(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.