going to college, he thought.
On the one hand, he reasoned that if he took the job at the Country Club, he could begin living more and more like the other boys and he might even be accepted as one of them. Merritt never had felt comfortable with other boys, except for Bill Johnson and one or two others, and he wondered if he could ever succeed in being more manly, more of a strong, tough boy.
On the other hand, Merritt felt totally at ease designing dresses and being feminine in his enjoyments and other endeavors. He loved talking with girls and even with older women, like his mother.
Merritt finally told Mrs. Swenson that he liked her idea, but then added: “I’m still not sure. I’ll have to talk my mother about this.”
“Good,” she said. “I want you to be happy, dear. You deserve it.”
That night, Evelyn and Merritt talked for nearly two hours about the proposal. It sounded at first like Evelyn was discouraging Merritt from accepting it, saying he needed to recognize the fact that he soon would have to be a “man” and worked at jobs for men. “You need to prepare yourself for that, Merritt,” she said.
At one time, Merritt broke into tears, telling her, “I don’t feel I can be a man. I’m no good as a man. I don’t like being a man.”
“Oh, my darling,” Evelyn said, moving next to her son, now seated on the couch, hugging him tightly as he sobbed.
She drew him tightly into her soft plump body, feeling his arms, so fragile and slender. His body shook with his sobbing and she felt him relax into her, his crying slowly subsiding, the shaking becoming less and less pronounced.
As she held him, Evelyn realized what her son’s true desires were, and, she too began tearing up, recognizing what she must do and recognizing, too, that to follow those true desires Merritt would face insurmountable challenges, much shame and derision from others and perhaps lifelong tragedies.
“I think you know you own mind, darling, don’t you?” she said finally.
“Yes,” he said, breaking away from her hug, wiping his eyes with a lace hanky.
Neither one said anything for a moment. Finally, Merritt said, “Mother, may I dress pretty tonight? May I be Marilyn?”
“Of course, Marilyn,” she said, smiling. “Why don’t you first have a nice hot bath, and then you can dress however you want.”
“The green prom dress?”
“Oh yes, and I’ll fix your hair, too. You’ll be so pretty.”
Merritt rose. He felt a load had been lifted from his mind. His smile broadened and he said: “Mom, I think we should give the dress business a name, don’t you?”
“Why yes, honey.”
“I was thinking, ‘Marilyn’s Fashions.’”
“Oh no,” Evelyn said. “That’s not chic. Maybe it should be ‘Fashions by Marilyn?’”
“Yes,” he said, clapping his hands and doing a pirouette.
He stopped in the midst of his twirling: “No, it should be ‘Creations by Marilyn.’”
*****
In the end, Merritt and his mother agreed that it made sense for him to continue working at the shop; first of all, there was more money to be made in the dressmaking business, and, secondly, he still was fearful about how he’d fit into the workaday world of men, of their rough-housing, their crude comments and lack of sensitivity. Always, his lack of physical strength and his obvious feminine mannerisms would place him in the midst of taunts and teasing that might even bring him to tears.
Besides, the shop had loads of orders to finish and Merritt’s creative nature seemed to thrive on challenges caused by girls and woman with less flattering figures than movie stars like Betty Grable and Ava Gardner.
Nick Woodbury’s invitation to call him — made at the end of the Riverdale West - Lakeview High tennis match — intrigued Merritt. The boy seemed genuinely serious about his invitation, but something bothered Merritt. Why would a boy from such an rich family be interested in him, an obviously athletically challenged boy from a working class neighborhood?
He had gone to the phone book, as the boy had suggested, and looked up “J. T. Woodbury” and found the number. He wrote down the number (LAkeside 2-2312) in the small private diary he carried. He even went so far one day, while alone in the apartment, to go to the phone to call Nick, but then he wavered, poising his hand next to the phone, his heart pounding, and then moving away. He never called the boy.
Within a week after school ended for the year, just after supper at their apartment, the phone rang. Merritt, drying dishes as his mother washed, picked it up.
“Is this Merritt McGraw?” the voice, a boy’s voice, it seemed, asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh good Merritt. You don’t know how hard it was to find you. There are so many McGraws in the phone book.”
“Yes,” Merritt said. “Who is this?”
“It’s Nick. You know? Nick Woodbury, from Lakeview’s tennis team. We played each other.”
The boy’s voice was rushed, excited.
“Oh yes.”
“Why didn’t you call me, Merritt?” Nick asked.
“Been busy here,” Merritt said. It was partly true, of course, but the truth was he had wanted to call the boy, but was too shy to do so.
“Oh? I’m sorry,” the boy said.
“No that’s OK,” Merritt recovered. “I can talk now.”
“Do you wanna play tennis with me?” the boy’s voice took on a more calm tone.
“Sure, why not? When?”
Nick Woodbury invited Merritt to play several days later in the late afternoon. Merritt planned to ride his bike to the Country Club for the match, but when Nick heard that, he said he had a car and a license and could pick him up.
Merritt at first protested, feeling embarrassed that the boy might see that he lived above a craft and dressmaking shop in the low-income flats neighborhood; the boy insisted, however, and Merritt agreed to the arrangement.
*****
“Your mother seems very nice,” Nick said when the two boys were in his car, headed out to the Country Club, two days later.
“I think so, too.” Merritt said.
“And you live above a dress shop too? How do you like that?”
“It’s OK.”
Nick struggled to make conversation, but Merritt was still a bit worried that Nick would be shocked at his rather simple surroundings.
“I think it’s kind of neat, Merritt,” the boy said, unexpectedly.
“Oh?”
“Well, there’s always something going on, Merritt. My house out in the suburbs is off by itself. It gets so boring.”
The conversation ended there as they approached the Country Club.
The tennis match ended with Nick the victor this time, but only after Merritt had given him a good struggle. Nick hugged Merritt at the end, engulfing Merritt’s slender body. The two showered and changed and Nick invited Merritt into the Club’s snack shop, where he signed for two Chocolate Malts. He refused to let Merritt pay, saying only club members could purchase items.
“These taste like they’re made with real ice cream,” Merritt stated when they were seated. “Morgan’s only has had sherbet for the last year or so. Seems the war effort means ice cream is in short supply.”
Nick actually blushed, saying, “Well that’s probably ‘cause Chip Benson is a club member. You know, from Benson’s Dairy?”
Merritt nodded and was about to say something about the privileges of the wealthy, but thought the best of it. Nick must have sensed what he was thinking.
“I know, it’s unfair that rich people don’t have to suffer like others,” he said.
Merritt was silent. Nick continued:
“I don’t say that too loud around here, since I’m already kind of a black sheep around here. I don’t think like lots of people here. That was why I wanted to meet you again, and for some other reason, too.”
When they finished their malts, Nick led Merritt back to his car. As they drove, Merritt noticed Nick turned to go out of the city.
“Where are you going?”
“Do you mind, Merritt? I have a nice spot along the lake I’d like to show you,” Nick said. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Ok, but I do have to be home by 7 p.m.”
Nick drove on narrow two-lane blacktop country roads to a wooded area along the high lake bluff, finding a one lane dirt road leading through the trees to a parking spot at the tip of the bluff.
The sky was blue, cloudless but the lake was even deeper blue. A slight layer of haze wafted over the lake, and three sailboats, their white triangle sails bouncing in the surf near the horizon, completed the picture.
“That is so beautiful,” Merritt said, at a loss for words to describe the wonder of the view.
“I thought you’d like it,” Nick said. “Let’s sit here.”
There was a large tree, broken by the wind no doubt, laying on his side, and it was obvious others had found it a comfortable place to sit. There were a few cigarette butts lying around, and the ground was barren where people’s feet must have been planted. They sat about a foot apart.
There was an awkward silence at first, and Merritt merely starred out at the Lake, still awed by the scene. Merritt, however, sensed that Nick was not looking at the scenery, but was focusing his gaze upon him.
“You know, Merritt,” Nick began, talking slowly, as if measuring his words. “I was teased a school for losing to you. Those bastards said I lost to a girl.”
“I’m sorry,” Merritt said.
“Don’t be sorry. You won fair and square.”
“Well it was a big match for our school,” Merritt said. “I don’t think we ever beat you guys before.”
There was more silence, and Merritt felt uneasiness come over him. What was Nick up to?
“I bet you’d make a pretty girl,” Nick said suddenly.
Merritt was shocked at the directness and the truth of the statement. How could he respond? He didn’t.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, Merritt. It’s just that I couldn’t get that thought out of my mind. I bet you’d look pretty in a prom gown or a wedding dress.”
Merritt was still too shocked to respond. He knew his outward feminine appearance sometimes betrayed his truth nature, but the boy’s directness was surprising.
“Don’t mind me, Merritt. I never will tell anyone my feelings about you. I respect you too much and I can tell you I’m not like so many people out here. I think I am open-minded. You won’t shock me if you told me you might have put on one of those dresses from the shop downstairs once or twice.”
Merritt blushed.
“You have! You have!”
With that, Merritt found himself in Nick’s arms, being kissed passionately. He tried to squirm free, but failed, finally submitting to the boy’s kisses and caresses.
Eventually, Merritt confessed that he did occasionally wear dresses and that he worked in the shop, sewing and designing dress. Nick praised him for doing that.
Merritt had welcomed the boy’s attentions, but felt he didn’t want the friendship to progress. It would further complicate his life and his pending need to decide whether to seek to reject his feminine tendencies.
“Nick,” he started slowly. “I loved all of this today, really. All of this, including your kisses and hugs. But I am trying to end this part of my life. It could be a disaster. Therefore, I must ask you never to call me again. I’d like to be friends with you . . .ah . . . and your girl friend, too . . . but I just can’t. Please understand.”
Nick Woodbury stood up, shifted his eyes toward the lake, stating: “Let’s take you home.”
Merritt saw the boy had tears in his eyes. The drive home was quick and without further conversation. Nick reached over and patted Merritt’s hand as he stopped in front of Swenson’s. “I think I could love you forever, dear,” he said. “But you better go. I’ll never bother you.”
Merritt wanted to kiss the boy right there in front of Swenson’s, but opened the door and left. His eyes too were teary. He wondered if he’d ever see Nick Woodbury again. And, he wondered, did he do the right thing in rejecting Nick Woodbury?
*****
The summer of 1945 was cool, with temperatures barely reaching 90 for two days in mid-July, after an unusually frigid 4th of July, when Merritt, along with Donna Mae and Edith shivered on Lakefront Park watching fireworks. It was not much of a display, but with the war in Europe ended, it was the first fireworks’ display since 1941.
The three had taken the streetcar to the event, in which thousands gathered on the hillside facing the lake. Merritt wore freshly pressed jeans, with the bottoms of the legs rolled up to expose white bobby sox and saddle shoes, as was the fashion for teen girls at the time. He wore a white sailor’s hat with his longish hair falling nearly to his neck down to the collar of his plaid shirt. Both Donna Mae and Edith were similarly dressed, though they wore different hats. To the casual observer the three youth who boarded the No. 11 streetcar that day were all girls.
As they giggled their way down the aisle of the streetcar, the three attracted the eyes of several teen boys also riding to the fireworks. But, the boys appeared to shy too make any advances. It wouldn’t have done the boys much good, since all three were “taken” and not available for other boys. Donna Mae’s longtime boy friend was out of town with his parents, and Edith had begun dating Leo, the boy the three met several times by chance earlier in the year. Leo, too, was tied up with a family picnic.
“Jim thinks you’re quite a looker,” Edith said as the three settled into seats; they had switched one of the seats so Donna Mae could ride backward and face the other two. (Streetcars were set up to move in either direction, with the front of the car becoming the back at the end of the line. The motorman had portable controls he carried to the other end of the car to pilot it in the other direction. The seats could easily be pulled to face in the opposite direction.)
“You tell him to forget me, Edith,” he said.
“He can’t. I try to tell him you can’t date boys, but he thinks you’re so cute.”
“Did you tell him I have a boy friend?”
“Who? You mean, Bill?”
“Yes.”
“But Jim’s so much more handsome.”
“Forget it, Edith,” he said.
Donna Mae also told Edith to urge Jim to forget about Merritt. Nonetheless, Merritt felt so good being told he was “pretty” and “cute.” What woman wouldn’t?
*****
“Oh there you are,” the boy said.
It had turned dark, and except for a few dim lights along the park’s pathways, there was little illumination. It was obvious anyone seeking to find a friend or family member would have a tough time.
Merritt and his two friends were seated on a blanket, awaiting the burst of fireworks, due to come anytime soon. Edith turned, looking in direction of the voice, asking, “Leo is that you?”
“Yes, gosh it was hard to locate you,” he said. “You said you’d be near the statue of General King, but there’s so many people here.”
“I know,” she replied. “Donna Mae and Marilyn are with me.”
“Yeah, Jim’s here too. You got room on that blanket.”
Merritt poked Edith in the ribs, angered that she had obviously arranged for this meeting, and fully expected Jim to be along. “What’d you do, Edie?” he whispered.
“You’re Marilyn tonight, remember?” she said back in a barely audible voice.
It was a setup, Merritt felt certain. He remembered the Edith had been particularly interested in what he was wearing for the fireworks trip. Now, he knew why.
“Is that you, Marilyn?” Jim’s voice came out of the darkness.
“Yes,” Merritt said. ‘Over here, to the right.”
He moved a bit, making room on the blanket for the boy, while Edith did the same, as the two boys squeezed onto the blanket.
“Am I crowding you too much, Marilyn?” Jim queried, as he moved his body tightly against Merritt’s.
Their thighs met and Jim grabbed Merritt’s hands, exclaiming, “My, your hands are cold.”
Merritt gave in involuntary shiver. He was cold, since the night was cool, as it so often was near the Lake, and he knew Jim could feel the shiver.
“Oh, you’re shivering,” he said. “Let me warm you up.”
Jim put an arm around Merritt, drawing him close. “Now doesn’t that feel better.”
Merritt stiffened, not sure how to react. He knew Jim was using his shivering as an excuse to put his arm around Merritt’s shoulders, a hand resting upon his slender arm.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Marilyn,” he said reassuredly. “Relax.”
In the dim light, Merritt noticed Edith too was engulfed in the arms of Leo, and it looked like they might even be kissing. Was Jim soon going to be kissing also?
Just then an ear-shattering boom sounded, marking the start of the fireworks, and the young people’s attention soon turned to the sparkling bursts that colored the sky, bringing the crowd to send out “oohs” and “aahs.”
When they ended, Merritt found himself totally trapped in the hold of Jim, and, yes, they were soon kissing, and Merritt, at first reluctant in responding, soon grew passionate and worked his lips harder as they kissed.
“Oh thank you, Marilyn,” Jim said, as they broke apart. “I hope you didn’t mind. I couldn’t help myself.”
Merritt said nothing, but rose from the ground, stiff from sitting, and announced. “Let’s go, Donna Mae and Edith.”
He saw Donna Mae rise, too, and nod; Edith, however, was still engaged in a long kissing session with Leo.
“Come on Edie, that’s enough now,” Donna Mae said, kicking her friend gently in the rear, causing the two to end the kisses and break apart.
“Oh all right,” Edith said.
“How are you going home?” Leo asked.
“Streetcar,” Edith said. “No. 11.”
“Oh that’s right, we’re taking No. 19,” Leo said. “Out to the north side.”
“When can I see you again?” Jim asked Merritt.
“You can’t,” he said, directly.
“What?” the boy answered. “Why not? You like me don’t you?”
Merritt hesitated in answering. What was he to tell the boy? He did, indeed, “like” Jim; in fact, he felt strongly toward the boy, and found his kisses so stimulating. But, as he kissed, he felt he was a girl, not a boy. He loved the feeling; he loved the attention he got as a pretty girl. Yes, he couldn’t continue in this charade. It wasn’t fair to Jim to lead him in thinking he was a girl.
“You’re a nice boy and I like you, but my mom says I can’t date yet, and I kind of have a boy friend.”
“Just like a woman,” Jim said, laughing. “How can you have a boy friend and not be dating?”
Donna Mae, ever his savior, overheard this and came to the rescue. “Her mother is firm on this, Jim, really, and Bill and she have been friends since grade school. They’re very close.”
Jim turned to his friend, “Come Leo, let’s go.” He was obviously miffed, wondering why he was getting so many lame excuses about why this lovely girl, who responded to eagerly to his kisses, was rejecting him now.
“These girls are nuts,” he said, as he pulled Leo up from the ground. “I can’t figure them out.”
Merritt felt bad in rejecting Jim. He really did seem nice, but how could he continue this as a romance? It’s just not a possibility.
On the streetcar, going home, Donna Mae said to Edith, “You were so wrong to invite those boys to join us, Edie. You know how difficult that must have been for Merritt.”
“But Jim was pleading with Leo for me to set it up, and I didn’t dare tell you or else you wouldn’t have come.”
“That was mean, Edie,” Donna Mae said.
“No that’s OK,” Merritt said, hating the possibility that Donna Mae and Edith might get into a fight over the situation. “She only meant well, Donna Mae.”
“I don’t know. All she was really thinking about was pleasing her boy friend,” Donna Mae said.
“I thought Marilyn would enjoy Jim,” Edith said. “And I think she did.”
Merritt had trouble sleeping that night. He closed his eyes, trying to move from his constant thoughts of Jim and his passionate kisses and warm caresses to thoughts less exciting. But it wasn’t working. He was Marilyn in his mind, he felt so totally a girl, so slender and weak, so in need of love. He grew hard, gently moving in his nightie, rubbing his hard on the sheets and against his thigh, caressing his soft smooth left upper arm with his right hand until he finally ejaculated, the thick, creamy fluid filling up his gown. And, he finally slept. And, he dreamed. It was his impossible dream and it became a recurring theme in his life.
*****
“Creations by Marilyn” became a word-of-mouth success that summer, not only among the Irish and Polish families of the “flats,” but also among the affluent of the Highlands. The chubby girl, whose dress Merritt had created, found comfort and confidence in wearing her Merritt-designed dress, and, for the first time in her life, felt she was a “pretty girl, too,” just like her friends. And, though she had never seen “Marilyn,” the girl had proudly said that “Marilyn is a genius,” and suggested to her friends that they, too, try out Swenson’s if they needed custom dresses created.
“You’re working too, hard, honey,” his mother told him in mid-July that summer. “You never seem to go out with your friends.”
“It’s OK, mom,” he replied. “I love what I’m doing and I’m putting some savings away.”
“I know, dear,” Evelyn said, “But I worry about you.”
“Oh, mom, I’ll be OK. I could use some more help down there,” he said, referring to the shop.
“Well, maybe I can put in more time, since with the war winding down my hours may be cut a bit.”
Evelyn had been assisting some evenings and over the weekends with the sewing and with measuring customers, none of whom ever saw “Marilyn,” the woman who was the apparent creator of the fashions. Hilda Swenson also helped measure customers and act as the “front” for “Creations by Marilyn.”
“Dolores has helped out, too,” Merritt said.
“Who?”
“Dolores Graham, mom. You know her; we met at Viola’s New Years Eve party.”
“I didn’t know she sewed.”
“I’m teaching her and she’s really getting good at it. Maybe she could put in more hours, too.”
“That’s a good idea,” Evelyn said. “Have you talked to Hilda about it?”
Hilda Swenson agreed to hire Dolores to work about 30 hours a week in the store, both waiting on customers and assisting Merritt in the sewing room. Dolores began her duties the following week at the store, and Merritt felt so happy to have her around to share in his joy of creating fashions. It was a surprise to both of them that Dolores seemed to have an inherent instinct about fashions, and a fastidious attention to detail that was so important in the dress-making trade. And, the two regained their easy relationship and it was admittedly a girl-to-girl relationship.
Air-conditioning was still a rarity in 1945, and even in the coolish summer of 1945, the sewing room and store at Swenson’s could get hot and sticky. Dolores and Hilda Swenson wore cool sundresses to work, and as much as Merritt would have enjoyed wearing them, he knew it was out of the question. He wore instead a pair of shorts and a light women’s blouse and his ballet slippers, and donned one of several smocks, all lace trimmed with pockets for scissors and needles and other sewing paraphernalia. He covered his head with a small scarf that helped keep sweat from rolling down his face.
At a glance, with his slender body, he looked very much like a girl, which actually worked out, since if anyone peaked into the work room, they’d see a young girl working. Thus, “Marilyn’s” true identity could be masked.
Two nights a week, he and Dolores played tennis at the park lots which were lighted. He wanted to keep his tennis game sharp, and Dolores’ natural athletic ability often seemed to prove a challenge to Merritt who had to use his guile to win a match when he was unable to match the superior strength of her hits. Sometimes, Donna Mae and her boy friend joined in the tennis matches, with Merritt and Dolores joining in doubles against the other two.
Dolores and Merritt went to movies often on Saturday night together, but their ventures were as “girl friends.” He no longer felt Dolores wanted him as a “boy friend,” and he accepted that fact as well. The two felt comfortable with each other. And, they refrained from returning to bed together, perhaps in an unstated, but mutual realization that their warm friendship would only become awkward and uneasy should they resume sexual relations. Merritt, for his part, loved the idea of being “girl friends” with Dolores. And so it remained during the summer.
(To be Continued)
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Now in his sophomore high school year, Merritt finds his effort to become more and more masculine challenged. As summer vacation begins, Merritt’s natural beauty and charm attracts new boys to his complicated life.)
Chapter 25: Finally, Peacetime
Bill Johnson charged into the workshop at Swenson’s on the late afternoon of Aug. 6, 1945, interrupting Merritt at the sewing machine.
“Turn on the radio,” he demanded, breathlessly.
“Why?” Merritt asked.
“We’ve dropped a big bomb on Japan, the biggest in history,” he said.
“Oh?” Merritt got up, turning to the old Philco cathedral style radio, sitting on a table. He often turned it on to the music station, but didn’t have it on that day.
Merritt rose and turned on the station, waiting for it to warm up, before turning the dial to 610 and WRDJ, the Riverdale Daily Journal station that usually had the best news coverage.
“. . . and the bomb is said to equal 100 blockbusters,” the announcer said.
“Yes, can you imagine?” Bill said. “How could we drop such a thing?”
“Shhhhh,” Merritt said, trying to listen.
“The bomb is apparently the new secret weapon,” the announcer continued, “That the United States has been perfecting and early reports tell us that full square miles of the city of Hiroshima have been destroyed.”
“How awful?” Merritt said.
