Chapter 15: Rude Awakenings

“I want you to be understudy for the part of Madge Owens,” Professor Fenstrom informed Karen the following day at work, referring to the key role in “Picnic.” “Can you handle that?”

“I don’t know, professor,” Karen began, her voice faltering.

“Why, what’s the matter?” he asked, his voice gathering volume. “You wanted to play Madge as the lead, and now you don’t want to be an understudy? Such arrogance you have. You’re not ready for the lead, yet, you ungrateful wretch.”

“No, professor, that’s not it,” she said, starting to cry.

“Enough sniveling,” he demanded. “Will you or won’t you?”

The two were in the professor’s office, with Karen standing stiffly at the desk, while the professor leaned back in his executive chair, playing with his fingers. Karen tried to stop crying; he was so mean, she thought.

“It’s just that I’m so busy,” she said. It was a truthful answer, although she would have dropped everything to be the lead and play the role, instead of being an understudy.

“I’ll give you ‘til tomorrow to give me an answer, girl. Now get back to your desk.”

She wheeled on her heel, rushed from the office, away from this hateful, demanding man. She carefully avoided looking at Deborah, the secretary, who could not have helped but to have heard the interchange. She sat down at her desk, a mixture of anger and shame flooding her mind, trying mightily to stem the tears that continued to flow down her face.

Finally, without looking at Deborah, she rose from her chair, and said in a hurried voice: “I’m going to fix my makeup. Be right back!”

Karen sat on the commode, finding welcome privacy within the enclosed stall, prompting her to sit for a while after relieving herself. It gave her a few minutes to sort matters out; did she really want to continue pursuing acting as a future, even peripherally? It was such a demanding goal, requiring years of sacrifice and dedication. Even taking over an understudy’s position for a major part like that of Madge would mean hours of memorizing the lines and taking part in many of the rehearsals, she knew. She really was too busy, and the Professor’s demanding direction could place terrible stress upon her.

Ever since she had resisted his apparent sexual advances, he had largely left her alone, confident that she’d perform the office work admirably; Karen was proud that she had been able to fit into the demands of the “assistant’s role” so well. Why not just let it stay that way?

She heard the outer door to the women’s room open, followed by footsteps which stopped. “Are you in there, Karen?”

It was Deborah’s voice, and Karen froze for a minute.

“Yes,” she said faintly.

“If you’re done, come on out of there, please, Karen.”

“OK, just give me a minute.” Karen wiped her face with some toilet tissue, got up and pulled up her panties and jeans.

As she exited, Deborah stopped her, pulling her into a hug, and said softly into her ear, “He sent me after you, Karen. He was worried about you. He really cares about you, Karen.”

“Then why does he talk so mean to me?”

“Oh, that’s just him, Karen,” the older woman said, releasing Karen from her hold. “You know he’s that way with everyone when they don’t do exactly what he wants.”

Karen was aware of Fenstrom’s behavior with everyone; she had often wondered how a man who could show such empathy and sensitivity in his theater work could be so mean and insensitive with people.

As she began to repair her makeup, Karen looked at the secretary who was smiling back at her.

“You know you’re a naturally very beautiful young lady, Karen,” Deborah said. “And I mean you’re such a sincere and warm girl and that makes you even more beautiful. I think Fenstrom sees that, too, and he really wants you to grow as an actress. You’ve got it in you. I’ve never seen him so enthused about anyone as much as he is about you.”

“He’s got a funny way of showing it,” she said.

“He wants to test you, I think, and hopes to bring out the best in you,” Deborah said.

“Are you sure he doesn’t want to get into my panties? You know he’s made such approaches?”

Deborah nodded. She was well aware of the professor’s dalliances with the young ladies, and suspected that Karen had already faced such situations.

“I know, dear, but I know you’ve put up the ‘stop’ sign, and he’s easily dissuaded when a girl turns him down,” Deborah said. “Besides, he still loves his wife, and I think she’s about had enough of it.”

Karen smiled. “Let’s go back to work, Deborah. I need to finish up the letters to donors before I leave tonight.”

She was pleased to spend the next nearly two hours at the computer, printing out the form letters, merging them and printing envelopes and stuffing them. The work was rote but the physical activity seemed to be the antidote to her concerns. She finished just before eight o’clock; Deborah left at 6 p.m., leaving her alone in the office, while Professor Fenstrom remained in his office, behind closed doors, apparently working on massaging the script of “Picnic.”

Karen rapped lightly on Fenstrom’s office door when she finished, saying, “I’m finished, Professor Fenstrom and I’m going now.”

