(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)