“I know,” Bill added. He had been growing more and more adamant about the cruelty of war and of looking for ways to end wars forever. This latest bombing attack by the U.S. seemed to strengthen his views.
“But it could end the war soon,” Merritt suggested.
“I guess, but doesn’t this seem wrong for the U.S. to do.”
“Maybe, but just think of the lives saved if we can get Japan to surrender.”
It was a traumatic moment for both of them and would have an impact upon their lives they could not foresee at that moment.
*****
Within 10 days, the Japanese surrendered, and the war ended. Never had Riverdale seen such a celebration, as people flooded Grand Avenue again, but this time in even greater numbers, since it meant the long sacrifices of war were about to end. It also meant, more importantly, that the husbands and sons of virtually every family would soon come home from the wars. Some families, like Evelyn McGraw and her son, Merritt, would have no husband and stepfather returning from the war; for such families it was a bittersweet moment.
Viola, now driving a sparkling 1941 Cadillac, picked up Evelyn, as well as Merritt and his friend, Bill Johnson, to take them downtown to join in the celebration.
As he had done most of the summer, Merritt was dressed in jeans, with cuffs rolled up, white ankle socks, saddle shoes, with his hair tied in a bun. Bill loved his girlish look, and the two held hands in the backseat of the Cadillac as Viola drove, finding a spot several blocks from all the celebrations. Merritt felt Bill’s finger lightly caressing his slender wrists, and he responded by moving his legs tightly against Bill’s, nestling snuggly. While Viola was busy navigating the car through pedestrian traffic, Bill even stole a kiss. It was a quick kiss, but Merritt felt so excited, as any girl would.
“I love you, Marilyn,” Bill said as they wound their way down Grand Avenue, holding hands. Merritt was convinced that anyone seeing them would see two teens, one tall, spindly boy and a slender, cute girl.
Judging from the number of requests Merritt got from boys to give them a “victory kiss,” it was clear everyone else thought the same.
The two lost track of Viola and Evelyn, and, as they had all agreed, they’d get home on their own. Merritt knew his mother would likely end up the evening in Viola’s bed. Nothing was said, but Merritt hoped Bill would end up in the McGraw apartment later in the evening. After all, it was V-J Day, and it was a time for celebration!
The two took the No. 11 streetcar home about 8 p.m. that night, just as darkness was setting in, and much of the crowd on Grand Avenue was getting more drunken and disorderly. Neither enjoyed the sight of such behavior, and Merritt agreed with Bill it was time to go home.
Merritt made lemonade and popcorn for the two when they reached the apartment, and Bill lounged on the sofa, listening to news reports on the radio about the war. Merritt retreated to his bedroom to change his clothes and freshen up.
He would become “Marilyn” for the night, he decided. It was a time to celebrate and to become himself, which he figured was to become the girl he felt he always was. Besides, Bill would be pleased he knew.
He gave himself a quick sponge bath, using feminine-scented soap and dabbing a subtly sweet perfume on his neck. He brushed his hair and it fell into its natural flow, with a gentle curl at the ends as it flowed in the neck area. Merritt touched it off with red lipstick and some light peach-colored rouge. He smiled at the pretty face in the mirror.
Merritt put on full-sized panties and fastened a training bra in the back. He was as adept as any girl, he thought, in being able to put on a bra. Looking in the mirror, he cursed silently to himself: “Why can’t I have nice breasts?” He didn’t want any over-sized breasts, though; he wanted smallish breasts that would complement his rather small, fragile body.
His eyes wandered to a photo of his stepfather in a frame on the dress. Bob Casey was in his sailor’s uniform, his white sailor’s cap just slightly askew giving a jaunty appearance. It was a photo he had taken and mailed from San Diego, just before boarding the LST for his trip to the South Pacific, a trip from which he would never return.
Merritt’s stepfather looked out from the picture, smiling with pride; he had just attained the rank of Radioman Third Class, and the patch on his sleeve, Merritt could see, was sparklingly new.
Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes, as he looked at his stepfather’s picture, realizing how happy Bob Casey would have been on this day of victory. Merritt knew Casey had served his country well, and that he was like so many others who gave their lives for the United States. He picked up the picture, held it in his hands and began to cry. Why did his stepfather, a man Merritt had grown to love for his patience and sweetness, have to die?
His sobbing grew loud, even to prompt Bill to come from the living room, and inquire: “Are you all right?”
Merritt stood there, still in his bra and panties, holding the picture and crying. Bill came to his side, holding Merritt in his arms, caressing him, as Merritt buried his face into Bill’s neck, sobbing heavily.
“He died serving our country,” Bill said, seeking to comfort his friend.
“I . . . know.”
The tears finally subsided and Bill guided Merritt to the bed. Soon the two were engulfed in each other’s arms, the lovely girl and her tall, gangling friend.
*****
Evelyn was a laid off from her job at the hosiery works at the start of 1946, as the company’s contract to make parachutes ended with the end of the war. The hosiery plant, at one time the biggest in the nation, was struggling under the postwar economy, since the development of nylon during the war had made much of its operations obsolete.
“It’s OK, honey,” she explained to Merritt when shed returned home from work on a cold January day to tell him she and many of the wartime workers were being laid off.
“Oh but, mom, I knew you made lots of money there,” he said.
“I know, honey, but I can now devote fulltime to the sewing shop. You’ve made it into such a good business, dear.”
He smiled. The shop, still working out of Swenson’s Craft store, had grown so busy that Merritt had to refuse customers; he had trouble keeping up with the work, even with the hiring of Dolores Graham. In truth, he was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed by the constant demands of work, even though he loved the designing of dresses and making women feel happy and good about themselves.
*****
His friend, Bill, had begun a “peace campaign” in the high school. “This should be the last war we ever fight,” he told anyone and everyone who would listen to him. “We need a ‘United States of the World.’” He had drafted Merritt to the cause and about a dozen other students. They formed a group called “Students for World Peace,” and even got school approval for the organization, making it possible for them to post notices, hold meetings and talk about the idea.
It kind of happened that Bill made himself leader of the group, and he nominated Merritt as its secretary.
“You’re an obvious choice, Merritt,” he said, when Merritt balked at the idea. “You’re a great typist and you can even take some shorthand.”
“But I’m so busy at the shop,” Merritt argued.
“Don’t you believe in world peace?” Bill challenged him.
“Of course, it’s just that . . .”
“Then you’ll do it.”
Merritt did the job, and he found he liked writing materials to try to persuade them that a federal world government, modeled after the United States, would bring world peace. He felt his efforts were in honor of his stepfather.
The group, of course, faced much derision from many of the students.
“A bunch of fairies,” one boy kept saying. “They’re afraid they’ll be drafted.”
“What a bunch of dreamers!” said others.
But most of the teachers seemed to like the idea; his Social Studies teacher even gave Merritt time in class to outline the idea, and then opened the class to a full discussion. Merritt was surprised at how eloquent he could be in front of the class, though at first he was frightened at the prospect. He was always self-conscious about his slight girlish physique, but in fact most of his fellow students hardly paid much attention to it. Most were more concerned with their own bodies, it seemed.
His comments did raise much discussion in the class, and Merritt was surprised at how many students agreed with him. There were a few concerns raised that the idea was too impractical, but no one derided the presentation.
“Can I join your group?” Sally Orlowski asked as the pair walked home from school. “You made a lot of sense.”
Merritt and Sally, now both juniors, had continued their friendship, after first meeting in typing class, where Merritt had won the reputation of both being the fastest typist and the only boy among the girls. Their friendship was one of shared interests, both in their growing skills in secretarial work as well as in public issues, mainly the war. She, too, raised as a Catholic and a regular mass-goer at St. Patrick’s, had been questioning the basis of their faith. Therefore the question of whether there was a God, or whether the Catholic Church was just an evil concoction of mortal men, often occupied their talks.
Their conversations took place in their walks to and from school, and often at lunch time in the cafeteria, when Sally often joined him. He was able usually to get to the cafeteria before her, since his last class before lunch was nearby.
Sally, always kind of a waif-like person, was beginning to fill out a bit; her hips seemed to widen and her once tiny breasts were more robust. With her limited wardrobe, coming from a poor home in the flats, Sally however rarely attracted attention. Merritt and Sally, both considered “nobodies” in the school, made a perfect pair.
Sometime Bill Johnson joined them, or Amy O’Hara, whose Irish vivaciousness always brightened the group.
“You spend lots of time with Sally,” one of his tennis teammates mentioned one day. “You getting any?”
Merritt reddened. He never considered himself to be a boy who was out to “get any;” yet, he knew boys of that era were supposed to be on the prowl for “a piece of tail,” as the phrase often went.
“No, we’re just friends,” was his reply.
And, it was true. He had never considered dating Sally, not that she wasn’t a desirable female. All of his friendships with girls had been of the Platonic nature; it had been true of his relations with Donna Mae and Edith, the girls he knew the longest. It was especially true with Dolores, a girl he once dated in the traditional sense, but with whom he felt uncomfortable, except when he was in his “Marilyn” mode.
“I just like being with girls, being a part of their conversations,” he explained to Dolores once during his frequent outings with her.
The two friends had developed a close, honest friendship. She fit into his life, much as Bill Johnson did, as a true friend who accepted Merritt as someone not only a bit different, but perhaps somewhat special.
Throughout his junior year, Merritt had been able to function with few insults for his obvious feminine style of dress and behaviors. The fact that he had won a letter for being on the varsity tennis team and that he often wore the letter sweater, just to show off his meager athletic prowess, helped him to overcome many taunts, he felt.
The “Students for World Peace” had attracted some two dozen regular participants, and Sally was to become one of the most active members. At first, Bill Johnson questioned Sally’s true interest in the group, wondering whether her real reason stemmed from having a “crush” on Merritt. He still viewed Merritt as a girl, and his concerns came from a natural jealousy, since he hated seeing his friend grow into a more masculine boy, with an interest in girls.
Sally truly had no interest in Merritt as a “boy friend,” even though she was currently without a boy friend, having dumped Tom earlier in the year for his continued boorish attitudes. The girl truly felt the country should figure out a way to have world peace; she became eloquent about it many times, and both Merritt and Bill came to enjoy her eager presence in the group.
Chapter 26: Prom Times
By February of 1946, Evelyn began working fulltime in the sewing workshop, taking over more and more responsibility from Merritt. He continued to work after school and weekends in the shop, but he now had more time to his studies and to his own activities. No longer did he feel responsible for assuring that the dresses would be finished on time. That was his mother’s responsibility.
There was even time for him to work on the Junior Prom committee, having been drafted by Amy O’Hara. “You have a natural artistic talent. You can help us decorate,” she told him, her blue eyes sparkling from her round freckled face.
He had given Amy some ideas about clothes that the girl had adopted and she had found the ideas to help her look particularly fetching. “You know how to make a girl look good,” she told him one day at lunch, planting a swift kiss on his cheek.
“Oh, I’m glad.”
“Patrick loves it,” she said, referring to her boy friend.
Merritt had suggested clothes that would make her somewhat plump figure fetching and eye-catching, and he was happy that the ideas succeeded.
Again, little did he know when he accepted the committee assignment that he’d be the only boy. It seemed again that he was being thrust into the lacy, frilly world of girlhood. He enjoyed the prospect.
*****
Merritt found working with the committee of about eight girls and himself on the prom a great deal of fun. They were always giggling and gossiping, and Merritt joined in eagerly. He was working on decorations, and had even gotten Bill to help put together a stage back drop. It would be a combination of flowers cutout from colored paper and twigs, artfully arranged on a sheet of light blue cloth. (No one else knew it, but the cloth was from an old bed sheet which Merritt dyed. In those days, there was not a lot of money to be spent on decorations, and many had to be home-made.)
Two weeks before the prom, Merritt still had no date. Both Amy and Sally had been hanging around Merritt a lot, but he was uncertain they’d entertain his invitation to the prom. Given his disastrous “date” with Dorothy, he was frightened of what would happen should he invite either one of them.
Yet, it was expected that all members of the committee attend the prom with dates.
“Aren’t you going to the prom?” his friend, Bill asked him early in that week.
“I don’t have a date,” Merritt responded. “Do you?”
“Yes, I’m going with Sally,” he said. “Why don’t you ask Amy?”
“She’s got a date already.”
“Oh, that’s too bad, Merritt, I think she likes you. You could have asked her sooner.”
“I didn’t think she’d say yes.”
“Oh, you’re a fool. Quite underestimating yourself.”
“I just don’t know,” Merritt said, hating himself for his queasiness around the idea of “dating” and having a “girl friend.”
“Actually,” Bill said, a conspiratorial smile on his face, “I wanted to ask you! You would have made the prettiest girl on the dance floor. We make a nice couple.”
Merritt smiled at that, and did an abbreviated feminine twirl, almost ending in a curtsey, which brought a chorus of cheers from the handful of girls also working in the middle off the gym floor, surveying the scene for the decorating ideas. He blushed, suspecting that all he did was enhance his reputation as a “fairy” or “sissy.” He didn’t consider himself either; he just kept wondering whether he wasn’t really a girl.
In the end, he prevailed upon Dorothy to join him as his “prom date.” They’d double-date with Bill and Sally, and he was certain the four would have a fun time, without too much pressure being exerted on Merritt to act as a “stud,” or typical boy of his age.
*****
It did indeed turn out to be a prom night of innocent fun, ending with some brief “necking” while parking on the road in Washington Park. The “necking” time was cut short, as the police began shooing the parkers out of the park, virtually all of them high school prom-goers driving their parents’ cars. Virtually no high school students drove cars to school; nor did parents bring them. Students walked, took public transportation or rode bikes. And few had enough dollars to rent a motel room or stage a post-prom party.
Bill’s father ordered that the boy must be home by 2 a.m. with the car, and Bill was still fresh from getting his license and was still a bit concerned about his own ability to drive safely.
“You still kiss like Marilyn,” Dolores whispered, as the pair kissed briefly in the back seat.
“Oh,” Merritt said. “Is that bad?”
She initiated an even harder kiss, her hand caressing his thigh. “That’s how I like it.”
And he returned the kiss, firmly, only to be interrupted by a spotlight shinning on the car parked behind them. He broke off the kiss, saying, “We better go, the cops are chasing us out.”
Bill and Sally broke their embrace, and Bill said, “Damn,” starting the car, a 1939 Chevrolet, and driving off.
*****
The following Sunday, Dolores and Merritt went to a movie; afterwards, at Morgan’s Sweet Shoppe,
the pair took a booth at the back.
“Merritt, now you have to return the favor. I have a request for you.”
“What favor?”
She laughed. “What favor? Well, I went to the prom with you and you were Merritt, not Marilyn. I prefer Marilyn.”
“Thank you for going, but what can I do for you?”
“Come to the Angel’s prom next week.”
“Sure.”
“But you’ll have to come as Marilyn,” she said.
“As Marilyn? You mean I’d be your date and we’d be like two girls?”
“No silly,” she said. “I got a date with David Schofield and his buddy was supposed to take Janet McCarthy, but Janet got the measles over the weekend and she’ll be quarantined.”
“What? I’m supposed to be a blind date? As Marilyn? Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“Please, David said this boy has already rented a tux and it seems all the girls I know are already taken. David said he’s nice and won’t try anything.”
“You don’t know his name? His school?”
“No, but he goes to Lincoln, like David does.”
Merritt said he’d think about it, but felt that in the end, he would agree to go as Marilyn. He had to admit dressing up for a prom excited him; even as he mulled the strange request over in his mind, he pictured himself all prettied up, looking the picture of teenaged femininity.
Dolores had told him earlier that she had become friendly with David Schofield, a boy she met at Catholic Youth Organization meetings and dances at her church. She said her friendship with the boy was purely platonic. That seemed logical to Merritt, since he knew Dolores did not seem to be a girl that sought romance of liaison with a boy.
And thus it was that Marilyn McGraw attended the Our Lady of the Angel’s High School prom.
*****
Merritt’s excitement grew intense as he thought about becoming a prom date, about finding the right dress to wear, about having his hair fixed and being made up into a lovely teen aged girl wearing a gown. But, his excitement was soon stifled by his mother.
“Are you crazy, darling?” Evelyn said to him. “You don’t know anything about this boy, and if he ever finds out the truth about you . . . god . . . you don’t know how he’d react.”
“But, mom, Dolores vouches for him,” he replied, shocked at his mother’s violent response. “And we’ll be double-dating with her and her friend.”
“I know, honey, and I know and trust Dolores, too, but you never know with boys.”
Merritt nodded, but then argued that the boy was in a bind, and Dolores was certain Merritt would look so lovely that the idea he was anything but a girl would never enter anyone’s mind. Donna Mae and Edith, also would be around, since they’d be going to the same prom.
“Having a prom date is so important for a boy, and I’d hate to disappoint him,” he argued.
“What’s his name?”
“Name? Oh, mom, I don’t know. Dolores didn’t tell me.”
“Oh my, Merritt, this is ridiculous,” he mother said, shaking her head in amazement.
“I never thought to ask.”
“Ok, dear, I know how much you want to do this, to really shine like a girl should,” his mother said. “Your mother never got to the prom at school, and I cried when I didn’t get asked.”
“Oh, mom,” he said, running over to hug his mother. “You weren’t asked? And, you’re so pretty.”
“Well, I guess we were poor and lived on the wrong side of the tracks,” she explained. “And I didn’t have any nice clothes, either.”
In the end, Evelyn gave her permission for the prom date, but on the condition that Dolores assure to her that Merritt would be safe and also that the boy had to come to the McGraw apartment to pick Merritt up so that pictures could be taken and so that she could meet him.
Merritt hugged his mother eagerly, already running over in his mind what kind of dress he’d wear. And he now had less than a week to figure that out and to either create it or purchase it.
“I just know, mom, I’ll be the prettiest girl there,” he said.
“You will, my dear. You will.”
*****
It turned out Merritt’s “blind date” wasn’t so blind, after all. When pressed, Dolores finally gave up his name.
“His name’s Jim Turner and he’s a senior at Lincoln,” she announced.
“Oh?”
“He’s supposed to be a nice guy, and really good looking,” she continued.
“Have you met him?” Merritt inquired.
“No, but that’s what I’m told.”
“And his name is Jim? And, he’s a senior?”
“Yes.”
“I met a Jim before from Lincoln and I wonder if it’s the same guy,” Merritt mused out loud.
“Oh, there’s lots of Jims, I bet, at Lincoln,” Dolores said quickly.
To Merritt, however, it didn’t seem this was a mere coincidence. He suspected there was more to it: he knew that Dolores had become close friends with Donna Mae and Edith, since they were all in the same class at Angels. Besides, he knew Edith had become the steady girl friend of Leo, the best friend of “Jim” from Lincoln. If fact, Edith had asked several times why Merritt wouldn’t accept a date from “Jim,” who had constantly asked about the “pretty blond girl.” Furthermore, Merritt recalled the time Edith had “arranged” to have Leo and Jim meet the girls during fireworks on the 4th of July.
“He won’t know you as anything but a girl,” Dolores said, still trying to convince him.
Merritt, however, continued to resist the idea of a “date;” his life was complicated enough, he felt, with his friendship with Bill Johnson and Dolores, both of whom seemed to prefer him as the girl, Marilyn. How could he possibly go on a date with Jim, who likely would want to kiss and grope him all over, only to find he had boy parts? Then what? The prospect frightened him.
“Please, Marilyn,” Dolores pleaded. “We’d have a great time as a double date.”
Despite his fears, Merritt agreed.
“Yes, I’ll go, but you’ve got to tell me: Is this the Jim who I think it is?”
Dolores hesitated, before finally nodding her head, acknowledging what he feared.
“I bet Edith put you up to it,” he said. “I’ll scratch her eyes out.”
“I’m sorry, Marilyn,” she said, continuing to use his female name. “I just know you’ll be fine, and I’ll make sure Jim doesn’t go too far. He thinks you’re shy, and you need to act that way. It doesn’t matter to him, apparently. Edith said he can’t get you out of his head.”
*****
Like any girl getting ready for her first prom, Merritt was just giddy with both apprehension and excitement. He dearly wanted to make sure he looked so feminine and pretty, that his hair would be perfect and that his dress would hang right and that he’d make Jim Turner so proud. Dolores agreed to set up an appointment for him with her mother’s hairdresser, where no one would know him and he could go dressed and accepted as a teenaged girl.
Beatrice, the hairdresser, was ecstatic about Merritt’s longish, blond hair. “It’s so natural, dear,” she told him in the chair. “Why don’t you let it grow longer?”
“Maybe I should, but it’s easier to manage this way,” he said. He really would have liked it longer, too, but knew that since he must still live as a boy, such long hair would look very odd for a boy like him who already had such feminine features.
“I think we’ll fix in a page boy style, Marilyn,” the hairdresser said. “How would you like that, dear?”
He looked over to Dolores, sitting in a nearby chair, reading a magazine. “What do you think, Dolores?” he asked.
“Oh that’d be perfect.”
When she finished, Beatrice beamed as she had Merritt look in the mirror.
Merritt was astounded at what he saw. A pixie-like girl!
“How cute, Marilyn,” Dolores exclaimed.
“I think she’ll be the hit of the prom,” Beatrice said. “It’s such a joy to work on a girl who is so naturally beautiful, Marilyn.”
As the two walked home after the appointment, Dolores said. “I can’t resist you, you’re so cute. I could eat you up.”
*****
Merritt was in luck, since he felt the extra prom dress he had created the previous year might fit fine, with some adjustments. It was a floor length gown of teal blue chiffon, belted so that the material flowed widely, accentuating his somewhat slender hips. It was a bare-shouldered model, exposing his shoulders and arms and highlighting his long, slender neck.
“You’re a queen, my dear,” Dolores said, as he modeled it for her.
“I hope so,” he said, not sure about wearing such a revealing outfit, since he would have to use his homemade breast forms to fill out the bodice.
“Really, Marilyn, you are. I wished I could wear such a gown, but I have these ugly arms.”
“Oh you’re beautiful Dolores,” Merritt protested.
“Not like you. Your arms and shoulders are so smooth and pretty. Mine are so ugly with these muscles.”
It was true. Merritt was indeed soft and feminine looking; even with all the tennis he was playing he still hadn’t developed any noticeable muscle tone. His legs and arms had grown firm, but still retained a lack of muscular definition.
While they were fitting the dress, his friend Bill Johnson stopped over. Merritt saw the boy’s face grow stern when he was told that Merritt was going to the prom as Marilyn. “You wouldn’t go with me,” he protested.
“Don’t blame Marilyn,” Dolores was quick to come to Merritt’s defense. “I talked him into it.”
Bill cooled down after Dolores explained the situation, but added: “Now you have no excuse. You’ll have to go out with me next, Marilyn.”
Merritt smiled, happy that his friend was not too mad at him.
*****
Normally, Merritt worked Saturdays for the Swensons, but he took the day of the prom off in order to get ready. He tried on the dress three times, altering it slightly each time to assure it fit properly. The biggest issue developed in assuring that the dress would not slip down, since he had no natural breasts. But after some maneuvering with the breast forms he had made, it seemed to work fine.
By 5 o’clock, he was ready for a bath; he poured in bubble bath crystals which he hoped would help soften his skin and leave it with a sweet scent; he relaxed in the tub for nearly 20 minutes, making sure his hair (covered with a shower cap) stayed dry and in place.
After drying himself, and running a razor across his face to catch any light hint of hair, he stepped into light satin cream-colored panties, while taping on the breast forms and putting on a tight jock strap to keep his small penis tucked. He put on a bra that matched his panties, and stepped into a full slip. He continued to wear the shower cap, and went into his bedroom, where the dress hung on the closet door. He wondered whether he should try it on again, but decided against it. He wouldn’t get into the dress until about a half hour before Jim was to pick him up, which was at 7:30 p.m.
“You better eat something, darling,” his mother yelled from the kitchen. “I have some stew made.”
“Oh mom, I’m too excited. I can’t eat.”
No way could he eat, he thought. He pranced about the apartment nervously since there wasn’t much he could do but wait to get dressed.
Evelyn persisted. “Honey, you should eat. You’ll faint if you don’t.”
Finally he gave in and sat down at the table, realizing he’d have to brush his teeth again to take away any food smell.
*****
“You’re stunning,” Jim said, when he arrived to the McGraw’s second story apartment.
Merritt blushed, as he invited him in and introduced him to Evelyn, who also had dressed herself up in a nice cocktail dress for the occasion.
“Mom,” he said. “This is Jim Turner.”
“Nice meeting you Jim,” Evelyn responded. Her voice was stiff and not too warm, as she considered this boy who was dating her son as if he were a lovely teen girl.
“You, too, Mrs. McGraw,” the boy said, noticing the cool tone. “And I can see where Marilyn gets her beauty.”
Merritt smiled at the compliment, but he saw his mother took it a bit differently.
“That’s nice of you to say, Jim,” Evelyn said, her voice still frigid. “But I want you to know Marilyn is not used to dating boys, so I hope you’ll treat her with respect.”
“Oh yes, Mrs. McGraw,” the boy assured her. “I’m thankful that she was willing to go with me.”
“Well come in and make yourself comfortable,” she replied. “I have the Brownie and I want to take your pictures.”
“That’ll be nice, Mrs. McGraw, and I hope I can get copies when they’re developed.”
“We’ll be happy to. Now Marilyn dear, I want you to sit on the chair I placed in front of the fireplace.”
Liked so many residences built during the 1920s, this apartment had a fake built-in fireplace of brick. It looked authentic, but had no chimney. It did have a walnut mantel piece, upon which Evelyn had placed a picture of her husband Bob in his Navy blues, with the Navy Cross draped over the side. There were also pictures of Merritt, all from his infancy, showing a curly headed blond with dainty features. His baptism picture was there; he was wearing the same baptismal dress his own mother had worn for her baptism. It was customary for both boy and girl infants to be in a dress for the baptism ceremony.
“Now, Jim. You stand to one wide, placing one hand on the back of the chair, and move close to Marilyn.”
She fumbled around trying to get a flashbulb into the socket and finally, held the camera down at waist level, peering into the view finder, before setting off the flash bulb and taking the picture.
“Oh I hope that’s OK, but we better take one of both of you standing in front of the fireplace,” she said.
After the two pictures were taken, she told Merritt to leave the room with the excuse of fixing up make-up and getting the wrap he’d wear to and from the prom. Merritt knew, from his mother’s stern look that she expected him to stall a bit, since she obviously wanted to talk to Jim. He hoped she wouldn’t scare the boy off.
“Jim, this is Marilyn’s first prom.”
“Mine too, Mrs. McGraw.”
Evelyn looked at the boy, so handsome and erect in his tuxedo. She couldn’t imagine this handsome, strong boy hadn’t been to a prom before. Yet, she was still miffed at the way the boy had been manipulated Merritt into accepting a date for the prom. She didn’t like deviousness, even though she practiced it by hiding her love relationship with Viola as well as her protection of her son and his desire to be a girl.
“I tell you this, young man, not to try to take advantage of her,” she continued. “She’s a good girl and she’s working very hard, and she is so excited to be going to the prom.”
“I understand, Mrs. McGraw,” he said. The boy was seated on the couch and Evelyn had brought the dining room chair over and placed it directly in front of the boy, sitting opposite him, the chair making her appear taller than the boy. She had a commanding appearance.
“I want her home by 2 a.m.,” she continued. “That’ll give you time to get something to eat afterwards and come right home. Not a minute later, OK?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And there’s to be no alcohol. None. No way. Understand?”
Her voice was loud, and demanding.
“Oh mother,” Merritt said, coming into the room, a pink wrap over his shoulders. “I’ll be OK.”
Evelyn turned toward her son, angered at his interruption.
“I’m just trying to protect you, darling,” she said sharply.
“Oh mother . . .”
“Mrs. McGraw, I’ll respect Marilyn,” Jim said quickly. “I’m honored she agreed to go out with me.”
“Only ‘cause you and Edith tricked me,” Merritt said.
“You could’ve still said no,” the boy said.
Merritt face went flush. Evelyn heard the interchange, and was momentarily reassured that Merritt would be able to fight off any untoward advances. Nonetheless, she recalled her own episode with Drake Kosgrove that resulted in her pregnancy with Merritt. She had been a naíve girl at the time, dazzled by the attention of a seemingly kind young man, who suddenly turned into a monster forcing her into sex. She feared the same could happen to Merritt; only then the boy would discover Merritt’s secret and could turn violent.
“I’m warning you, young man,” she said finally. “I trust you’ll honor your word.”
“Yes, Mrs. McGraw. I promise.”
“Oh mother,” Merritt protested again, his voice weak and soft and girlish.
Jim eyed the mantel-piece. “Is that your dad, Marilyn?” he said, pointing at Bob’s picture on the mantel.
“My stepdad,” he said. “He was a hero in the War.”
“I see that medal.”
“Yes, Jim, he died at Tarawa.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“We are too, Jim,” Evelyn said. “He was a very sweet man and loved Marilyn very much.”
Merritt nodded, but felt his eyes well up with moisture. He didn’t want to cry for fear of ruining his makeup. Gamely he fought off tears, and said, “Let’s go.”
*****
Donna Mae and Edith and their dates were already at the dance when the two couples arrived. They had saved four places at a table, and soon all four couples were gathered around, the girls all appraising each other’s gowns and hairdo. Merritt had made all four gowns, and loved how each of them look. Somehow, he felt, Donna Mae was the most stunning of the group, somehow turning her husky body into a fashion model.
Yet, the rest all agreed that Marilyn was the prettiest.
“Again, you win the prize, Marilyn,” commented Donna Mae.
“Yes she does,” added Jim, a Cheshire cat grin on his face.
Merritt felt like a fairy while dancing with Jim; he was so light on his feet, and he found he followed the athletic boy’s lead easily. He loved feeling his hand buried into Jim’s large, strong hand and to feel his muscular shoulders as they danced. Again, he felt so much a girl and felt he was so desired by his partner.
The only concern came as his penis grew hard; tucked as it was, he doubted it would be noticed, but he was beginning to feel pressure and growing pain. Fortunately, the band soon played a jitterbug, and the pair quit dancing, gathering in a circle to watch two couples show off their jitterbug acrobatics.
Dolores suggested during a break that Merritt join her in the girls’ restroom, which was mobbed with girls, examining themselves in the mirror, cleaning up their lipsticked mouths and touching up their hair.
“You’re getting pretty hot with Jim,” she said, as the two found a place in front of the mirror.
“He dances like Fred Astaire,” Merritt said.
“Be careful with him,” she said. “Remember he’s a boy and if he gets too lovey-dovey you could be in trouble.”
“Are you jealous?” Merritt said, winking.
Dolores smiled. “Just a bit.”
As it turned out, the night was innocent. Merritt found himself wishing it might have gone further, but Jim seemed content with about five minutes of kissing and cuddling, just as they were about to drop Merritt off. They could see the upstairs apartment lights were still on, indicating that Evelyn was probably still up, awaiting her son’s return home. He entered the threshold of the apartment at 1:59. according to the hands on the kitchen clock.
“That was cutting it close,” Evelyn said. She was in a robe, curled up on the couch, a book open in her hands.
“Oh mom, he was wonderful. I think I danced every dance.”
The excitement of the night permeated the room, but Evelyn eyed her wannabe daughter narrowly.
“Your lipstick is a bit mussed,” she said.
“Oh mom! You’re such a worry wart.”
“Somebody better be,” she said. “You’re like every other girl, once she’s in the hands of a man.”
Merritt giggled.
*****
“Marilyn, it’s for you,” Evelyn called, rousing her son from his napping. The boy, tired from the excitement of the prom the night before, had fallen asleep while trying to complete his English assignment by reading Walt Whitman’s poetry. He was snuggled on the living room couch.
“Uh, Uh,” he grunted.
“It sounds like Jim,” she prompted.
“Jim?” he mumbled. At first, Merritt was confused. Jim? Jim who? Oh yes, his date from last night.
The shock of hearing that Jim was calling exploded in Merritt’s mind, causing him to bolt up from the couch, knocking the poetry book onto the floor. He rushed to the phone in the central hallway.
“Hello, this is Marilyn,” he said, his voice thick with snooze-induced phlegm.
“Marilyn, this is Jim.”
“Hi, Jim,” he said, using a softer voice.
“I had fun last night, and I hope you did.” His voice was a bit tentative.
“Oh yes, Jim, I did. You were so sweet.”
Merritt spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully, lest he lead the boy on to wanting a real love affair. A onetime date was OK, Merritt figured, but it wasn’t right to get overly entangled with the boy who still thought he was a girl.
“No, Marilyn, you were sweet.”
“I guess we were both sweet,” Merritt said, giggling nervously.
Merritt sensed the boy was struggling to say the right words. He knew that he had been quite standoffish with Jim all night long, hardly encouraging any intimacy, outside of the brief “good night” kiss. Certainly Jim must have wanted more affectionate responses from his date. Merritt had hoped her fairly cool demeanor might cool the boy’s desire for Marilyn.
There was a brief silence, with Jim finally blurting out:
“Leo and Edith are going to the park today, Marilyn, and maybe we could join them, you and I?”
The boy said it so quickly it took a minute for Merritt to realize Jim was asking her out for another date on this very same day.
“Oh Jim,” he recovered, “That’s nice of you to ask, but I got this poetry assignment for English . . .”
“But it’s such a nice warm day. Come and join us.”
Merritt noticed it was unusually warm that day and his mother had opened several windows so the warm spring breeze could enter the apartment. Few days in May were warm and pleasant in Riverdale, due to its location on the still cool waters of Lake Michigan.
“I really shouldn’t,” Merritt said.
“We’ll just be there for a short while,” Jim pleaded. “You can do your English tonight.”
The boy’s persistence finally wore Merritt down and he agreed he could be ready in an hour to be picked up by Jim for their trip to Washington Park, where Jim had suggested they could perhaps visit the Riverdale zoo.
“Mom, what am I going to do?” he asked Evelyn later. “He thinks he’s in love with me , I think.”
“Marilyn, honey,” she replied using his female name as she often did when he was to be in his female mode. “You’ll have to tell him soon. Today, if possible. That’s the only way you’ll end this, and the sooner the better. When he finds out you’re still a boy, after he’s fallen for you as a girl, he could get violent and hurt you.”
“I know, mom, and I don’t want to hurt him. He’s really very sweet and he’s quite shy, too. And, I like him. He’s smart, like Bill.”
“You’re such a kind girl, my dear. It’s best you tell him.”
*****
“Jim, I need to tell you something,” Merritt whispered as the couple was looking at the polar bears at the zoo. Edith and Leo were walking ahead, and couldn’t hear.
“What is it?” the boy asked.
“Well, let’s sit over there,” he pointed to an empty bench far away from the walkway where the people were clustering to watch the bears. The warm Sunday afternoon had brought huge crowds to the zoo.
“I’ll tell Leo and Edith, we’ll meet them later at the pavilion, OK?”
Merritt sat on the green park bench, his knees together and pushed to one side, his hands in his lap, looking very girlish in his jeans which were neatly folded up at the cuffs to expose white ankle socks and saddle shoes; he wore a violet short-sleeved blouse with his hair tied in pigtails. Edith had commented that he looked so “cute,” to which Jim had responded: “Hubba, hubba, hubba.”
“What do you have to tell me?” he said, sitting down, about to put his hand over Merritt’s folded hands.
Merritt moved away, avoiding the contact. He had rehearsed what he was going to say to Jim over and over in his mind, but now suddenly his mind was a blank. How should he tell him the truth?
“Jim, I’m a boy.” He blurted out quickly.
“You’re a what?” Jim responded, looking at Merritt in puzzlement.
“I said,” she began more slowly, “I’m a boy.”
“But, you can’t be,” he said, his voice rising.
“I am, really,” Merritt said, taking his voice to a lower register.
“But . . .but . . . look at you . . . so pretty . . . your hands . . . arms . . . everything about you. All girl.”
“I’m sorry,” Merritt said.
Jim suddenly stood up, towering over Merritt, his face growing red and his eyes showing anger and rage.
“Why did you deceive me?”
“I’m sorry, but I feel I am a girl, really, and when we first met, that was my first time out as a girl,” he tried to explain.
“It’s still wrong to do that. How could you?” Jim said, his voice growing more sharp.
“I don’t know, Jim, really. I’m very confused.”
“Yet you went to the prom with me. And you couldn’t have been more beautiful? Many people told me you were the prettiest girl there last night. But, you’re not a girl. That’s sick.”
“But you persisted in asking me,” Merritt said in defense.
“This is so bad. I feel so humiliated,” Jim said. “You got streetcar fare to get home?”
“What?”
“Do you have money for the streetcar?”
“Why?”
“I’m done with you. You’re a liar and a cheat. The streetcar stop is right over the hill. I’m not taking you home. Here’s a dime for the fare.”
“I got mom’s pass. I don’t need your dime.”
Merritt wanted to cry right there in the park, where the tulips wear already blooming and the yellowish-green young buds were forming on the trees on a pretty spring day. But, he held back on the tears, and got up from the bench, stalking resolutely toward the No. 11 Streetcar line. He didn’t look back to see what Jim was doing. He didn’t think he’d ever hear from the boy again.
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Merritt has completed his sophomore year of high school, having attended two proms, one as a boy and one as a girl, where his date’s infatuation for Marilyn has prompted Merritt to tell the boy the truth, only to be rudely rejected. He continues in high school even more conflicted.)
Chapter 27: An Altar Boy’s Adventure
Merritt’s time as an acolyte at St. Pat’s ended abruptly, in the days following the prom. Merritt had been scheduled to serve the 11 a.m. mass on the morning after the prom, and had arrived just a minute or two late, his hair still fixed in the page boy style from the night before. He had slept later than usual and in rushing to get to church on time hadn’t had time to fully brush his hair out.
Both Father Mulcahy and the other altar boy, a short, wiry sophomore named Melvin, looked at him in astonishment as Merritt slipped on the lace altar boy’s dress.
“You look like a girl!” said Melvin, addressing Merritt. The boy then turned to the priest saying, “Doesn’t he father?”
Father Mulcahy, busy tying up his own vestments, merely nodded, but then smiled at Merritt, and the boy almost thought he noticed a slight wink from the priest.
Merritt still was reliving last night’s dance and did certainly feel like a girl. Yet, the comment from the underclassman Melvin bothered him. His acceptance into a boy’s world and as life went on into the world of men was becoming more and more problematic with each day.
As lead altar boy, Merritt had the most compelling duties, making sure everything was delivered to Father Mulcahy on time and in good form. He also rang the bells at the appropriate moments during the moments, and for the first time in all of his altar boy experience, he missed the cue, finally being awakened out of his day-dreaming by a crude whisper from Melvin, “Ring the bell, girl.”
Even Father Mulcahy heard the other boy’s remark as he turned to face the congregation and raise the chalice, holding the communion host over the cup.
That incident jarred the normally “perfect” Merritt out of his stupor and the mass continued without further mishap.
“Will you be in Friday this week, Merritt?” the priest asked him after mass.
“Oh yes. I never miss being here after school on Fridays, father.”
“I know, but I just want to make sure. Can you stay a bit longer this time?”
“Yes, father,” he said.
Merritt regularly worked with the priest and the Altar Society ladies in setting up the church for the Sunday services on Friday afternoons, doing some rudimentary cleaning, changing altar clothes and assuring there were enough communion hosts on hand.
*****
By 4:30 p.m., Friday, after the ladies from the Altar Society had completed their chores, Father Mulcahy, his face strangely flushed, asked Merritt to follow him into a side utility room, just off the altar. The room was mainly a place where vestments and altar boy outfits were hung, along with other items often used at the services, such as the numbers that were attached to the board that announced the hymns for the service.
Merritt noticed how red the priest’s face had become, and he seemed nervous as well.
Father Mulcahy ushered Merritt into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. There were two folding chairs set up in the middle of the cramped room, facing each other, and the priest took Merritt’s hand gently, leading him toward a chair.
Suddenly, Merritt felt himself drawn firmly into the man and being hugged. He felt the rough cloth of the priest’s black outfit, and smelled the cigarette smoke from the man’s garments as he found himself pressed against the priest’s armpits. He felt the priest’s hands running through his long hair.
“You are so lovely and pretty, my pet,” the priest said.
In Merritt’s confusion, he surrendered himself to the priest’s attention. After all, the man embracing him was a priest, a holy man and a man to obey implicitly. He felt the priest’s hand on the back of his head, and the priest’s lips finding his own, and kissing him.
Suddenly, he felt revulsion; the priest’s mouth tasted sour and a scent seemed to emanate from his mouth, who just moments before had issued forth with a brief prayer on the altar, as he genuflected. What’s this holy man doing?
Merritt squirmed twisting his head to avoid the lips of the priest; but the priest now was holding him even more firmly and Father Mulcahy’s grip tightened on the boy, who was too weak to move away.
“Quiet now, my son,” said the priest.
“But, father what are you . . .”
“Oh Merritt, my darling,” the priest interrupted him. The voice was now desperate and urgent. “You’re so lovely to hold. Such a pretty boy. Like a cute girl.”
“Father, please, let me go.”
“You’re so pretty,” the priest repeated again.
Merritt squirmed harder, but the priest, in spite of his age, was a strong man and just held the boy tightly against his body. Father Mulcahy’s body seemed to be rocking back and forth and the priest was breathing harder and harder. He seemed to be losing his control, and Merritt felt the priest rubbing his legs against his own, thigh against thigh.
Suddenly, the priest let out a scream and let go of Merritt, sinking to the floor, holding his crotch as he did so.
“Oh dear Lord Jesus, what have I done?”
Merritt looked in astonishment at the priest kneeling before him, his hands holding his crotch, and beginning to cry.
“I better go, father,” Merritt said, still surprised by the assault by the priest and his sudden release, realizing finally that the priest had ejaculated.
“Oh Merritt . . . I’m sorry . . . I have sinned . . .” The priest’s moaning embarrassed the boy.
Merritt hated the sight in front of him; he hated to see a man in humiliation, crying in weakness.
He unlocked the door, ran from the room, found his coat and walked home as fast as he could, as if the awful shameful scene would catch up to him.
Merritt never told anyone about the incident, not even his mother. He never again entered St. Patrick’s Church, never called Father Mulcahy to state he’d never serve mass again and, in spite of the feeling of holiness he felt at mass, only rarely attended a Catholic mass in the years ahead.
*****
Evelyn asked her son why he didn’t go to mass the next Sunday, but he merely answered that he was too busy to serve as an altar boy or acolyte. It was true, she realized, the boy when you figured in school, tennis practice, the peace group and the dressmaking business was truly busy.
“I’m happy he’s walked away from all that church stuff,” Evelyn told Viola during one of the love-making episodes later. “I never was much for religion and he seemed to be getting so holy.”
Yet, Evelyn wondered about the boy’s abrupt separation from St. Patrick’s and Father Mulcahy, about whom Merritt had previously been to praiseworthy.
“What happened that you quit so suddenly, Merritt?” she asked again.
“Just got sick of doing it mom,” he said, his face reddening.
“Really? But honey, you seemed to be happy there.”
He shook his head. “Just got bored with it, mom,” he lied.
Evelyn felt that perhaps one or more of the altar boys may have teased him about his effeminate mannerisms. She knew that he was often bullied and she felt she best not press the issue more. After all, he was busy, and she was not too fond of the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church. So, she reasoned, maybe it was best he quit serving at the parish. Her concerns about Merritt’s real reasons for quitting as acolyte grew more complicated when Sunday came and he declined her invitation to go to mass.
“I thought you loved the mass, darling,” she inquired as she attempted to get him out of bed in time to get to St. Pat’s in time for the 9 a.m. mass.
“Lemme sleep in, mom,” he mumbled, his head buried under the pink coverlet.
“Ok, but you’ll have to get up for the 11 o’clock mass,” she warned.
“I’m not going, mom,” his voice came out from under the covers, weak and hardly understandable.
Evelyn was totally confused now. “You’re not going?”
“Never, never, never. Leave me alone.” His voice was angry and loud now.
“Marilyn Marie,” she said sternly, using the feminine names Merritt had adopted. “Get up out from under those covers and tell me what’s wrong.”
Rarely did Evelyn have to speak in such commanding tones to her son, who usually was obedient, almost to a fault. Her tone was enough to rouse the boy, who emerged from under the covers, his narrow shoulders exposed by the pale beige nightie he wore, his eyes red from crying.
“Mom, it’s all a sham, the church is. I don’t believe it any more,” he finally confessed after her prodding for an answer. She had alternately hugged him and berated him in trying to tell her what had happened at St. Patrick’s church.
Evelyn, convinced there was more to his refusal to go to mass than he’d admitted, after nearly half an hour decided it was best to let matters rest; perhaps, Merritt would tell her the real reason in the future. Besides, she had always been somewhat of a free-thinker about religion, sharing Merritt’s own observation that it was “nothing but a sham” and that “being a good person” didn’t mean one had to go to church every Sunday.
*****
Merritt cried intensely after his mother left the room, feeling he’d betrayed her by not confessing to his real reasons for quitting.
He cursed himself for being so unmanly and so “pretty” that he could not live as other boys did, being rough and tumble, being muscular and strong, being braggarts and bores. Yet, he hated those things so much; he loved being soft and weak, dainty and feathery, and being a lover of beauty and fashion. He hated himself for being so attractive to men that they’d want to attack him with kisses and caresses, and whatever else men wanted to do.
What he hated even more so was the memory of Father James Mulcahy, so desperate in his desire to kiss and caress him and so shamed by his own behavior that he knelt and cried pathetically. How could a man, so respected as a man of God, be reduced to such a sorry state? He felt sorry for the priest, and decided he’d never mention the incident to anyone. It would be his secret, and Father Mulcahy’s.
*****
Evelyn shared her concerns the next time she visited Viola, the two ending up in Viola’s bed, as they usually did. She had found the hard contours of the older woman’s body so familiar, as she licked Viola’s small, still firm breasts and then run her tongue into the often sweaty, salty armpits. She was always the first to venture between the legs of her partner, drinking up the juices from Viola’s often violent orgasms.
Evelyn’s breasts, once firm, were already beginning to sag under their weight, and she was shamed by that. The cellulite on her chubby thighs seemed to grow by the day, as did her round tummy. Though the younger Evelyn was disgusted with her own lack of firmness, her partner seemed to relish her even more.
“I’m getting so fat, Vi, darling. How can you love me as you do?”
Both women had several orgasms and were relaxing in each other’s arms, and they continued soft murmurings of love as they lay in the darkness, the sheets on Viola’s bed, askew from their athletics.
“I’m so concerned about Merritt,” Evelyn confessed to her friend as they lay there.
“What now, honey?”
“He suddenly quit going to church and won’t tell me why. It’s not like him. He loved the mass and all the ceremony.”
“Didn’t he tell you any reason at all?”
“He said it’s all a sham.”
Viola let out a short chuckle. “Well, we’ve both thought that for years, you know? I used to be real active at St. Pat’s, but I got sick of the phoniness too.”
Evelyn recalled that it was Viola’s own connection as a “church lady” that brought the two of them together in the first place, resulting in Viola hiring her as a live-in maid and nanny. She rescued Evelyn from the shameful role of being an unwed mother without a way to support herself and her young son. It would never have happened had it not been for the church activity.
“I think maybe some of the other altar boys may have been teasing him, and that’s why he quit,” Evelyn said.
“He’s usually told you about those incidents, Evie. Why would he not now?”
“I don’t know. That’s what has me worried.”
“Hmmmm,” Viola pondered. “Wasn’t he working closely with Father Jim?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a funny duck,” Viola said, choosing her words carefully. “He’s at an age and he’s good enough at his job that he should have had his own church as a pastor long ago. But he’s still an assistant.”
“He seemed real nice, and Merritt seemed to like him,” Evelyn said. “But, when I asked Merritt whether he had talked to Father Mulcahy about his feelings, the boy won’t answer. He just changed the subject.”
“As I said,” Viola said again. “I think there’s something funny about Father Jim.”
*****
The sight of Father Mulcahy kneeling and crying before him haunted Merritt immensely. He tried praying at night, but his appeals to a God he never understood — or particularly believed in — failed for lack of concentration. His mind was filled with fear and horror at the priest’s initial approaches of affection, and then with revulsion as the “man of God” wilted before him into a pathetic display of weakness.
How could a kind and benevolent God let this happen? Merritt tried mightily to forget the incident, and to move on with his life; he knew that was the only way to overcome the incident which could become a growing cancer, consuming all of his mind and soul in the years ahead.
Merritt never mentioned the incident to anyone, but he never forgot it. He often wondered whether he should tell someone, however, just in case Father Mulcahy was ever inclined to foist his sickening desires upon some other unsuspecting altar boy. Yet, he rejected the idea, perhaps out of shame or of respect for this “man of God.”
*****
Merritt received a brief phone call from Edith on the evening of the episode at the zoo in which Jim Turner had sent Merritt home on a streetcar, having become repulsed at Merritt’s announcement that he was a boy, and not a lovely girl.
“What happened between you and Jim?” she inquired.
“We had an argument and I went home, that’s all,” Merritt said. “I don’t care about him.”
“That sounds serious,” Edith had pressed. “What was it all about?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m done with him.”
Despite Edith’s pleas for more information, Merritt held firm, refusing to explain further.
On the following Saturday, Merritt worked in the sewing area of Swenson’s finishing up a back load of work when Edith called, suggesting Merritt join her and Donna Mae to hang out for a while. Still bothered by the previous day’s episode with Father Mulcahy, Merritt was inclined to say “no,” but Edith persisted.
“We’ve just got to talk to you, Merritt,” she said. “I know what happened between you and Jim. Really, you must talk with us.”
Reluctantly, he agreed that when he finished at 3 p.m., he’d join them at Morgan’s Sweet Shoppe.
The two girls were already in a booth when Merritt arrived and Edith moved over so Merritt could squeeze in. It was a warm day for May in Riverdale, which due to its closeness to the Lake and the cooling effect of the cold waters made spring weather a slow arrival. Merritt was wearing the same jeans, with the cuffs rolled up, and ankle socks and saddle shoes, still looking girlish to the casual observer. Donna Mae was wearing shorts, her strong, thick muscular legs still showing their whiteness from lack of sun, and Edith was in a flowing skirt and peasant top.
“Hey Marilyn,” Donna Mae said, greeting Merritt. His two friends usually used his female name when they met alone.
Seeing the two friendly faces cheered Merritt, knowing these two longtime friends would be protective and warm in their relationships.
“So you told Jim?” Donna Mae said, once their sundaes had been served.
“Yes, and he didn’t take it too well. So I left.”
“He’s devastated, Marilyn,” Edith said. “I think he was in love with Marilyn.”
Merritt nodded. “That’s why I had to tell him. He was getting far too affectionate.”
“He thinks you’re and liar and cheat,” Edith said. “At least that’s what he told Leo.”
“Have you talked with Jim since then?” Merritt asked.
“No, but Leo says Jim’s thinking about telling on you.”
“Telling who and what?”
“I don’t know,” Edith said. “He’s so hurt. He’s likely to do anything.”
Donna Mae reached across, putting her strong hands over Merritt’s left hand, squeezing it gently. “I don’t think he’ll do anything, Marilyn,” she said. “He doesn’t want anyone to know he kissed a boy or was hot for another boy.”
Merritt nodded. Suddenly, he felt sorry for Jim; the boy had become infatuated with Marilyn, whom he saw only as a lovely teen girl. Now that teen girl turned out to be a fraud, a phony. He so wished he could turn back the clock and continue to be the lovely girl that Jim thought he was. In his mind, he continued to be Marilyn.
Edith, too, agreed that Jim would keep quiet about the whole affair, fearing the shame that would be heaped upon him by other boys who would learn he had dated a boy.
“I would have loved to be Marilyn forever,” he said.
“I do too,” Edith said, and Donna Mae nodded her head in agreement.
That night, Merritt dressed up particularly feminine, choosing a frilly summer nightie to sleep in, taking a late bath in sweet smelling bubbles and dabbing light touches of perfume behind his ears. He thought of being in the strong arms of Jim Turner again. Would the boy ever call again?
*****
Merritt’s junior year in high school was a busy one. He continued to work at Swenson’s, which had become busier and busier. Evelyn had taken over most of the sewing chores, but in spite of the help from Dolores Graham, Merritt still worked the same number of hours. The shop’s reputation had grown, and orders for dresses increased over the year,
Meanwhile, Merritt became more serious in his school work, finding great interest in history and literature. They had studied Shakespeare in the first semester, and when he learned that men played the female parts of the great Bard’s plays in the ancient times, Merritt wished that were still the case, so he could be Juliet. His friend, Bill Johnson, even raised his hand in class, suggesting the class could do a reenactment of Romeo and Juliet, with the boys being girls. The teacher rejected the idea.
“You’d be a perfect Juliet,” he told Merritt later.
The two also worked hard at organizing the Students for Peace group, even doing a brief assembly presentation on their cause. The memories of the War were vivid in the students’ minds, and thus the utopian peace cause still resonated as a potential to end all wars.
Merritt brought his stepfather’s picture, along with his posthumous Navy Cross medal to school, to dramatize the cause, adding credibility to his eloquent words at the assembly before nearly 2,000 students. He had been fearful of the reception he’d receive, and even cut his hair so that he’d not appear too effeminate. As he finished his presentation, he had tears in his eyes and his last words were heavy and difficult, but the effect was to bring silence to the crowd, and resulting applause. Several girls mentioned later they had cried as Merritt described his stepfather’s devotion to his stepson and related the story of his heroism, reading from the Navy’s citation.
The school’s tennis team moved up a notch in the standings, although Merritt was unable to move to a higher ranking, still performing in the No. 3 singles slot. Yet, he won all but two of his matches. This year, his onetime lover, Nick Woodbury, had moved up to No. 2 singles for Lakeview, and Merritt was glad he didn’t have to compete against him. The two met only briefly during the traditional shaking of hands after the event, when Nick whispered as he went by, “I still miss you.”
He worked with the prom committee, where he again was the only boy. This year, he took Dolores again to the prom, doubling with Bill Johnson and Sally Orlowski. Dolores and Merritt’s relationship had become so close that they acted almost as brother and sister (and sometimes as two sisters). He was comfortable now with Dolores.
The summer of 1946 — the nation’s first peacetime summer since 1941 — was full of turmoil as war plants, once teeming with jobs, slowed down production as they returned to peacetime work. Millions of returning servicemen sought their jobs back and a growing jobless population brought an uneasiness to the community. Even Swenson’s business suffered, as there was less disposable income; yet, it still provided a steady income for Merritt and his mother.
Senior year in high school was on the horizon, and Merritt Lane McGraw grew more and more concerned about his future life. Would he forever bury Marilyn as he went into adulthood, it being a necessity to be a real man to ensure his economic future? Or would Marilyn be with him forever?
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Merritt has completed his sophomore year of high school, having attended two proms, one as a boy and one as a girl, where his date’s infatuation for Marilyn has prompted Merritt to tell the boy the truth, only to be rudely rejected. His faith in the Catholic Church has been shattered when a priest he respected makes a “pass” and Merritt feels shame, not only for himself, but also for the priest. He is approaching high school graduation, still in a confused state of mind..)
Chapter 28: Graduation and a Job
After Evelyn married Bob Casey many years earlier, the couple had never arranged to have Merritt formerly adopted by his stepfather. It was more of an oversight than anything else, an oversight that should have been corrected when Casey entered in the Navy after Pearl Harbor. Thus, Merritt was never listed as a dependent for inheritance purposes by the U.S. Navy, and it further explained why the school system listed him as Merritt Lane McGraw and his mother as Evelyn M. Casey.
Thus, it was the name “Merritt Lane McGraw” that was called out on graduation night in the school’s auditorium, as the boy walked across the stage to pick up his diploma. Graduation time in the era was still a fairly solemn affair; there was no hooting and hollering as each candidate walked across the stage that has featured so many recent graduations.
For Merritt, the graduation was a subdued event; it meant the passing of a difficult three years, where he retired into the background to avoid notice and lessen the likelihood of being bullied or teased for his obvious effeminate mannerisms. His friends were few within the school, except for Bill Johnson and Sally Orlowski. His other friends, Donna Mae, Edith and Dolores all attended Our Lady of the Angels High School.
He and Sally hung out together often at school, both considering themselves outsiders; they were steady friends, but neither felt any form of romantic attachment. Sally constantly used Merritt as she would any close girl friend, as someone to whom she could share her on-and-off “crushes” about one boy or the other and how badly she felt treated by them.
“Am I boring you with all this?” Sally asked Merritt more than once as she prattled on and on.
“No, no, no, Sally. I only wish I could help you more, though,” he usually replied. He was being honest; he enjoyed that the girl placed so much trust in his friendship.
“It’s just that I don’t really have anyone else to talk to about this, and you’re so understanding.”
“I like being friends with you, Sally, you know that? Just close friends.”
“I know, and you’re so sweet. Not at all like other boys.”
She always finished these exchanges by leaning over a kissing him lightly on the cheek.
Merritt won three letters for performing on the tennis team, though his limited athletic skills never progressed very far. By his senior year, he did improve to play in the No. 2 singles slot and was elected captain, due most likely to his congeniality and friendliness with his teammates.
The annual ritual of getting classmates to sign yearbooks was of little importance to Merritt. To be sure, there were a few hurried scrawls by some to Merritt, usually limited to phrases like, “Miss you,” “Have fun this summer,” or “Great being with you in English.” On the days before graduation, Merritt grew sad as he watched the others eagerly signing each other’s books, while most of his pages remained empty of the teenage scrawls, while he was largely ignored. But, he reasoned, that was how he had wanted it to be during his high school years, to be largely ignored so that he would face few embarrassing situations.
Viola Buckner hosted a graduation party for Merritt at her home; it was a simple affair with salads and snacks and a decorated cake, attended by Merritt and his mother, Viola and her daughter, Beth; Dolores Graham and her mother, and Mary O’Hara, Viola’s former housekeeper. Merritt’s grandparents declined the invitation, mainly because of her father’s growing infirmities.
“To the prettiest boy in West High’s Class of ’47,” Viola said, in raising her champagne glass in a toast to Merritt’s graduation.
“Here! Here!” the group chimed in.
“And the prettiest girl, too,” exclaimed Beth, to the laughter of the others.
Merritt blushed, and Dolores rushed to his side, putting an arm around his waist, and “You would have been the prettiest too, Marilyn.”
The boy felt so at home among the women that evening. They all knew and accepted him for who he was: a lovely, sweet, caring girl in the body of a boy.
“Are you going on to college?” Mrs. Graham asked a bit later as they all enjoyed the cake.
“I don’t think so,” he replied. “Even though I’ll be eligible for some assistance, I think we need the money now. I’ll be working for Ferrier and Holton, you know, the big law firm.”
“Oh that’s nice,” she said. “What’ll you be doing?”
“In the secretarial pool, I guess,” he said, his face growing red.
“Really,” she said. “That’s so nice. So many of the boys are going to work in the factories now and those jobs are so dirty and rough.”
“I guess I’m a pretty good typist and take dictation pretty good too.”
Merritt knew that he had a real talent in those skills, having finished with straight “A’s” in all of his secretarial classes.
*****
His hiring interview a week earlier at Ferrier and Holton, the largest law firm in town with over 100 attorneys, started as a disaster. He had been invited to apply for the secretarial pool at the law office, based on the recommendation of his teacher.
Arriving at the 14th Floor Bankers Building office of Ferrier and Holton, Merritt was overwhelmed by the opulent reception area, its dark wood sculptured finishes, high ceilings and fancy chandeliers. The scene was so austere and forbidding, he immediately began to panic; how would he fit into this place?
The well-coiffured receptionist, whose perfume scent filled the area, smiled as she looked at his letter containing his appointment. She did a double-take and a look of puzzlement filled her face.
“You got this letter?” she asked.
“Ah, yes? Did I come to the right place?” he asked.
“Yes . . . ah . . .” she paused. Then she continued, “ Ah . . . Mr. McGraw it is? OK. I’ll call Mrs. Leighton to tell her you’re here. Have a seat there with others. You’ll be called after the others ahead of you are interviewed. I’m sorry, but we’re running a little behind on our interviews.”
She pointed to a row of chairs, upon which sat two young women, apparently about 18 t o20 years old. They both wore stiff wool suits, even though it was late spring, and sensible pumps and nylons. They were seated with their hands primly in their laps. Merritt nodded to them; they acknowledged his greeting with similar nods and tight smiles. He too assumed the same prim, girlish posture as the other two, wondering whether he should look at one of the magazines on the coffee table and break the hushed decorum of the place.
Neither of the girls said a word, but when the name, “Miss Wilson,” was called, one of the girls rose to leave for her interview and Merritt took the occasion to get a copy of Time magazine and tried to concentrate on an article about arguments over the United Nations. His apprehension over the coming job interview however made it almost impossible to follow the words in the magazine.
“Mr. McGraw,” the receptionist announced after more than 20 minutes of waiting.
“Mrs. Leighton’s office is the third door on the left, sir,” she said, a bit of sarcasm in her voice, as she said the word, “sir.”
Merritt froze at her tone of voice, fearful of what that may portend.
The door to Mrs. Leighton’s room was slightly ajar, and Merritt knocked lightly on the door, and hearing a “come in,” he entered to find a tall, gray-haired lady with a severe, firm face, seated behind the desk.
“Give me your letter and sit down,” she commanded.
He did as ordered, sitting in a straight-backed wood chair, the only other chair in the office. It was an office without windows, and only minimal pictures adorning its dark walls. The room had a dark, foreboding nature.
“Now, why didn’t you tell us you were male?” she asked sternly, without any prefatory greeting.
“Ah, I don’t know,” he stumbled. “I didn’t think I had to say that.”
“Well, did you look at the letter you got?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I don’t . . .”
“Right here in the greeting line, it says, ‘Dear Miss McGraw.’ Didn’t you see that?”
She handed the letter over to Merritt, who grabbed it out of her hand, and glancing at it, noticed the greeting line. It did read, “Dear Miss McGraw.”
“I must not have noticed it,” he said.
“Well, this is a job for the typing pool, Mr. McGraw, and we’ve never hired a man. And we were never told you were male. Your name of Merritt sounded feminine. And we hire only girls for that pool.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, beginning to stand up, believing the interview was over and he would not be hired.
“SIT DOWN. I’m not done with you.” Her voice was firm and demanding. He sat down.
“Yes ma’am.”
Suddenly, the woman smiled, her face seemingly warming up.
“I’m willing to overlook your oversight for now, OK?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Your teacher at West gives you the highest marks. She said you were the best typist and could take dictation with the best of them, and I’ve always found the recruits she’s sent to me to be top notch. Maybe you are too, even if you’re male.”
Merritt nodded.
“Do you mind working among girls, as the only man?” she asked.
“No ma’am. I believe I can work with anyone.”
Mrs. Leighton nodded. She then gave Merritt some dictation and then sent him to a typing room, giving him 20 minutes to transcribe her remarks. Merritt found the exercise to be quite easy, since Mrs. Leighton dictated in an easy style with brief hesitations, helping him catch up if he lagged a bit.
He finished the transcription in 15 minutes and was told to wait in a third room, where three girls sat nervously, including the two girls who he had seen earlier.
The girl identified as “Miss Wilson” was the first to speak. “Hello, my name is Cynthia Wilson. Did you take the test from Mrs. Leighton too?”
“Yes, he nodded, I’m Merritt.”
The others introduced them selves, and Cynthia said, “I just finished under the time limit, but I may have made some mistakes. How did you do?”
“Ok, I guess I finished,” he said, speaking rather nonchalantly, realizing that the girls may resent the fact that he finished the exercise quite easily.
“You did? One of the other girls said. “I couldn’t.”
“Nor I,” said the third.
“Maybe they don’t expect us to,” he explained, suddenly realizing that he better downplay what he felt was his superior skill.
One by one the girls left as their names were called, leaving Merritt alone. He didn’t have to wait long. He was directed to return to see Mrs. Leighton.
“You were very good, Merritt,” she said. “We’d like to hire you, but you know you’ll be working in a woman’s job. Will that bother you?”
“I don’t think so,” he said tentatively.
“You may be viewed strangely by some here,” she continued. “We don’t want it to be a distraction, since the work we do here is very important and requires the deepest commitment.”
“I understand, Mrs. Leighton.”
“Well, this will be a precedent for us, a man in the typing pool,” the woman said. “Some of our attorneys may be shocked, but if you have any problems with anyone, I’m here to help, as long as you do your work diligently.”
So Merritt was hired at 90 cents an hour, with promises of three raises of 5 cents for each three month period until he reached $1.05 an hour, a princely sum in his mind. It was even more than his mother earned when she worked in the hosiery mill making parachutes.
*****
It was great that the “girls” in the typing pool has a late starting time of 9 a.m.; yet, the law firm was exceedingly strict about the typists being on time. Pay was docked, even in cases when the excuses may have been real, for lateness, and discharges were quick for repeat offenders.
That was stressed by Miss Bukowski, the lead typing girl, a middle-aged martinet of tiny stature and strong, firm voice.
“Who sent YOU here?” she asked Merritt as he turned up 15 minutes before the shift started on his first day on the job.
“I was told to report to you for the typing pool, Miss Bukowski.”
“YOU? What am I to do with you? Aren’t you a girl?”
“What?”
“You’re Merritt L. McGraw?” the woman inquired.
“Yes. I’m Merritt,” he said, his voice quivering before the face of the mean-visaged tiny woman.
“Well doesn’t that beat all?” the woman asked rhetorically. “I thought Merritt was a female name, but yes I can see you’re a man, I guess.”
Merritt stood in front of the woman, who was seated at her desk that was set on a platform near the entrance to a huge room, filled with desks, each one containing a large standard manual typewriter. There must have been 25 of them.
“Well, then, I can see you’re going to be one of my ‘girls’ then,” she said, her voice sarcastic in tone.
Merritt felt like turning on his heels and running from the room, charging for the elevator and riding down into the June morning. He had never been treated with such rudeness in his life; it was dispiriting, and he wondered whether this was how worklife is to be. He merely stood erect, before Miss Bukowski, awaiting his fate.
“You take that first desk, right in front, second from left,” she ordered. “Now.”
He went and sat down, sitting erect in perfect typing position, as taught in school, awaiting instructions. Slowly, but in almost a steady stream, his co-workers began entering the room, silently taking their seats at the desks. Merritt looked straight ahead, but couldn’t avoid meeting the eyes of each entering woman, nearly all young, with fresh-looking faces. Most showed surprise as they looked at him, but several smiled and gave a slight nod of welcome. Mostly, he felt they were either shocked or confused as to what he was doing among the girls of the typing pool. He noticed Cynthia Wilson enter and go to meet Miss Bukowski; she was briskly ordered to take the desk in the front room, on Merritt’s left.
“Good morning,” she whispered to him.
“Cynthia, right?” he inquired, in reply.
“Yes, you remember?”
“Merritt, here.”
She blushed. “I forgot, sorry.”
He heard hushed conversations about the room, as the girls entered, greeting each other. At one minute before nine, Miss Bukowski stood up and in his sharp, intense voice, announce: “Sixty seconds to start time and then I want to hear those typewriters purring.”
A couple girls came rushing into the room, racing to two of the few vacant desks.
Miss Bukowski scowled at them, her face telling of her disdain for the late-comers. She watched the two as they proceeded to sit down, and then said, her voice, loud and commanding:
“Before we get started today, I want to introduce two new girls . . . ah . . . two new employees . . . who’ll be joining our typing pool.” There was a slight titter among the girls, and a few hushed whispers.
“First we have Miss Cynthia Wilson, who’s a recent graduate from Thomas Jefferson High School. I believe there are other Jefferson High alumni in this group. Please stand up, Miss Wilson.”
There was polite applause, as Cynthia stood, turned back to face her co-workers and nodded, her face flushed. Cynthia was a plain girl, with a bland, round, almost cherubic face, but a kind and gentle smile.
“And, we have Mister . . . yes, Mister . . . Merritt McGraw from West High School,” she said, emphasizing the “Mister.”
Merritt stood, not awaiting orders from Miss Bukowski, and gave a quick nod to his new co-workers, sitting back down quickly.
“Now, girls, get to work, and Miss Wilson and Mister McGraw, you will go with Miss Chamberlain here to set you up for your work.”
A rather tall, husky woman of indeterminate age identified herself as Helen Chamberlain, and led Merritt and Cynthia out of the room, to a small office with several desks and typewriters.
Helen was a broad-hipped woman whose dark brown plain skirt may have been a size too tight and it scooted up her thighs as she sat. Merritt wondered why heavy women so often wore tight clothes, but any revulsion he felt for the woman was quickly overcome by her kind tone and, as it turned out, great competence in her secretarial abilities.
“Welcome to both of you, Merritt and Cynthia,” she began, as she directed them each to a desk.
“I hope you weren’t too upset with Miss Bukowski. She’s really very nice and very fair. She is strict about rules, and you’ll be wise to follow them to the letter. I’m to be your trainer during your first weeks here, and I think we’ll get along fine. You both come with high recommendations, I’m told.”
Merritt and Cynthia nodded almost in unison, pleased to see such an apparently kind person in charge of their training.
The training consisted mainly of showing the styles of communications they would be typing, along with some brief hints about receiving dictation. In many cases, they would be asked to type out briefs, and Helen Chamberlain stressed the importance form and details, along with accuracy. She said most typing would require an original and three copies, meaning the typist would use carbon paper and if “she” (that was the phrase Helen used) made a mistake, it meant erasing and typing over the error.
“Accuracy in typing is both time-saving and vital. In the time it takes you to correct a typo you could easily complete a whole paragraph. Haste makes waste, but dawdling won’t be tolerated.”
They learned that at first they would be copying from handwritten briefs written by the attorneys, but soon they’d be taking dictation, too. Eventually, the two would be assigned to be the principal typist for three or four specific attorneys.
“These jobs can be very demanding,” Helen concluded. “The law firm pays well but it requires strict allegiance and loyalty. We hope you’ll be rewarded well by your time and Ferrier and Holton.”
*****
The typing pool had a 45 minute lunch period, again strictly observed from 12:15 to 1 p.m., unless you were working with an attorney who kept you on the job over the lunch hour.
Cynthia suggested Merritt join her in lunch at a cafeteria that was located in the basement of the Bankers’ Building.
“So what brings you into the typing pool, Merritt?” the girl asked as they were seated, both with tuna salad sandwiches and Cokes. Each paid 45 cents for the lunch: 35 cents for the sandwich and 10 cents for the Coke.
“I took it in high school and did pretty good at it,” he said. “How about you?”
“Same here, but also my mom told me it was important to get a job which pays well and has some security. And they’ll always need people who can type, right?”
“And the need for shorthand will always be there,” he said.
“But Merritt, may I ask this? Why you? A boy in this work.”
He blushed at the question, realizing he was falling back into the girlish habit of playing with his hair, even though he had trimmed the hair back to a more normal, male length. He was trying mightily to do away with his feminine mannerisms, but he continued to lapse into them.
“I shouldn’t have asked that,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s OK. I know it’s odd, but I found I was good typist and I like it and I don’t feel like working in a factory. Most of my friends got jobs in the breweries or places like Elliott Foundries or the Car factory. I’m not cut out for that, I guess.”
“I hope we can be friends, Merritt,” she said, seeking to bring an end to the topic.
He smiled and nodded, turning back to his sandwich. He realized he liked Cynthia, who was a bit chubby, with a round, softness that appealed to him. She had pudgy hands with short wide fingers, in contrast to his slender, tapered fingers.
“I’m sure we can be,” he said. “We can protect each other from Miss Bukowski.”
She laughed. Merritt hoped he had found a friend.
*****
After a week’s orientation, Merritt and Cindy entered the typing pool, this time finding their assigned desks to be the same ones they occupied on the first day on the job, at the front of the room, where, he later learned, all new employees were placed so that Miss Bukowski could keep a studied eye on them. Before returning to the pool, Merritt had heard that his hiring as the first man ever to hold such a job at Ferrier and Holton had been the subject of wide discussion.
From the whispering that spread about the room on his first day after orientation, he knew he was center stage in the minds of the girls. He speculated most likely considered him to be homosexual; perhaps some others might have even considered him straight and “cute.” He knew he had to do what he did in high school: try to stay focused on his work and not to make a spectacle of himself.
“They treat us like shit around here.” The comment came in a hushed voice from one of the more senior typists, a young woman named Donna, whose pock-marked cheeks marred what could have been a lovely face.
“I know I’m really tired at the end of the day,” Cindy agreed.
Merritt had joined the two other typists during their 45-minute lunch period at a nearby drugstore lunch counter. Every so often, Merritt joined the other two to eat outside of the office building. Donna was one of the few more senior employees who befriended the two newcomers, a fact that was gnawing on Merritt. He felt he was ostracized because he was a man and that in her friendship with him, Cindy too had been treated as an outsider.
Perhaps it was Donna’s marred face that alienated her from the other typists, but Merritt noted there seemed to be no animosity shown toward her by the others. He soon came to realize that Donna — who might have been approaching 30, an age that almost certainly doomed a woman to a permanent single life — may have been merely befriending them out of kindness or mere curiosity.
Donna took a bite out of her tuna salad sandwich, chewed on it a bit noisily, exposing crudeness in her life style, and then said: “You know, if those lawyers don’t mark you as a future mistress, they’ll push you and push you.”
“And blame you for all their own mistakes,” Cindy echoed.
She had complained recently about one attorney, a Mr. Kosgrove, who complained to Miss Bukowski that Cindy had screwed up the typing of a petition he wanted.
“It was a federal court petition he wanted to file, but he told me it was a state court deal, so I used that format, and it caused him to miss a filing deadline, but he’s a partner in the firm, so what he says goes,” she complained.
“What did the ‘witch’ say to you about that?” Donna asked, using the favored term for their supervisor, Miss Bukowski.
“Actually, she was nice about it,” Cindy replied. “She merely said that Mr. Kosgrove was often vague about things and that it’s up to the typist to double check or ask questions.”
“Oh I’ve done work for him,” Donna said. “He’s just sloppy. That’s why Miss Bukowski didn’t bawl you out. She knows what a lousy attorney he is.”
Cindy smiled. “I got the feeling he was looking at my breasts all the time he was dictating.”
“That’s probably why he screwed up so badly,” Donna said. “He’s known as always on the prowl for the young girls, like you.”
Cindy blushed. It was apparent that her plump young figure must have brought her much attention from the male attorneys in the office. In fact, out of more than 100 lawyers in the firm, there were only three females, all assigned to routine probate work.
“Kosgrove? Drake Kosgrove?” Merritt asked.
“Yes,” Cindy said.
“I was just told I was assigned to work with him,” he said. “They took my assignment with Mr. Willingham from me, and I liked him. He was good.”
Cindy smiled; indicating that she would now be doing work for Mr. Willingham.
“The ‘witch’ must have switched us,” he said. “You’ll like Willingham.”
“I’m sorry, Merritt, and you got Kosgrove,” she said, sincerely. “I wouldn’t wish him on my worst enemy.”
“At least you’re not a girl, so he won’t hit on you, Merritt,” Donna said. They all laughed, and Merritt realized it was one of the first times in his life that he was grateful for not being a girl.
Donna explained that gossip around the office was that Kosgrove’s most recent liaison with one of the office secretaries had caused problems in his marriage.
“I think his wife wants to divorce him, and Kosgrove is heir to the Kosgrove family fortune, so I think the pressure was one to no longer assign young ladies to work with him,” she said. “So you being a man meant you’d get the duty there. Good luck!”
“I guess I’ll need it, unless he likes boys, too,” Merritt said, to giggles from the other two.
*****
In mid-afternoon, Merritt was summoned to Kosgrove’s office on the 15th Floor, where the partners all had offices with dark, varnished walnut and shiny brass fittings. A receptionist on the floor looked at him quizzically as he entered the room from the banistered stairwell. The lawyer’s office occupied the top four floors of the building, and had in inside carpeted stairway linking the floors.
“And what can I do for you?”
“I’m Mr. Kosgrove’s typist. Merritt McGraw.”
“Typist?”
“Yes, I’ve been told he wants me.”
“Ok,” she said, looking him over, her face still betraying confusion. “Just a minute.”
She spoke into the phone briefly, then hung up, turning to Merritt. “It’s the fourth door on the right. He’s waiting for you.”
By now, Merritt was shivering, in spite of the warmth in the building. He felt the tuna salad sandwich from lunch still churning in his stomach, aggravated by his anxiety. He tried to walk in a manly stride toward the lawyer’s office, afraid his somewhat lilting gait might emphasize his girliness. He wrapped lightly on the closed door to Kosgrove’s office, still shivering.
“Come in.” The voice was gruff.
It was a huge office, well-appointed, with law books lining one side of the room and a small bar the other side. An oversized leather couch and two side chairs were gathered around a glass coffee table at one end of the room.
Seated at a desk before a large window, its drapes partially pulled to hold out the afternoon sun which was leaving a slit of blinding light pouring into the room, was a grey haired, somewhat pudgy man with a red face.
“So you’re my new typist. Sit there.” He pointed to a straight-backed wood chair at the side of his desk.
“Yes sir. My name is Merritt McGraw, sir.”
Merritt sat, as commanded, in the chair. He sat primly, hands in lap, his feet firmly on the floor, and his legs tightly together. As Merritt grew close to the man, he traced a scent of peppermint smell, mingled with what smelled much like gin. The man’s a drinker, he thought, explaining his red face. He’d seen the same red, flushed face on his grandfather, whom he knew liked to drink.
“A boy as a typist? Never heard of that,” the attorney mumbled derisively.
“Yes, sir, but I finished at the top of my class at West High,” he said.
“Well I hope you’re better than that slut Cindy they sent me. She’s was such a dunce. But what tits.”
“Yes, sir,” Merritt said. “I’m sure she was doing her best.”
“Her best would have been in bed, I think,” he said, with a conspiratorial “good ol’ boy” wink.
Merritt remained silent, failing to fall in with the lawyer’s apparent locker room humor. He hated the crudeness of some men when they talked about women.
“Ah, you don’t like that, Master McGraw,” he said. “You must be planking her, eh? Is she a good lay?”
“I wouldn’t know sir, but I know she’s a good girl and also a very good typist,” Merritt said, daring to defend Cindy in front of this crude lawyer.
“You are! You are planking her. Good for you, young man.”
Kosgrove sounded triumphant, and began laughing out loud, a laugh that nauseated Merritt as he demeaned both himself and his friend Cindy.
“Sir, what did you want me for?” Merritt demanded, once the laughter had died down.
“Ah, yes,” Kosgrove said. “I can see you mean all business, young man . . . ah . . . yes . . . here it is. We’ve got to do a short brief for the Kuhn Bros. case. I presume you take shorthand.”
“Yes sir. You may begin anytime.” Merritt crossed his legs and brought out his shorthand pad.
The dictation was all over the lot. Kosgrove rarely dictated complete sentences, peppering it with lots of “ahs” and “ohs” and Merritt felt he’d have the dickens of a time making sense of his notes; yet, he was able to get a sense of what the lawyer wanted to say. Maybe, he thought, he could write it up so it would pass muster.
Miss Bukowski summoned him to her office as he returned to his desk and asked him how it had gone with Mr. Kosgrove.
“Well, he was hard to take dictation from,” he said.
“I know dear,” the supervisor said. “He’s one of the most difficult. Do you think you can write it up to make it useable?”
“I think so, Miss Bukowski. I got a pretty idea of what he was trying to say.”
She smiled. “Good. I know I didn’t do you any favors in assigning him to you, but I had to do it. I’m asking you to work it out the best way you can, and don’t hesitate to ask me for help. Also, Donna can help you, too; she’s worked with him and she really knows her law, too.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will, dear,” she said. “You’ve made a good impression here. Maybe we’ll hire a few more men.”
“Thank you,” he said, leaving the room, grateful for the sudden sign of sympathy and warmth from the “witch.”
*****
Merritt told his mother about his new assignment with Mr. Kosgrove that night while the two cleaned up after supper. For both of them, the nightly dishwashing and cleanup chores was a time to share and talk. They both had shared their most intimate secrets; he hid nothing from his mother, and as far as he could determine she hid nothing from him. She had told of her intimacy with Viola, as he shared often his own desire to be a woman.
“We have each other,” his mother said once.
“I know, mom,” he said. That night they hugged together for a long time, crying together, but feeling comfort in each other’s arms.
Evelyn froze at hearing the name “Kosgrove.” Merritt could see she almost dropped the plate she was washing.
“Kosgrove? Drake Kosgrove?” she said.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“So he’s working now at Ferrier and Holton. I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, and he’s a partner.” He pondered her interest in the man.
“Oh?” his mother said.
“You know him, mom?”
“Ah, Kosgrove,” she said haltingly. “No, but he’s from a prominent family. Just heard of him.”
Merritt let the matter drop, and Merritt felt that for the first time in his life his mother was not being fully honest with him.
*****
Evelyn was snuggled securely in the arms of her lover, Viola, a few nights later, relishing in the feeling of the older woman and the soapy, fresh smell of her firm body. Viola’s calloused hands were kneading Evelyn’s own fleshy tummy and breasts, and Evelyn’s nipples were growing firm and taunt when she heard Viola ask:
“Something’s bothering you, Evie. What is it? You can tell your hubby.”
Through the years of their love-making, Viola had assumed the role of husband, while Evelyn relaxed into the comforting role of submissive wife. Evelyn once said theirs was a relationship “made in Heaven,” although she was sure the priests might not agree to such a definition; to them it would be a blasphemy.
Evelyn’s passion slackened with the question, and she drew apart from her lover, turning on her side, looking at Viola.
“Oh I don’t know what to do, Vi,” she said. “Merritt’s working at the Ferrier law firm you know.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, guess who is working with?”
Viola said, nothing and ran her hand through Evelyn’s hair, as if encouraging her to continue.
“Drake Kosgrove,” Evelyn finally said. “Can you believe it?”
“Drake? My oh my. That is a switch.”
“And apparently Drake is still the same old Drake, chasing young girls, and that’s why they assigned Merritt to work with him, since he’s a man. And, Drake’s apparently no fun to work with. He’s arrogant and not much of an attorney.”
“I would guess he’s kind of lazy too.”
“Oh my yes, Merritt says he has to construct most of the filings, since Drake never knows how to follow court procedures. But, he’s a partner and the firm wants to keep Kosgrove Industries Account so they must tolerate him.”
“And Merritt has no idea that Drake’s his father? Right?” Viola continued.
“No. I never told him when he asked. As far as he knows, his father left town after learning I was pregnant.”
“And you want to know whether you should tell him now?” Viola asked.
“Yes. I don’t know what to do, dear.”
Merritt had been born in 1929 in Green Bay and baptized there. Thus, all of his birth records were in Brown County, but Evelyn didn’t recall whether the father was even listed. She and her parents had decided not to pursue Drake for support, since Evelyn had not been married at the time. The family was very quiet about the details of Merritt’s birth, out of shame for out-of-wedlock births at the time. Even though her parents were nearly starving at the time, their Irish pride seemed to block them from seeking out the Kosgrove family for help. They even feared the Kosgrove’s might try to take Merritt from them, since Evelyn would have been viewed as an unfit mother. Evelyn now, 18 years later, remembered her father saying, “We can’t fight the Kosgroves. They’ll pay off the judge and all we’ll get is shame.”
Love-making ended for the evening, and the two discussed at length what Evelyn should do about informing Merritt.
“Eventually, he should know, Evie,” Viola said.
“I know, but from what Merritt tells me Drake is just as despicable now as he was when we made love.”
“I thought you said he had some redeeming qualities.”
“Well, yes. Sometimes, he was considerate, and even understanding,” Evelyn agreed. “But when he was with his friends, he always tried to show off. But I was so young then and didn’t know my own mind, I guess. Outside of Bob, he was the only man I ever made love to.”
“Except for me,” Viola said, a hint of laughter in her voice.
“Yes, dear hubby,” Evelyn said, kissing the other woman playfully on the lips.
“I think you better tell Merritt the truth, honey.”
Evelyn nodded in agreement, but wondered how best to tell her son about his father. Evelyn delayed and delayed the inevitable, however, and much of the summer would be gone before Merritt would learn the truth of his birth.
(To be Continued)
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Merritt has completed his sophomore year of high school, having attended two proms, one as a boy and one as a girl, where his date’s infatuation for Marilyn has prompted Merritt to tell the boy the truth, only to be rudely rejected. His faith in the Catholic Church has been shattered when a priest he respected makes a “pass” and Merritt feels shame, not only for himself, but also for the priest. Following his high school graduation, Merritt has taken a job as the first and only male in the typing pool of a large law firm, where he excels in his work and soon is accepted by his women co-workers as one of them.)
Chapter 29: The Prodigal Father
It wasn’t long before Merritt was accepted by nearly all the women in the typing pool. For the most part, the women were young, having been recent high school or secretarial school graduates, and it was typical that after several years, most of the girls would have gotten married and left the firm; even in the late 1940s, it was still expected that most husbands could support a wife and family on his income alone, and most young women rarely worked after marriage, or after they got pregnant. Those who didn’t marry quickly usually found their way out of the pool to become personal secretaries to one of the partners. Others moved on to other jobs.
In truth, Merritt was wishing that he were one of the girls, wearing skirts that would show his pretty knees as he would cross his legs, or a blouse that might show a hint of breast cleavage. He found himself often musing, as he looked at a typist at her station laboring away at the clunky standard typewriter that he’d love to be in a bright skirt and blouse, looking cheerful and girlish.
His friend Cindy soon discovered that he had great taste in women’s clothes during a recent lunch hour. They often walked through the women’s department at Engelman’s — the city’s biggest department store — and the two had often stopped to look at the fashions.
“You’d look great in this Cindy,” Merritt suggested one day, as they paused to look at a summer dress.
He was running the colorful cloth of the dress through his fingers. It was a warm yellow with light blue and green floral design, and he was standing back from the dress as far as his arm would permit, while still holding the dress out to get a better look at its contours.
“No Merritt, I’d look too fat in it,” she protested.
Merritt knew Cindy fretted constantly about her weight, in spite of the fact that her plump figure seemed to be most attracting to men. He didn’t think she was “fat,” and he had been thinking about the possibility of creating a dress for her that she’d like.
“No, you won’t,” he protested, recognizing that lighter colors sometimes did indeed accentuate a woman’s weight. “This dress has a nice free shape and a nice vertical flow to it. You’d look great in it, Cindy.”
“Ok, Merritt,” she said. “But it’s too much anyway. I can’t afford $29 right now. That’s nearly a whole week’s wages.”
“I know,” he said, letting go of the dress as they continued their walk through the store.
Merritt mused that he’d like to design a dress just like that for her; she had become such a nice friend, easy to talk with and to share ideas and thoughts.
“How about this one?” he asked, pulling a halter dress of forest green material that reached to below the knee. He held the dress up before himself, causing Cindy to smile.
“Oh, you’d look pretty in that one, Merritt,” she said, with a giggle.
“No, silly, for you!” he said, holding it out for her to take.
She took it, muttering, “Well, that’s better, I guess. It’s still too expensive.”
He put it back on the rack, saying, “It’s getting late, we better get back, or else we’ll get the eye from the witch.”
“Oh she’s not so bad,” Cindy protested.
“I know, she’s been OK to me, but she is strict about time.”
As they paused for a traffic light on their way back to the office, Cindy said turned to Merritt, and said, “How come you seem to know so much about dresses? You seem to know more than any of my girl friends.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Cindy. It’s just that my mom must have shown me lots of that stuff,” he said, his face reddening.
“But, you really seem to know so much,” she repeated. “And I hope you won’t mind me saying, that you really are so pretty, Merritt, really, for a boy.”
Just then the light changed and the downtown lunch hour crowd on the sidewalk surged across the street, taking Merritt and Cindy along with the flow, and the conversation ended.
*****
Several days later, Merritt and Cindy again were lunching together at the Woolworth’s lunch counter, him with a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich on toast and her with a tuna salad sandwich. They had become regulars at the counter and Ann Marie, the waitress, had gotten to know them. She accommodated them, permitting them to share a chocolate malt, setting before them the frosted silver container and two glasses.
“Tell me, Merritt, just how do you know so much about dresses?” Her question came out of the blue, but Merritt expected it would come again. He had been tortured for days after the girl’s original inquiry, wondering how much he should tell her. He truly was fond of Cindy, and the two shared so many confidences.
“For one thing, Cindy, mom and I live above a craft and materials shop, and I work there parttime,” he said. “We sell patterns and material, and there’s a seamstress service there too.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“Swenson’s, on the South Side, in the flats.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that,” Cindy said, her voice gaining enthusiasm. “A girl at my high school had a prom dress made for her from there. She loved it. I hear there’s a good dress designer there.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard,” he said, wishing the conversation would end.
“Well, you must know that, since you live above the store, and you said you worked there?”
“Actually, I still do, on Saturdays and some nights. My mom works there too.”
“What do you do?”
“Just stock shelves, clean up and that kind of stuff,” he said, realizing he was lying. “And, do a bit of selling, too.”
Cindy smiled. “Well I guess that explains how much you know about dresses and stuff. You’re always so right, it seems.”
The two finished their sandwiches and left the counter; they still had a few extra minutes and the day was sunny and warm. They strolled to the Sweetwater River which wound through the center of the downtown, finding a vacant bench along a walk that paralleled the river. Merritt was nervous; he so wanted to tell Cindy about his dressmaking talents, and to offer to make a nice outfit for her. She was so sweet.
“You’re really so different from so many boys I know, Merritt,” she said. Her words came slowly, as if she was concerned as to how they would sound to him.
“Is that good?” he asked.
“Oh yes, yes. So kind and not rude.”
“Thank you, and you know how I like you. You’re such a friend.”
“I know, and I think we can share everything with each other. But somehow . . .”
Cindy’s voice trailed off.
“Somehow? What are you trying to say, Cindy?”
“Oh nothing.”
“It’s something, I know. Tell me,” Merritt persisted.
“Well . . . ah . . . ah . . . it’s just that I don’t see you as my boy friend. Don’t take it wrong, Merritt, please. I don’t see us as boy friend-girl friend. Even though I think you’d be a nice boy friend. But I don’t see us that way.”
Merritt smiled. He understood, and nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“It’s almost like you’re . . . ah . . . what shall I say . . .?”
“Like a girl friend to you,” he finished.
“Yes, yes,” she said, triumphantly. “Just like we were girl friends. Is that so bad, Merritt?”
“No,” he smiled.
She gave him a short kiss on his cheek. Merritt felt strangely relieved and pleased as the two trudged back to work. He was sorry he hadn’t told her about how he loved designing and making dresses and how he’d love to make one for her. That would be for another day.
*****
Merritt had spent more than a month being Drake Kosgrove’s principal typist; he had adjusted to the man’s haphazard way of doing business, and the two had developed a compatible working relationship. It had gotten to the point that the lawyer had only to suggest the wording of a letter or sentence, and Merritt could easily construct the letter so that it was quickly ready for signature. Kosgrove learned to trust Merritt with virtually any task. If Merritt had problems understanding a portion of the law, he took advantage of Miss Bukowski’s offer for help. Sometimes, he sought out Donna for her assistance, too, but soon he was able to do much of it on his own.
“We’re going to give you a three-cent an hour raise, Merritt,” Miss Bukowski said, when he entered the office on the two-month anniversary of his hiring.
“Thank you, Miss Bukowski.”
“Don’t thank me,” she said, smiling. “Thank Mr. Kosgrove. He recommended it, but I opposed it, saying we usually wait for three months. He thinks you’re the best he ever had, and since none of the other girls like working for him, that’s a real compliment.”
“I still thank you, ma’am.”
“Well, don’t let it go to your head,” she added, but then smiled warmly. “You’re really special and I’m glad you’re here.”
Merritt was summoned to Kosgrove’s office later that day, and he approached the lawyer immediately, thanking him for recommending the raise.
“Mom and I can use the extra money, sir,” he said.
“Oh, you live with your mother?” the lawyer asked.
“Yes, sir, there’s just me and my mom.”
“Oh, no father?”
“No sir, I never knew my real father, and my stepfather was killed during the war.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Merritt,” Kosgrove said, showing sincere concern. “Were you close to him?”
“Oh yes, he was like my real dad, but mom and I are doing fine now.”
“That’s good. You’re last name is McGraw, I know. Is that your mom’s family name? Or your father’s name?”
Merritt told him that McGraw was his mother’s family name, and that she never used his father’s name. Merritt admitted, too, that he had no idea who his real father was, or what his name was.
“You’re about 18 now, Merritt?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Turned 18 in June.”
The lawyer paused a minute, as if pondering whether to continue the conversation.
“I used to know some McGraws. What’s your mom’s name? Maybe I knew the family.”
“My family’s been here since the Irish moved here nearly 100 years ago, sir. My mom’s name is Evelyn.”
Kosgrove’s expression grew momentarily blank. He looked down at papers on his desk, avoiding looking at Merritt.
“Let’s get to work,” he said, suddenly.
The lawyer proceeded to be even more disjointed in his dictation that day, a factor that weighed heavily on Merritt’s mind as the day progressed. It was a strange conversation, he reflected, as if something about Merritt’s family involved the lawyer. Maybe, he thought, he’d ask his mother if she knew what it was all about.
*****
“Oh, your granddad once worked for Kosgrove Tanneries,” his mother explained, when Merritt told her of the strange conversation he’d had with the lawyer.
At first his mother expressed mystification that Kosgrove would know the McGraw name; Merritt noticed she grew flush, before quickly recovering and telling Merritt that her father worked a number of years for the tannery until his illness forced him to quit.
“Maybe that’s why he knew the McGraw name, Merritt,” she said further.
Merritt felt his mother was not being totally honest with him, but felt it best to let the question drop for the time being, hoping for a more complete answer soon. He also felt it completely strange that the lawyer had been so interested in his own age, that being 18 years old was significant for some reason.
*****
Merritt and Dolores spent many free hours together that summer; she worked fulltime at Swenson’s, her own seamstress skills having grown immensely; she had learned too to measure potential customers, and to advise them on colors and fabrics. Much of the skill she got from working side-by-side with Merritt, who worked at the shop several nights a week and on Saturdays.
Dolores graduated from high school as well, and though she had a chance at a scholarship at the local Catholic woman’s college, she decided against continuing her schooling for now. Her family simply didn’t have the money to supplement her tuition beyond what the scholarship might have provided. Besides, Swenson’s was providing a good income for her.
The “Fashions by Marilyn” identity had continued to grow in popularity, and Evelyn McGraw and Dolores Graham — the only two fulltime employees — were hard-pressed to keep up with the demand. They turned to Merritt more and more for his assistance, causing him to work many more evenings than he would have liked.
Yet, he found he lost himself in his designing and sewing once on the job. Nearly always he was able to suggest an improvement to a design or pattern that Dolores or his mother had developed for a client.
“Girl,” Dolores teased him one night as they completed work, “I think you have a better handle on what girls like than I do.”
Merritt smiled at the good natured comment, even letting out a little giggle. He was dressed as he always was on hot summer nights, wearing light fabric pedal pushers and a loose blouse. Again to any customers glancing into the workrooms behind Swenson’s their gazes would fall upon an older woman and two younger women toiling at their machines and cutting boards.
“You should quit that secretarial job,” his mother suggested several days after their conversation about Drake Kosgrove. “We need you here and you can concentrate on building the business. Darling, you’ve got a natural talent.”
“I know mom, but I am growing so interested in the law,” he said. “Miss Bukowski said I’d be good candidate for becoming a legal assistant at the firm. The firm will help me get qualified for that.”
“Oh, that’s good, but I know how hard you work.”
“Mom, that’s OK. This way I can learn more about the law and still keep my hand in designing dresses. I love doing both, mom.”
*****
It was a Sunday night in late August, when the evenings already were becoming cool, when the calm of the night was shattered by a phone call. Merritt and his mother had just finished listening to the Burns and Allen radio show, when the phone in the hallway rang, and Evelyn left the room to answer it.
Merritt had returned to his book and he heard his mother’s gasps and a “Oh no!” from the hallway. Though he was deeply engrossed and moved to tears while reading “The Diary of Anne Frank,” which had just been published, his concentration wandered, as he heard his mother’s gasps and wondered what the call was all about.
He heard his mother hang up, and then apparently walk into the kitchen, not returning to the living room. Merritt found her sitting at the kitchen table, her hands in her face. She wasn’t crying; in fact she was still, and didn’t move at all.
“Mom, who was that?”
She didn’t answer.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” she mumbled, still not looking at him, her face still buried in her hands. “Go back to your book, honey.”
“But mom!” he protested.
He went over a put his arms around his mother, comforting her from whatever news that phone call had prompted. “Is it grandpa? Grandma?” he asked.
“No,” she mumbled into her hands again. “Leave me alone for a minute. I’ll talk to you in a minute about the call.”
Reluctantly, he left, and went to his own room, where he doodled out some dress designs, in hopes of getting his mind off the questions that whirled in his head over the call.
*****
It was nearly an hour before his mother entered his bedroom, but it had felt like a whole evening, as Merritt wondered about the call. It had obviously stressed his mother, but he couldn’t figure out what it might be about. It seemed also to have involved him, from her reaction.
When his doodling began to bore him, he took to braiding his hair, still long enough to permit several short rows of twists. He had also put on a padded bra, his light blue slip, panties and stockings, and had settled in on the vanity. He began to file his nails, and had just finished painting them a blush pink when Evelyn entered.
She was carrying two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine that had been sitting in the refrigerator for nearly a month, unopened.
“Maybe you’d like a little wine, honey?” she asked.
It was obvious she’d already had some herself, since the bottle had been opened, and one of the glasses showed a residue of wine in the bottom.
He nodded that “yes,” he’d enjoy a glass. His mother wanted company, he felt. There rarely was any alcohol, either beer, wine or liquor consumed in the McGraw household, his mother acutely aware of how drink had ruled her own father’s life so dramatically.
“I needed this,” she said, after pouring the drinks. She sat on his bed, while holding the glass in her hand, her eyes red from apparently crying.
“It’s the phone call, mother, isn’t it?” he asked, turning on the vanity stool to face his mother and crossing his legs in a most feminine manner.
“Yes,” she said. “I don’t know how to tell you this. It’ll be so hard.”
“Mother, please. Just tell me.”
“Oh honey, I’m afraid you’ll hate me when I do,” she said. “I’ve kept a terrible secret from you all of your life.”
“Mother, what is it? Please.”
“Merritt, oh my dearest, my Marilyn, too, you’re my life, my whole life, and I never want to hurt you, but I’m afraid I have.”
Merritt got up and sat on the bed next to his mother, taking the glass from her and placing it on the floor, as he put an arm around her.
“Whatever you do, mother, you would never hurt me and, mother, I’ll never, ever hate you, no matter what.”
His mother freed herself from his hold, reached down, finding the glass and taking a sip. She straightened herself up, took hold of his hand, and began to speak.
“Have you ever wondered who your father was, Merritt?”
“Yes, often, but you always told me he deserted you when you became pregnant. I just thought he was some guy you met briefly and he took advantage of you.”
She nodded: “Part of that is true. But he didn’t quite desert us; he’s always lived here, and he’s a prominent man in the community.”
Merritt sat quietly, wondering now whether he knew of the man.
“That call was from your real father, honey, calling after all these years,” she began. “That call was from Mr. Kosgrove.”
“Mr. Kosgrove,” Merritt gasped. “My boss Mr. Kosgrove?”
“Yes, dear, Mr. Drake Kosgrove.”
“Oh my,” Merritt said, now experiencing true shock. It was too much to contemplate. He picked up his wine glass, looking blankly into the red liquid, his mind whirling about.
“That was why he expressed such an interest in who my mother was,” Merritt said, finally.
“Yes, that’s what he said, Merritt,” Evelyn replied. “Mr. Kosgrove wondered what had become of me all these years. But, Merritt, you must understand, you were born under difficult circumstances then. I wasn’t married.”
“I always knew that mother, but you’ve been such a good mother, how could I care about that?”
“We tried to do the best for you, honey, and Mrs. Buckner proved to be a lifesaver in hiring me to be their maid and nanny so I could raise you in dignity.”
“You did that, mother,” he said, kissing her.
Merritt soon returned t ohis room, putting on a nightie and robe for the evening. He returned and they talked well past midnight, finishing the bottle of wine, and munching on cheddar cheese.
Evelyn explained only that she had had a brief love affair with Drake, but left out the details of how he literally raped her to leave the seed that created Merritt. She said the shame of being an unwed mother concerned her parents and that she had lived much of her pregnancy at a special home in Green Bay, where Merritt was born.
“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Kosgrove about me?” Merritt asked finally.
“Oh honey. It would have raised all sorts of fuss at the time,” she said. “Girls weren’t supposed to let themselves get pregnant, so we decided to hide the fact of your birth and your real father.”
Merritt suddenly felt guilty. His birth had caused his mother untold shame, humiliation and ruined her future.
“I’m sorry, mother. I’m sorry I was born to cause you so much trouble.”
“Oh darling, please don’t think that way,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “You’ve been such a gift to me. No one could ask for a sweeter son . . . ah . . . or daughter.”
“Mother, mother, I love you so much,” he said, finding himself being suddenly cradled in her arms. They both cried.
*****
His mother said that she had arranged to meet Mr. Kosgrove the following day. He had asked to take her to dinner to discuss the situation.
“I don’t know what he wants to do about it, Merritt,” she said. “But he expressed an interest in helping you out, now that he knows you’re his son. He thinks you’re a really smart and good young man.”
“He’s told me that, you know, mom.”
“I know, he says you’re the best secretary he’s ever had, and you have picked up the law so quickly. He thinks you can do more than merely being a secretary.”
Merritt blushed. He hated it when people praised him, not knowing how to respond.
“Mr. Kosgrove said, too, that being a secretary is no job for a young man,” his mother continued.
“What if he finds out about Marilyn?”
“Honey, we’ll cross that bridge when we have to.”
“But being Marilyn is part of me, mother. You know that?”
“How could I forget that?” she said smiling.
They both laughed. Merritt knew, however, it was no laughing matter.
*****
Miss Bukowski called Merritt into her office when he arrived at work the following day. He had been wondering how he’d act if he was called into Mr. Kosgrove’s office that day. He was even considering calling in sick, but decided he had to face up to the situation sooner or later.
“Merritt,” she began. “We’ve been pleased with your work so far, and we have an opportunity for you.”
“Thank you, Miss Bukowski.”
“Mr. Kosgrove will be out of the office for a week, and he phoned me last night at home to tell me that he won’t need you to work for him for a while,” she said.
Merritt felt relieved, but felt he better not show how pleased he was with that decision, since he’d not have to see the man in such close quarters.
“Didn’t he like my work?” Merritt asked, compelled to raise the question to mask his true understanding of why the lawyer had said he’d not need Merritt.
“Oh just the reverse, he thought you were great, but he thinks you should be groomed for better things.”
The supervisor informed Merritt that he could join the legal research department the law firm had; it would mean a small increase in pay and a title of “legal research assistant.”
“Oh, Miss Bukowski, I’m not sure I’m ready for it,” he said.
“I’m wondering, too, but Mr. Kosgrove seems so determined that you try for it,” she said. “He was quite insistent, and, you know, he is a partner.”
Merritt accepted the offer, realizing it may have been the lawyer’s way of keeping the two, now being father and son, separated. He still felt he might not yet be well enough educated to avoid being lost in the complexities of legal research, but he knew he better accept the offer. He’d give it a try.
Besides, he was worried how to adjust to his newly revealed father. What would the man think about having a son who truly wished to be a girl and, in fact, had lived in so many way as a girl in his habits and likes, in his thinking and attitudes and in his sweetness and gentleness? The future indeed was challenging.
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Merritt has completed his sophomore year of high school, having attended two proms, one as a boy and one as a girl, where his date’s infatuation for Marilyn has prompted Merritt to tell the boy the truth, only to be rudely rejected. His faith in the Catholic Church has been shattered when a priest he respected makes a “pass” and Merritt feels shame, not only for himself, but also for the priest. Following his high school graduation, Merritt has taken a job as the first and only male in the typing pool of a large law firm, where he excels in his work and soon is accepted by his women co-workers as one of them.
In the last chapter, Merritt discovers that the lawyer for whom he has been taking dictation is his own father, Drake Kosgrove, a revelation that has shocked both the boy and his mother, and will lead to dramatic changes.)
Chapter 30: A Father’s Betrayal
His co-worker Cindy didn’t seem pleased by Merritt’s change of status. For one thing, he’d be leaving the typing pool and be working up on the 15th floor in the research department, which she called “a bunch of snobs.” Besides, the move would separate the two, and lessen their chances of lunching together, something they’d both miss, as they had come to rely on each other for support in the sometimes hostile workplace. Some of the other girls had formed cliques, and neither Cindy nor Merritt seemed to be welcomed to join in, not that they particularly would have enjoyed it anyway.
“I know you’re the best, Merritt,” she admitted at lunch after she heard of his promotion. “But I don’t think a girl would ever get promoted so fast.”
“Cindy. I didn’t have anything to do with this,” he said. “I was just doing my job.”
The girl seemed momentarily saddened by her own statements.
“I don’t think you did, it’s just that they treat men and women differently here,” she said.
“I guess you’re right about that, but really Cindy I like working with you.”
“I know you do. I’m sorry, Merritt, and I’m happy for your promotion. I really am. You’re the sweetest boy I ever met.”
Merritt wished he could tell Cindy the whole story. He knew she’d understand his situation.
To make her feel better, Merritt decided to make the offer he’d been thinking about for several weeks.
“Cindy, I’m going to tell you something I’ve not told anyone about here,” he began.
She looked at him inquisitively.
“I have a parttime job,” he said. “And you’ll never guess what it is. I both design and make dresses for girls and women. I love doing it. And, I’d love to make you a nice dress, just for you.”
“You what? You want to do what?”
“I’m what you might call a seamstress, or a dressmaker and I want to make you a dress,” he admitted, growing more firm as he talked.
“You are . . . a . . . seamstress and you want to make me a dress? But, you’re a boy.”
“I guess I am,” he said smiling.
“No wonder you know so much about dresses,” she replied. “You seemed to admire them more in Engelmann’s than I did. Just like a girl would.”
“Well, mom’s a seamstress and she taught me well and she’s worked at Swenson’s most of the time we lived there, until the war,” he explained. “We live in the apartment over the store, and I began working there when mom went to work in the hosiery mill to make parachutes during the war. They needed someone to help out, and I did pretty good at it.”
Cindy paused a minute, looking at him. “And I bet that explains your fast fingers on the typewriter, too?”
He blushed, looking at his hands. She reached over, placing her more chubby hand over his, and he looked up, their eyes meeting. Such a sweet girl, he mused.
“I’m sorry I questioned you about your promotion,” she said. “I’m sure you deserved it.”
“We’ll see if I can do the work, Cindy. I’m not even sure I can.”
“You will, I’m sure. Just don’t forget about me.”
“I won’t,” he assured her. “And please, I want to make you a dress. You can come to the shop for measurements some Saturday and to pick out a style. It would be my gift to a good friend.”
“Merritt,” she said. “You’re so nice. And, Merritt, I won’t tell any of the other girls about your side job.”
*****
“How long have you lived here?” Drake Kosgrove asked Evelyn when he picked her up for their supper date.
“Since Merritt was about five years old,” she said. “It was handy and not too expensive, and besides I work right downstairs. I could watch Merritt and work, too.”
“That makes sense,” he said.
Evelyn had not been eager that he should see that she and Merritt lived above a store on a busy street in working class neighborhood of the “flats;” she knew he lived in a mansion in the Highlands. Drake, however, had insisted on picking her up, so she agreed to it. Evelyn also made sure Merritt would not be at home when Drake arrived.
She and Merritt worked hard to tidy up their apartment, which really didn’t need much cleaning up since both were quite meticulous about keeping the place neat. When he arrived, he had even commented how nice the apartment looked. Drake’s tone of voice seemed to indicate mere curiosity and certainly didn’t appear to be judgmental as to where she lived.
“I understand Merritt sometimes works there, too,” he volunteered.
“Yes, he helps out. Mrs. Swenson pays well.”
“I noticed he listed her as a reference on his job application,” he said.
“That’s how you knew how to call me, Drake. You checked his job application?”
He smiled. “Yes, I did, I have to admit it. After I realized his name was McGraw and he was 18 years old. I asked his mother’s name, and he said Evelyn, and I just did the arithmetic. I figured he must be the son I never had.”
“Do you have daughters, though?”
“No, I have no children . . . ah . . . well that’s not true. I now have one.”
“Are you married?” she asked.
“No, I never did, much to the disgust of my mother and father. I guess I was having too much fun single.”
“Are we going to supper?” she said, quickly changing the subject. The conversation was getting awkward.
*****
The Drake Kosgrove who walked into her apartment that night had turned a bit paunchy and had grown quite bald. He still had the sparkling blue eyes that had attracted her nearly 20 years ago. His face, too, was cherubic, making him look years younger than his late 40s, which she took him to be. She remembered that when she worked at the Country Club he had been about 10 years older than she was.
“I’ve been terribly insensitive,” he admitted to Evelyn as they were about to begin the dessert portion of their meal. The two had settled into a meal at McCoy’s, an up-scale downtown restaurant. He had sought a quiet booth, where there’d be little chance of their conversations being overheard. Evelyn thought she saw a knowing wink from the maitre d, when Drake asked for such a table.
Certainly, she wondered, he wasn’t going to put the make on her. Now she’d give him a good loud slap in the face and she wouldn’t care who saw or heard it. She was her own woman now.
“I should have sought you out right after you left the Club,” he said. “But the manager said he didn’t know why you left. Everyone liked you there, and he said you were becoming one of his best waitresses. I didn’t even ask him about where you lived.”
“That’s OK,” she said. “I didn’t want to see you any way.”
“That’s fair,” he said. “I deserved that. I was quite a bore then. And selfish.”
She nodded, looking at the Baked Alaska dessert that the waiters had just delivered in flames for the table. They both said nothing for a while, each diving into the luscious confection.
“I want to do what is right for our son,” he said finally.
“Our son? No, Drake, my son. I raised him all these years on my own. I slaved as a nanny and maid for a long time, worked in a war plant and now as a seamstress to support myself and him, with no help from you. You didn’t even care what happened to me that night.”
“I know and I was wrong then. I want to make it right. Let me try now.”
“In one way, Drake you ruined my life, took away my future, brought shame to me and my parents, and you continued playing polo and taking advantage of girls and drinking all you want.”
“But you had Merritt, our son.”
“My son, remember that,” her voice rising in anger. “And yes, he’s the bright spot of my life. I’d die for him. He’s an adorable, smart, lovely boy.”
Drake looked around, wondering if anyone else heard the outburst. It appeared that their privacy was still intact.
“And that he is, really, Evelyn, but I am sincere. I’ve changed Evelyn, really. I’ve quit heavy drinking several years ago. Now that I realize I have a son, I’m ready to be worthy of him . . . and worthy of you, too.
“You’ve done a magnificent job in raising the boy, Evelyn. Everyone at work enjoys working with him, and he’s really sharp. We’ve just promoted him, you know.”
She nodded her head.
How could she ever forgive this man for what he did to her 19 years before in his car on that warm summer night? Yet, it seemed that he was ready to “make things right” for her and Merritt. It would be to Merritt’s welfare to let him come into their lives, she realized. It finally dawned on her that the Kosgrove fortune, or at least part of it, might be in Merritt’s future. Kosgrove was the sole heir to the fortune, since he was an only child, and Merritt his only known offspring.
But Evelyn had the gnawing feeling that Drake’s sudden conversion might be a sham. Could a leopard shed his spots?
Evelyn couldn’t finish her Baked Alaska; she was too stuffed from the baked flounder she had ordered, which she also had trouble finishing. The tension of the night seemed to dampen her appetite.
The night ended on a more harmonious note, with Kosgrove suggesting that Evelyn and Merritt might wish to visit him at his home sometime soon.
“I’d really like to get to know the both of you better,” he said. His tone of voice seemed sincere and kind.
“That would be nice,” Evelyn said, her tone neutral, neither encouraging or discouraging the idea. “I’ll have to see what Merritt thinks about it first. He was sort of in shock over the whole business.”
He returned Evelyn back to her home, and, mercifully, he did not suggest to Evelyn that he give her so much as a good night kiss.
*****
Uncle Frank, who had lived with Merritt and his mother for a few months after his release from the service, moved out in late summer. He had learned about Marilyn — Merritt’s alter ego — and while it shocked him at first, he had grown to accept the boy.
“You should think about learning to sing and dance,” he advised Merritt one day.
Merritt had dressed that day as Marilyn, wearing a light blue summer dress. It had a square bodice, puffed short sleeve and ended at mid-thigh. The dress was belted, and had ample flowing material below the belt.
“Oh, why, Uncle Frank?” he asked.
“You could easily be a female impersonator, Merritt,” he said. “You have the body for it.”
Merritt quickly demonstrated a quick feminine turn, smiling at Frank.
“That’s so hot. You look truly look like a girl and I know guys would go ga-ga watching you.”
He related that while on leave in San Francisco he’d gone to a place called Finocchio’s, where the nightclub show featured men dressed as beautiful girls.
“They’d love to have you in the chorus line at least,” Frank said. “You could be one of the prettier girls.”
Merritt suddenly felt flush, did some crude dance steps, prompting Frank to rise from his feet, taking Merritt in his arms, and leading him in a few steps.
“You follow well, Merritt, just as a girl needs to do,” Frank said.
After they finished their brief dance, Frank left the room for a minute, returning shortly carrying what appeared to be a postcard.
“Here look at this,” he told Merritt.
He held out a picture postcard, showing about a dozen pretty young women, posing in two rows, all wearing lovely gowns and well-coiffured.
“They’re all so pretty,” Merritt said. “Why are you showing it to me?”
Frank smiled. “They’re all men,” he said.
“They can’t be,” Merritt said. “Look at their arms and legs.”
“Just like yours, Merritt. You could easily be one of them.”
The postcard was from Finocchio’s. Frank said he had visited the club, violating a World War II armed services rule that ordered the club to not serve service people because the club featured the drag show.
“I don’t know what your future plans are,” Frank said. “But you’d be a natural. Now don’t tell your mother I showed you this. She’ll be mad at me.”
Merritt looked hard and long at the picture.
“You can have it,” Frank said. “But hide it from your mother.”
Merritt buried the postcard into a box at the bottom of his closet, but in the months ahead he never forgot the picture. Yes, he agreed with Frank, he could easily fit in the chorus line at Finocchio’s.
*****
Merritt’s venture into the Research Department at Ferrier and Holton went smoothly; he was assigned to partner with an eager young man, a recent law school graduate who was awaiting an opening as a lawyer with the firm. Merritt was an anomaly in the department, being the only staff person without a law school education. Most of the staffers were either law school dropouts or recent graduates awaiting appointments. Two were women, both also recent law school graduates as well as recently married; such women were rarely given lawyer status at the firm, since the expectation was that they’d soon be pregnant and would leave the firm.
There was little time in the research department for interplay with co-workers, since most were working hard to impress the partners; some of the law school dropouts, who had no expectation of becoming lawyers, were a bit older and also a bit more laconic about their assignments, but what they lacked in vigor they made up for in experience.
“We know the shortcuts, Merritt,” one of them told him one day. “And, since you’re not lawyer material, you’d best learn them to so you can outshine all these hotshot law school grads.”
Merritt’s friendly nature helped him get along with the crew, particularly Farleigh Stimson, his partner. The two were made into a team to assist several of the senior partners in researching several cases involving maritime law. The mystery of the quest intrigued Merritt greatly, and he found the work rewarding.
*****
As the summer wore on, Merritt and Dolores began spending more and more time together, with Merritt almost always being Marilyn. He felt totally at home with her, usually dressing casually, with either pedal pushers or shorts and a white untucked boy’s shirt. But with his longish hair, sometimes tied in tight pigtails, and slender, lovely legs with sandals and white anklets, he always looked totally feminine. They often went to the beach together, using Dolores’ mother’s car, where the two would lounge on the beach, a large portable radio at their side while reading several magazines, usually Cosmopolitan or Ladies’ Home Journal.
The two were regularly eyed by boys who languished along the beach on summer days. Dolores’ figure had filled out, her muscular body and undersized breasts looking impressive in her two-piece suit. Merritt’s slender, almost dainty body remained largely covered, except for his legs. The two never got in the water, except to wade up to their calves, since the Lake water remained too frigid for actual swimming until late summer. Most observers would see two girls, and many would wonder why the more slender one never removed her shirt to the sun.
The two lay side by side on a beach blanket, reading and giggling, drawing occasional visits by boys who timidly sought to develop conversations with the two. Some boys tried to catch their eyes from a distance, hoping to create a spark of friendship and a potential meeting.
“You are so irresistibly cute, Marilyn,” Dolores said one warm July Sunday. She had reached over and played with Merritt’s hair, untying the ribbon that formed his ponytail, letting the hair flow loosely about his head.
Merritt smiled, tilting his head in a provocative manner. He loved having Dolores treat him as a girl, a cute, dainty girl. He yearned to cuddle tightly against her, feeling the warm protection of her strong arms, but resisted it, for fear of drawing attention to the sight of two girls cuddling on the beach, and perhaps getting kicked off the beach by the Sheriff’s Department that patrolled the beach.
Instead, he whispered, “I love you Dolores.”
“For real?”
“Oh yes, for real and as your girl friend. As Marilyn.”
“I love you, Marilyn, my dear Marilyn.”
They soon left the beach, returning to Dolores’ home; her mother was gone for the day, and the two ended up in Dolores’ bed, making love as only two girls would make love, kissing and hugging, with Merritt running his fingers into her vagina and later moving his face between her firm thighs to taste and enjoy her moist femininity, all the time wishing he too had a vagina for her to enjoy.
Dolores caressed his soft skin with gentle strokes, before her passion rose and she eagerly sought out his smallish penis, now erect and hurting as he awaited release.
Both youth were still naíve about sex, even though they were now 18 years old, and Merritt was not sure what else he should do and admitted his ignorance as they hugged and caressed and kissed.
“You want to fuck me, dear?” she asked.
“I guess,” he said. “That’s what boys do, but I like doing this.”
“Me too,” she whispered, rising up from his crotch, moving up to kiss him.
“I’m still a virgin,” she then admitted.
“Me too, and I not sure I’m ready to do that. I just like being here with you, in your arms, kissing and hugging. I’m not sure how to do it.”
“Oh my darling angel,” she said, brushing his hair as they kissed. “I don’t need you to do it. I like you as my girl friend, my sweet Marilyn.”
*****
Merritt and his work partner, Farleigh Stimson, submitted their research to the two senior lawyers handling the maritime case with great praise.
“You two did a remarkable job searching out the case law on this,” one of the partners said.
“We’ll put a letter of commendation in your files,” said the other partner. “It’ll help in getting you promotions. If you two keep this up, you’ll be rewarded soon.”
Stimson and Merritt did indeed make a good working team. They rarely talked when working, except when the job demanded it, and after three weeks, Merritt still knew precious little about Stimson.
“You really deserve most of the credit for this,” Stimson said to Merritt as they left the office, having been given a new assignment.
“Not really,” Merritt replied. “We’re a team.”
“No Merritt, you’re the one who found that Ohio Supreme Court case and that led to the Cleveland Cliffs steamship ruling,” he said.
“Thank you, but that may have been luck.”
“Maybe so, but I’m glad I’m your partner,” Stimson said. He was a law school senior and several years older than Merritt. Stimson had a perpetually tanned face, attesting to the fact that he played golf whenever he could, having been a golf star at Lakeview Academy. He was a tallish slender young man, trim in his figure.
“I wasn’t too sure about whether I’d like being your partner, Merritt,” Stimson said. “You had no college, and well . . . ah . . . you know . . . you came out of the typing pool. I never knew boys worked there.”
Merritt smiled, realizing the Stimson must have questioned Merritt’s abilities due to his more girlish appearance.
“I’m glad it’s working out,” Merritt replied. “We better get started on this new case.”
“I guess we better,” Stimson said. “We can’t rest on our laurels.”
*****
Two days later, after Merritt returned from a lunch he had with Cindy, he found Paddy, one of the law firm’s security people sitting at his desk.
“Hey, Paddy,” Merritt said, wondering why the uniformed guard, a man he had exchanged cheerful greetings with at the reception desk many times, was at his desk.
“Mr. McGraw,” Paddy said formally. “I’m instructed to give you this.”
He handed over a sealed envelop, which Merritt opened, taking out a half-sized sheet of paper on which was typed:
Aug. 9, 1947
To: Merritt McGraw
In the best interests of this law firm, its partners, its employees and its clients, we find it necessary to terminate your employment with Ferrier and Holton.
You have 30 minutes from the time you receive this notice to vacate the building. A security officer will assist you in recovering any personal items which you may take with you as you leave the premises.
You are further reminded that under the contract you signed for your employment here, you may not reveal to anyone any information you may have gained about the firm, its employees and its clients as a result of your employment with Ferrier and Holton. If you should breach any confidences you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
This notice is final.
Sincerely,
James P. Holton
Managing Partner
Merritt looked up at the guard. “What’s this?”
“Merritt, all I know is that I was told to escort you from the building and to make sure that you don’t take anything that’s not yours,” Paddy said, keeping his voice level and without emotion.
“But why?” Merritt asked, as the sudden news of his termination began to sink in. “Why? Just two days ago I was given a commendation.”
“Merritt, my boy,” the guard said more sympathetically. “I have no idea. I only do what I’m ordered to. You always seemed like a nice young lad to me, but I have my orders. Gather up your stuff and let me escort you out of here.”
“Give me a minute,” Merritt said, wondering who he could call to ask about the reasons for his discharge.
“OK, but don’t dawdle.”
Merritt began to cry, wondering what happened so as to cause his sudden termination. He tried calling his father, and was told “Mr. Kosgrove was out of the city for the week.” He called the supervisor in the research department who had liked his work. The supervisor was shocked to hear of it, and said he knew nothing about it, but would check and call Merritt back.
Within five minutes, the supervisor called. “I talked with Mr. Holton, Merritt, and all he would tell me was that you were terminated for the good of the firm, and that’s all. I did put in a good word for you, telling him how well you and Stimson did on the maritime case, but he merely said, ‘Make sure Mr. McGraw is gone from this building immediately.’ I’m sorry, Merritt.”
*****
“How could they fire you?” his mother asked.
“I don’t know, mom,” Merritt said, his eyes red from crying.
“Weren’t you just praised two days ago?”
Merritt nodded, explaining that all he was told it was “for the good of the firm.”
“I thought Mr. Kosgrove liked you,” he mother said. “He told me so. Do you think it’s because he found out you’re his son?”
“I don’t know, mom, but I got transferred right after he found out, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Well, I’m going to call him,” his mother said. “He said he wanted to support you.”
“OK mom, if you think that’s best,” Merritt said. “But I don’t think he’s in town. He hasn’t been at work all week.”
He kissed his mother, leaving for his room where he took off all his clothes, found his nightie and curled up under the covers of his bed, feeling very sad and fighting off tears. It was only 3 o’clock in the afternoon, but Merritt didn’t know what else to do. Perhaps he’d pray. His episode with Father Mulcahy had dampened his once strong feelings for the mysterious power of prayer.
“Dear Father . . .” he began, but felt that was a wrong way to begin.
“Dear God . . . my dear mother Mary . . .” That was it. He’d appeal to the Virgin Mary. Maybe she’d understand.
“Why, dear mother,” he continued, a bit haltingly and somewhat embarrassed to be making such a plea. But, did he have any other choice?
“Dear mother Mary, have pity on me, your child. Why dear mother, did God make me as I am? I am a girl, really I am, but why did he make me a boy? Please, dear Mary, I tried being a boy but it just doesn’t seem to work. Am I so pathetic? Am I not worthy of your love?”
He stopped. It seemed so pointless. He cried and soon slept.
*****
Evelyn was both angry and puzzled. Drake had seemed so sincerely supportive of Merritt when they met; he truly seemed to want to help. What had happened? Why had he permitted Ferrier and Holton to let Merritt go?
Drake had given her his home phone number and suggested she call him if she felt he could help out with anything. She tried calling, but got no answer, after letting the phone ring a good dozen times. She tried several times throughout the rest of the day, still receiving no answer. Finally, she called about 8 o’clock that night and Drake picked up. He was obviously drunk.
“Drake,” she said, recognizing the slur in his voice. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “That you, Evelyn?”
“Yes, Drake, it’s me? Why did you fire Merritt?” She felt no need to delay the question, just blurting it out.
“Huh?”
“Answer me, Drake Kosgrove.” Her tone was demanding, firm.
“Ah, Evelyn, give me a minute, please. I just got home.” Her firm tone seemed to awaken him from his drunken stupor.
“OK,” she said. So much for his statement that he’d given up heavy drinking.
There was a moment’s silence, which was broken when she heard Drake clear his throat.
“Well, Evelyn,” he said, talking more slowly, obviously summoning all the concentration he could. “The law firm just couldn’t stand that kind of behavior. It’s bad for our reputation.”
“What kind of behavior?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Evelyn!” he said, laughing. “Your life style and Merritt’s too. It’s disgusting.”
“I’m disgusting? Merritt’s disgusting? You should talk, you drunken sot.”
“Oh getting personal now?”
“No, but what are you talking about?” she pressed, realizing that somehow Drake had learned about Merritt’s time as Marilyn and perhaps even her own liaisons with Viola.
“Must I spell it out for you?” he responded sarcastically. Without waiting for an answer, Drake continued:
“You and Viola, for instance. Your affair with the most infamous dyke at the country club. My God, how can you make love to a woman like that and still be the mother of my child? You’re disgusting.”
Evelyn didn’t know what to say. How did he know about that?
“And, now I learn that Merritt spends time as a girl, dresses as a girl. I should have suspected. He looked like such a sissy when he took dictation. What have YOU done to my son?”
“Oh my God, Drake. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Merritt is just about the sweetest and kindest boy a mother and a father could want. And you’re making him into some sort of a monster.”
There was a pause; Evelyn heard a sound like ice being dropped into a glass. Drake was obviously pouring himself a drink.
“How did you know about all this, Drake?” she asked.
“Well if you must know. I hired a private detective to see what your life was really like. I didn’t want to get involved with anything sleazy. We have a reputation to keep, both the law firm and my family.”
“You what? Hired a detective to spy on us? You pig!” She hung up on him, and went to her room to cry. After about 30 minutes, she got up and telephoned her closest friend, Viola.
*****
Even though it was 9 o’clock, she accepted Viola’s invitation to drive over to Vi’s home, bringing Merritt with her. She awakened Merritt, whose nap had continued through much of the early evening and who was ready to arise.
He dressed as Marilyn for the trip, and was content to read a book in the room he always used at the Buckner estate, while the two women went off to bed together. He always felt at home in the room, which he had occupied as a young boy when they lived with the Buckners. He room reeked of girliness. He took a bubble bath, lounging in the water and prettying himself up before readying himself for bed with a sheer nightgown. Even the bedsheets gave off a sweet scent that comforted him.
“Drake has his nerve, talking about you being disgusting,” Viola said, as she and Evelyn lay together , both stripped down to their undies, in the older woman’s bed.
“I know,” Evelyn said. “But it still hurts. Mostly how unfair he is to Merritt. I’m so worried about him Vi. He’s not very strong.”
Viola pulled her friend toward her, hugging her firmly, but gently, almost motherly. She let Evelyn sob onto her shoulder.
“Evie,” Viola said finally. “I think you’ll find Merritt’s stronger than you think. He’s had to endure so much in his young life, and he’s done it with his head high. He’s quite a young man . . . and woman.”
“I know he is, and so talented.”
They fell asleep in each other’s arms.
(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.
(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.
(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.
(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Merritt has completed his sophomore year of high school, having attended two proms, one as a boy and one as a girl, where his date’s infatuation for Marilyn has prompted Merritt to tell the boy the truth, only to be rudely rejected. His faith in the Catholic Church has been shattered when a priest he respected makes a “pass” and Merritt feels shame, not only for himself, but also for the priest. Following his high school graduation, Merritt has taken a job as the first and only male in the typing pool of a large law firm, where he excels in his work and soon is accepted by his women co-workers as one of them.
(Merritt discovered that the lawyer for whom he had been taking dictation was his own father, Drake Kosgrove, a revelation that shocked both the boy and his mother, and will lead to dramatic changes. In the last chapter, we learned that Merritt was fired from the law firm, in spite of his superb performance on the job, an action taken after his father had hired a detective agency that learned the boy often dressed as a woman and that Evelyn had a homosexual relationship with Viola Buckner. What’s Merritt to do now? )
Chapter 31: Charting the Future
Merritt’s sudden departure from Ferrier and Holton shocked his friends; they knew how accomplished the young man had been in secretarial skills and work habits, and felt his discharge had been totally unfair.
“Don’t you know why?” Dolores asked him, when she, Bill Johnson and Sally Orlowski had joined him for a picnic outing at Riverside Park on the following Sunday. It was an unusually warm, muggy day for late August, and the four young people were scantily clad, all with a variety of shorts and tee-shirts.
“All they’d tell me it was ‘for the good of the firm,’ whatever that meant.” He declined to tell them about the role obviously played by his father. In fact, neither he nor his mother had told anyone about the revelation that Drake Kosgrove was his father; for the time being, it was a family secret.
“It isn’t fair. They just didn’t want a man in with the girls, I bet,” said Sally, snuggling against Bill Johnson, as the four sat on assorted blankets, near a picnic table stocked with their picnic items.
“Maybe,” Merritt agreed, without further explanation.
“Too bad there aren’t laws against such discrimination,” Bill added. He had long said that the government needed to pass laws to end discrimination against Negroes and women.
“Actually, I guess men could be discriminated against, too,” Dolores said, with a giggle.
“Except Merritt should just dress up and go to work as Marilyn,” Bill said.
“Then all those girls would be jealous since Marilyn would dazzle them all,” Sally added with a twinkle.
Merritt blushed with her statement. In his mind he knew it was likely true; as Marilyn he could easily be the prettiest girl among those employed at Ferrier and Holton. Yet, in his heart he wondered: he was still a man in his body.
“What are you going to do now?” Bill asked him a bit later when the two girls had gone in search of a bathroom.
“For now, there’s plenty of work at the dress shop,” he replied. “Dolores is fulltime and so is mom now, but we can expand the business enough to keep me going, I guess.”
“I wished I knew what I was going to do now that summer is ending and my job at the golf course will end in October,” his friend said.
“Aren’t they hiring at Benton’s?” Merritt asked, referring to a large local auto parts manufacturing company.
“Yeh, I think they are, but who wants to work in the shop?” Bill said. “My dad’s done that all his life and look where that’s gotten him. I should go to college or work for peace.”
“Didn’t that peace group say they had a job for you in San Francisco?” Merritt asked, referring to the National Students for Peace, which was looking for young people to organize high school students. Bill’s success at several Riverdale schools in setting up student peace groups had drawn the attention of the national group.
“Yeh, and they still want me,” he said. “But that’s 2,000 miles away and the pay isn’t much.”
“But you’d like it, Bill.”
His friend smiled in agreement.
“My uncle thinks I could become a female impersonator,” Merritt volunteered.
“A what?”
“Female impersonator. A guy who can pass as a girl and can dance and perform. There’s a place in San Francisco that does big shows with such impersonators.”
“You could be a girl, easily,” he friend said. “Look at you now.”
Merritt responded by leaning on an elbow, crossing his legs and looking terribly sexy. He put his hand demurely to his mouth.
“God, you are so pretty,” Bill said. “I almost wanna kiss you.”
“You better not. Sally might see you and beat you black and blue.”
The two laughed.
*****
Two months later, Bill and Merritt landed in San Francisco, having driven an aging 1939 Chevrolet coupe across the country, beating the early season snows in the Sierra’s to arrive in the congested, hilly streets of the Golden Gate city.
Merritt’s Uncle Frank had a friend from his Army Service who had a spare room the two young men could use in Mountain View, a burgeoning community south of San Francisco. From there, the two young men could pursue their job fortunes.
Bill had no problems hooking up with the Students for Peace group, which had garnered wide public support (along with much opposition that claimed it was a “Communist front” organization). He would be assigned to work with high school groups throughout the Bay area. They even had arranged for an apartment that he and Merritt could share at a nominal rate in the City.
On the second day after their arrival, Bill drove Merritt to Finocchio’s. They had decided to wait until after lunch, correctly figuring that there’d be no one around before then, since the place likely stayed open to 4 in the morning.
Finocchio’s was closed, but Merritt found a side door that appeared to be an entrance for employees and deliveries. He rapped on the door, tentatively at first, but getting no answer, rapped harder.
Presently the door opened and a balding, paunchy middle-aged man grunted: “Whadd’ya want kid?”
“Ah,” Merritt stammered.
“Out with it,” he man demanded.
“To be a dancer?” Merritt replied, somewhat shocked at both his own tentative request and also at his presumption of being a dancer.
“Well, we got plenty of those,” the man said, moving to shut the door.
“Please, sir,” Merritt pleaded, using his most feminine of voices. “I can do it.”
“My, you are a pretty one!” the man said, opening the door wider, beckoning Merritt to enter.
Merritt was immediately struck by the stale smell of cigarette smoke and beer within the dark interior of the building. The man led him to a backstage area, directing Merritt to the stage, and ordering him to stand in a lone spotlight than was beamed directly onto the otherwise dank stage.
“Let me look at you,” the man ordered. “And take off your shirt and your pants.”
Merritt hesistated.
“Do it,” the man insisted. “You want the job, don’t you? I’m not going to attack you. Just do it. I don’t have all day.”
Merritt did as suggested, dropping his clothes onto the stage floor, there being no other obvious place to hang them. He stood there in a pair of male briefs, but otherwise totally naked, his slender, smooth body looking stark white in the bright spotlight. He could no longer see the man, being blinded by the light.
“Now twirl for me,” the man ordered, his voice gruff and demanding.
Merritt had practiced often walking as a fashion model would do in an exhibition, and he did the walk the best way he knew how.
“Hmmm,” the man said. “Let’s see how you move on your feet. Give me a sample of your dancing.”
Merritt did a few steps, finishing with a few leg kicks in the manner of the Radio City Rockettes.
“OK put your clothes on and let’s talk.”
Merritt joined the man at a table in the night club; all of the white table clothes had been stripped, and the beaten up bare table top looked drab and unpleasant to touch. The man smiled at him, holding a yellow legal pad and several sharpened pencils.
“I must say you’re truly lovely, darling,” the man began. “And your dance steps aren’t too bad, either. You need work in that area, though, honey.”
“Thank you sir,” Merritt said, still affecting his feminine voice style.
“But as I said earlier, we are filled up with dancers and performers now,” the man said. “But you really could definitely be a very pretty girl. Your limbs and shoulders are really very pretty and feminine. Too many girls here are too muscular, but you really are lovely.”
“But you have no job for me?” Merritt asked.
“I didn’t say that, honey,” the man. “What have you been doing?”
“Oh I was doing secretarial work for a big law firm,” Merritt replied. “I’m really a very good typist.”
“That’s nice. Have you ever waited tables? Many of our girls begin here as barmaids or waitresses.”
“No sir, I haven’t but I’m sure I could do it.”
The man shook his head. “We like our girls to have experience in those areas. Give me your name and number, dear, and keep in touch. Maybe we can use you eventually.”
Merritt gave the man his name and address, but admitted to having no phone number the man could use to reach him.
“Do you mind if I check in here from time to time?” he asked, as he got up to leave.
“Don’t pester me too often, kid. Try in three weeks again.”
Merritt nodded, and was about to turn away, but stopped. Looking at the man, he said: “But I sew real well and I can design dresses and be a great seamstress.”
“You can?” the man asked.
“Yes, mom and I have our own shop back in Riverdale.”
The man’s face brightened up. It turned out, Finocchio’s had a working arrangement with a nearby dress shop that helped all of the performers with their gowns, creating the designs and fitting them for the stage. Normally there was a seamstress on duty at the night club on performance nights to assist with costumes, but recently, the man said, that seamstress had quit and the dress shop was looking for someone willing to work nights in a club. Not many women liked the assignment.
“If you’re any good,” the man said, “You could be the answer.”
He wrote down the name, “Celeste Starr of Starr’s Fashions,” with an address and urged Merritt to go there and see if the dress shop could use his services.
As it turned out, Merritt was hired as a part-time seamstress, working from 5 to 10 p.m., six nights a week at the club, helping the fit the performers in their outfits and doing whatever sewing had to be done in a tiny basement room with an old-fashioned, treadle-operated sewing machine. He would start the following night, working from 5 p.m. to about 10 p.m.
*****
The living arrangements for Merritt and Bill were ideal; even though they shared a double bed in the tiny three room apartment carved out of an old mansion in the city, the two quickly developed busy lives that rarely saw them together. Bill’s work got him out in the early morning, before Merritt awoke, and Merritt left before Bill got home at night, rarely returning before midnight.
In spite of the fact that Merritt could have gone to work in female outfits, he lived outwardly as a male, since a co-worker of Bill’s also rented in the same building. It wouldn’t have seemed prudent in the 1940s, even in San Francisco, for a young man and woman to live together without being married, particularly in Bill’s situation which took him into schools.
Yet, Merritt always donned a lovely nightgown after he returned home from work, climbing into bed and into the waiting arms of Bill. He loved Bill’s attention, his warm kisses, gentle caresses and quiet murmurs of affection.
Merritt loved feeling he was the girl friend, and Bill treated him as such, whispering, “Marilyn,” “Marilyn” over and over again. Their love-making was warm and long lasting, but rarely explosive. After long kisses, accompanied by soft caresses, Merritt would work his way to his friend’s penis, holding the slender, long shaft in one hand and kissing the head lightly with his lips, then encircling the hardened flesh with his tongue before taking it fully into his mouth.
He welcomed Bill’s warm juices as they filled his mouth, accompanied by a loud sigh, a convulsion and sudden relaxation of his friend’s body.
Merritt’s own smaller penis grew hard during these moments, and Bill would finger it, licking it in return until Merritt, too, ejaculated. As his friend caressed his sorry piece of manhood, Merritt would squeal and moan, the sounds in a high, feminine pitch, which excited Bill and spurring him on for additional love-making.
It was during these moments that Merritt desired having his own vagina, being able to lie on his back, spread his legs and await his man. The idea of being filled with his lover’s seed and creating a baby obsessed him; he always felt a fully pregnant woman to be the beautiful sight in the world. Would that he could be one?
He and Bill had tried more aggressive sexual acts, but they seemed not to excite either of them. They lived on the illusion that Merritt was indeed Marilyn, a sweet, sensitive, caring young woman.
*****
Merritt had a locker at Finocchio’s, just as the dancers themselves did. Most of them arrived at work n male clothes, changing into their outfits, putting on their oversized wigs, doing their makeup and prettying themselves up for the performances.
He was astonished at how totally feminine many of them were. Most seemed to have arms and legs that were without muscular definition and appearing soft and weak. Yet, they were all athletic enough to perform difficult and exhausting moves on stage.
To his surprise, Merritt found he didn’t like most of the drag performers, who seemed to be so “over the top” in their faux femininity that they appeared insincere. Many were cruel and mean to each other, and the word “bitch” was heard repeatedly in sharp tones in the dressing rooms, backstage and even whispered on stage if one of the girls felt she was being outshown by another.
Many of them were sharp with Merritt as he sought often to assist them in getting into their outfits, but as the weeks went on most seemed to recognize the skill and talent he had with the dresses. He was always willing to make adjustments, even little fussy ones, to please the performers. Merritt always smiled sweetly, seeking to remain the simple girl he always had felt he was.
Normally, Merritt wore either slacks or pedal pushers, along with sleeveless blouses, with a peasant neckline. He tied his long hair in a bun, looking very much like a small town librarian. He was “Marilyn” to everyone at Finocchio’s, and most viewed him as a young woman.
His first friend at the club turned out to be a chubby, fortyish, overdressed drag queen called Dame Elizabeth, who acted as mistress of ceremonies, introducing the acts, telling a few raunchy jokes and singing in an earthy, sensual tone.
“You’re quite a talent, young Marilyn,” the doyenne of the club said after Merritt had been working several weeks.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, noticing that the performers all addressed her respectfully.
“And you’re basically very pretty and could be a star, I bet, on the stage here,” she said with a smile. “Have you ever danced?”
“I have some, not much and I applied to be a dancer, but there were no openings,” he replied.
“So you became a seamstress?”
“I already was one. Mom had a dressmaking business and I learned it and loved it. I like this work.”
“Wanna try out for the chorus?”
“Not yet, ma’am,” Merritt said. “I really like creating dresses and doing this. I’m probably not cut out for the stage.”
Dame Elizabeth smiled, and offered an expression of support, telling Merritt he could search her out if ever he had a problem. Indeed, it appeared that Dame Elizabeth was the mother hen of the girls, both keeping them from tearing each other’s hair out and in encouraging their careers. Dame Elizabeth was a remarkable woman.
To Merritt’s surprise, he later learned that Dame Elizabeth had married, fathered two boys and was himself a decorated veteran of the Army, having participated in several landings in the Pacific Islands. Yet, when he was on stage, Merritt could only see a fat, older lady.
*****
Merritt felt terribly homesick and he wrote Dolores each day, composing his letters painstakingly in small script. Once a week, the two talked for no more than three minutes on the phone, since long distance calls were so expensive, and Merritt usually had to find a pay phone to initiate the call. She always called him “Marilyn” during the calls, and he used his most feminine of voices, soft and sensual. He had become accustomed to talking in his feminine mode since arriving in San Francisco and working in the club. All of the girls in the club seemed to exaggerate their femininity, even when backstage, that he had easily warmed up to the habit of speaking that way.
“I miss my Marilyn so much,” Dolores said at least once during their conversations.
“I miss Dolores, too,” he responded, in a purring tone, sometimes breathing a bit heavy.
Constantly he pictured himself nestled against her hard muscular body, his soft, smooth skin receiving her warm caresses. As much as he missed Dolores, he felt he missed his mother even more. He had grown fond of their time together, discussing dress designs or having just plain girl talk. It’s as if they had developed a real mother-daughter relationship.
By September, Bill announced that Sally Orlowski was leaving Riverdale and moving out to be with him, perhaps even to marry. “I don’t know how you can stay here, Merritt,” he said. “You’ll have to find another place.”
The prospect of looking for an apartment in San Francisco, which had high rents, frightened Merritt; he knew some of the chorus girls in the show may want to partner up in a place, but Merritt had found none of them he particularly liked. There were only a couple of girls who seemed sweet and pleasant, but they were already teamed up in living arrangements. A girl who adopted the name Tiffany had suggested they go in together for an apartment, but Merritt found her to be terribly demanding and self-centered.
In the two-week period before Sally was to arrive, Merritt search frantically for a place to live. He had written of his dilemma to both Dolores and his mother, and both had responded with pleas of “Please come home, Marilyn.” His mother wrote that the dressmaking shop was still busy, but that the customers missed the designing talents of “Marilyn.” Business did seem to be stalling a bit.
*****
Merritt was torn between returning home and remaining in San Francisco. He had already been recognized by his employer, the specialty dress shop, for his talents, and there was a good possibility he’d be brought into the main store to work, along with a pay raise. Besides, once he got his own place he could live fulltime as a woman, fulfilling his long dream.
“This town is so open for me,” he confessed to Bill one day. “I don’t know how I can go back to Riverdale and live as Merritt.”
“I know it’s great, and I’m doing so good with the peace group, too,” he said. “I’ve been able to find a place that will probably hire Sally.”
“Good for you.”
“You know, Marilyn,” Bill said. “You’ve become so much more a woman out here. It’s so obvious. I’m sorry you’ll have to move.”
“Me too, Bill, but I understand.”
And, Merritt did understand. He knew that Bill and Sally had fallen deeply in love with each other, and that they’d likely have a successful marriage. He was pleased for both of them.
*****
The door buzzer rang in their apartment several days later, and Merritt asked “Who’s There?” into the speaker.
“Western Union,” said the voice of a young man. “I have a message for a Merritt McGraw.”
“That’s me,” Merritt said. “I’ll buzz the door and come in. I’m on the second floor, apartment 2C in the back.”
A telegram? Merritt wondered what that was all about. Did something happen to his mother? To Dolores? Had there been a tragedy?
Merritt never got telegrams, and associated them only with bad news; he recalled families of soldiers and sailors during World War II getting telegrams to inform them of the death or injury to that serviceman. He opened it anxiously, but with a sick feeling in his stomach. He read its brief message with great wonder:
“CALL ME ABOUT FOUR TODAY PDT STOP URGENT STOP HAVE GOOD NEWS MOTHER”
He had three hours to wait before calling his mother, and he spent nearly all that time trying to figure out what she had to tell him.
*****
“Honey,” his mother said when he called. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“And yours too mother!” he said.
“This has to be quick, Merritt, because I don’t how much change you’ve got,” she said.
“I can talk for about six minutes, mom.”
“Honey,” she began. “Viola and I have been talking. There’s a small clothing manufacturing company available for sale in Janesborough. You know where that is?”
“Yes, about 90 miles away from you.”
“Well, Viola is willing to invest in it and let us run it, dear. She feels it would be a big success.”
“What?” Merritt asked, taken aback by the sudden revelation about operating a dressmaking company.
“Yes, Viola believes in the business,” she continued.
“But neither of us know anything about running a business, mom?”
“I told her that, but she’s looked into it, and she feels that the current financial officer of the company is fully competent and would stay on and help us with the details.”
“She’s sincere about this?” he questioned, still unbelieving.
“Very much so. She knows the financial guy, Merritt. You know, Viola has had a summer place on a lake near Janesborough. So she knows the area.”
“Great. It would be a good deal, mom. And you and Vi could still see each other? Would Dolores be able to work there?”
“If she wants too, yes,” Evelyn continued, pausing briefly. “But Vi said she’d do it only if you were part of the business.”
“Me? Come home?”
“Yes, you’re the talent that has made Swenson’s so popular. You’ve got to be part of it.”
“Gosh, mom, I don’t know. I can live almost fulltime as Marilyn out here. It feels so good.”
“I know honey, but this is such a good idea.”
Merritt was silent. His mother continued:
“Merritt, honey, think of the possibility. It’ll be a new city for us, and maybe you could live there as Marilyn. No one would know the difference. I think that would work for you.”
“Oh mom, that sounds so nice, but I need to think about it.”
“OK honey, I’m sure this is quite a shock for you.”
“It is mom, but I just don’t know. Gimme a few days.”
“OK dear,” his mother said. “But I have to tell you something else.”
“What’s that?”
“Your father is also investing in the company.”
“My father? Drake Kosgrove?”
“Yes, the very same. Viola did it. She arranged something with Drake to persuade him to invest, even though he will only be a silent partner.”
Merritt was shocked. “Why?”
“I think she threatened him with going public about his son,” Evelyn said.
“Please deposit another 25 cents please.” With that, the call was abruptly ended.
*****
“Do what you want?” was the only counsel that his friend Bill Johnson could offer. The young man was so busy with his peace group and focused on his coming reunion with Sally Orlowski that he had little time or thought for his friend.
Merritt turned to Dame Elizabeth, hoping the veteran transvestite would have some words of advice for him. As the two talked in the Dame’s tiny dressing room (she had the only private dressing room in the club, the rest having to dress in the cramped, crowded dressing room that smelled of a combination of sweat and feminine scents of perfume and soaps and powders), Merritt could see tears welling up in the old performer’s eyes.
“You know, Marilyn, my dear, we girls here must have a curse upon us,” Dame began. “I just had to be the woman I am dear, but it cost me a good job, a family and the respect of the community. I’m just looked upon as being a faggot, or a pansy . . . oh . . . and who knows what else. Yet I could not live in any other way. I am a woman and must live that way.”
Merritt looked at Dame Elizabeth, who began to sob quietly as she completed her statement. Dame Elizabeth was always so confident and “in command” on the stage, and Merritt hardly expected this breakdown into tears that occurred about 15 minutes into their conversation.
“I’m so alone,” she continued, grabbing a handful of tissues to dab at the moisture in her eyes.
Merritt wanted to hug the performer, but held back in respect for Dame Elizabeth’s position, realizing that this was a private moment that he’d never forget, but would never reveal to another soul.
“My advice?” Dame Elizabeth said, finally having composed herself. “Normally I’d say follow your heart, but darling, it’s such a tough journey, and leaves one so alone. It depends upon how badly you need to do this, to become a woman. You notice I said ‘need to do it?’ It’s not a matter of what you ‘want’ to do. It’s whether you ‘need’ to do it for your sanity.”
“Thank you ma’am. I’m still not sure what to do, but you’ve still been a big help.”
“It’s up to you, darling, not me, and you’re smart and intelligent and frankly the idea of going into the dress manufacturing business sounds great, particularly with the support you’ve got. It’s obvious your mother loves you, and, I think, even though you haven’t said it, that you and Dolores have feelings for each other. Maybe, dear Marilyn, you can have the best of two worlds.”
Merritt stood up to leave, and Dame Elizabeth stood also, gathering him in her chubby arms and pulling him against her ample bosom, hugging him.
“You really do make a lovable girl, Marilyn,” she said. “I’ll miss you, if you go back to the Midwest. But go if you think it’s right.”
*****
Two days later, Merritt wrote his mother that he’d return home by Oct. 15.
*****
The June 21, 1950 edition of the Janesborough Herald-Bugle contained this notice in the Society section:
“The engagement of Miss Dolores Graham and Mr. Merritt McGraw has been announced by the bride-to-be’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Graham.
“Miss Graham is a graduate of the Our Ladies of the Angels Academy in Riverdale and was the 1947 state tennis champion for the school’s tennis team. She is currently employed as an assistant designer at the Janesborough Garment Works.
“Mr. McGraw is a graduate of Riverdale West High School, where he lettered in tennis and was active in various social service clubs. He is currently chief designer at the Janesborough Garment Works.
“The groom’s mother, Mrs. Evelyn McGraw, is the President of Janesborough Garment Works. Mrs. McGraw was part of a syndicate from Riverdale that purchased the company in November last year as the company was about to enter bankruptcy. Mrs. McGraw and her business partner, Mrs. Viola Buckner, also of Riverdale, were honored recently by the Janesborough Chamber of Commerce for rescuing the company, and saving more than 250 jobs in the area.
“The wedding will take place Saturday, August 19, at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church with a 10 a.m. mass, followed by a reception at the Janesborough Country Club. The maid of honor will be Sally Orlowski, of San Francisco, California, and Donna Mae Lemieux and Edith Mooney, both of Riverdale, will be bridesmaids. Best man will be Bill Johnson, of San Francisco, California, and the ushers will be Frank McGraw, the groom’s uncle, and Nick Woodbury, both of Riverdale.”
*****
Four days after the wedding announcement appeared in the Janesborough newspaper, North Korean troops invaded South Korea, and the United States was once again in a state of war. President Harry S Truman called it a “police action” as the United States along with other United Nations troops joined to repulse the invasion.
It meant that young men, like Merritt and Bill Johnson, would soon be serving in the Army, as their draft numbers were sure to come up quickly as the nation rearmed.
Merritt was conflicted by what he should do; there was no question he’d be drafted: his health was good; though his weight might be low it was probably not too low to cause him to be rejected and made 4-F. He considered the prospect of wearing a dress to the draft board office, in hopes he’d be rejected as being too unstable to hold a gun, but that seemed chancy.
No way, however, would he ever want to be considered a “slacker,” the phrase for those men who figured out ways to dodge military service. Besides hadn’t his own stepfather, whom he greatly admired, given his life in the service of his country? How could he not do his duty?
On July 5th, Merritt took off from his duties at the Janesborough Garment Works and drove to Riverdale and enlisted in the U.S. Navy for a three-year term of duty.
*****
Merritt and Dolores moved up their wedding day to July 22nd, three days before Merritt was due to report to the Great Lakes Naval Training Station. Neither Sally nor Bill could make the wedding; the couple had moved to Vancouver in Canada to stake out a new life after Bill Johnson had pleaded — without success — for conscientious objector status so that he would not have to fight in a war which he thought was wrong. His uncle Frank was best man and Donna Mae was maid of honor in the hurried ceremony, said in a mass at St. Patrick’s, but with only an abbreviated reception in the church hall afterward.
If anyone had followed the newly weds to their honeymoon suite in a fancy Chicago hotel, they would have seen two lovely brides. Merritt and Dolores McGraw launched their life together having their own private party as two women. They looked forward to both a lifetime of love and affection, but also of heart ache and challenges. Both felt ready for the adventure ahead, in which their world would evolve around wonderful private times as two women, coupled with an outside world that knew them only as a happily married couple.
“Marilyn, you could have been such a pretty bride,” Dolores said, smiling in admiration. “I’m so jealous.”
“Dolores you’re beautiful,” Merritt said, as the two hosted each other with complimentary champagne.
“We both make beautiful brides,” she said.
And they kissed. They tried to make love that night for the first time as man and woman. It didn’t work; Merritt had problems keeping his small penis hard, and soon broke down and cried.
“Oh darling, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, burying his face onto her firm breasts. “I’m not the lover you deserve.”
Dolores hugged him, caressed him and comforted him. “No, dear, you’re just the woman I love and I love you as you are.”
She suggested they both rise from their wedding bed.
“I bought you a wedding night gift,” she announced, going over to her luggage and removing a box from Engelmann’s Department Store tied in pink ribbon.
“For me?” he asked, his eyes red with tears.
“Yes, my darling Marilyn, for you,” she said, smiling. “You’re such a silly one.”
He giggled as he daintily removed the ribbon and opened the box, and pushed aside the white tissue paper to reveal a light yellow, silk nightgown. He removed it from the box, and stood up, holding the gown in front of his body.
“Oh it’s lovely,” he said.
“I bought it, Marilyn, just in case.” She smiled sweetly.
“Dolores, I love you.”
They hugged and their passions grew as they fell onto the bed to create a truly magical wedding night. Could any two women ever be happier?
Epilogue:
With that magical honeymoon night, we leave Marilyn (a/k/a Merritt) McGraw to enter adult life. His future will be uncertain, to be sure. In a few days, Merritt will be a sailor, steaming off into all sorts of adventures in a purely male world. It’s a world he hardly really knows, understands nor enjoys.
The world in the 1950s was terribly intolerant of differences. Only a scant two years earlier, President Truman had ordered the armed services desegregated, requiring African-American (or Negro) servicepeople to be integrated into regular units. There were no such provisions for honoring people like Marilyn McGraw; he would have to “man-up” in order to survive. How will he handle that?
It would be three years before Christine Jorgensen will have her sexual transformation in Denmark, marking a milestone in completing the transition from male to female. Jorgensen’s operation opened a world of possibilities, but until the 1970s, only a few would chance the change. Would Merritt try?
What will happen to the garment factory without the talents of Marilyn steering them? Can Dolores and Marilyn truly live together for a lifetime in happiness?
For Marilyn McGraw, the future held promise and heartache, great possibilities and perhaps even greater disappointments and love and despair. For some strange reason that night, Marilyn McGraw was terribly excited to launch into her troubled future, knowing that somehow with the love of her mother, Dolores and many dear friends, she’d be just fine!