“Oh, Karen,” he replied. “Open the door and come in here a minute.”

“I’ve got to go, professor,” Karen protested, hesitating to open the door.

“Open the door, child.” His voice was gentle, almost kindly.

She did as he commanded, but stood stiffly at the door, not entering the inner office.

“I really think you should do the understudy part, Karen,” he said. “It would be good for you if you are serious about acting. You’ll learn a lot.”

She nodded, wondering if she should tell him she’d already made up her mind about the understudy role. She seriously considered letting him stew for another day.

“OK,” he said when he got no response from Karen. “Have a good night and let me know tomorrow about your decision. Right?”

“I’ve already made my decision, sir.”

“For God’s sake, tell me, girl.” She noted exasperation growing in his voice.

“I’ll do the understudy role, sir.”

With that she closed the door and left the office; she could hear the professor yell “Karen, Karen, stop.”

Karen kept on going, putting on her spring jacket and baseball cap. She exited the office quietly, closing the door gently behind her, suddenly feeling pleased with her decision.

*****
“You’re doing too much, darling,” Cecelia Hansson said.

“Oh, mother, I know it, but I just can’t seem to resist doing all these things,” Karen replied.

She and her mother usually set aside about an hour on Tuesday nights for a long phone conversation; it was always reassuring for Karen to talk with her mother, who seemed to understand her many issues. Karen realized her relationship with her mother was different from what she’d seen occur with many other college girls, who constantly seemed to resent their mothers’ interests in their activities, preferring to characterize their mothers’ comments as “interfering” or “nagging.”

Perhaps it was because she had been a girl for not much more than six months and had lots she needed to learn; perhaps, it was because her mother, too, was getting used to having a daughter for the first time. Maybe, the novelty of a mother-daughter relationship just hadn’t worn off, yet.

“Are you jealous of Heather getting the lead, Karen?” her mother asked.

“No, mom, she’s a friend and a good actress.”

“But not as good as you, you think?”

“Mom, I wouldn’t say that, but that’s what everyone else says. Heather’s a good actress, mom. But, I don’t know why Fenstrom didn’t pick me.”

Karen was lying; she believed strongly that Fenstrom denied her the part because she resisted his sexual advances, but she didn’t want to tell her mother about that, for fear she’d overreact.

“You know life isn’t always fair, dear,” Cecelia Hansson said. “I’m glad you agreed to the understudy role. It shows you’re a team player, and always try to do your best, and eventually you’ll shine. You’re far too pretty and too good an actress.”

“Thanks, mom, I will.”

“Love you, honey.”

“Kisses, mom. I love you. You’re the best mom ever.”

Karen hung up, grateful for the warm support from her mother. Even though she wasn’t sure there was a God to hear her voice, she prayed that night. She pictured herself as a little girl, in a babydoll nightdress, kneeling at the side of her pink-quilted bed in a daintily furnished little girl’s room, praying to God. She suddenly wanted to cry: she had never been a “little girl,” dainty and playful, and would never experience the joys of growing up as a cute feminine child.

*****
Karen’s contact with Patti Hamilton had become less frequent, now averaging once a week. Both were busy, of course, with Mark’s mother having to juggle a work schedule with maintaining a household and making daily visits to see her son in the rehabilitation center.

It wasn’t until Friday night — on the day before the committee meeting planning the fashion show — that Mrs. Hamilton called Karen.

“He’s not progressing much. He seems so depressed, Karen,” Patti said, her voice betraying her own feelings of depression over her son’s status.

“That doesn’t sound like Mark,” Karen said. “He was always such a fighter and so bold.”

“It’s like he doesn’t feel he has anything to live for.”

Karen pictured her lover, her athletic, ruddy-faced friend, now lying pale and shrinking in size in an institutional bed. Tears began to form in her eyes, and her voice thickened as she spoke.

“How did Sonny’s visit go?” Karen said, hoping to change the subject. Her brother had joined with several of his football-team buddies to go to Milwaukee to visit Mark, a trip that Karen had originally planned to make with them. She had to cancel due to demands of her job with Fenstrom who called for a Sunday work session.

“Oh, he seemed to brighten up when your brother and his friend arrived, Karen. They were so great, Karen, asking his advice about how they should play the game. Your brother, it appears, adores Mark and would like to be as good a quarterback.”

Karen giggled a bit, an image of her brother’s eager curiosity whenever the subject of football was raised as a topic of conversation.

“That sounds like Sonny.”

“You know, Karen that really was great therapy for him, since he must have felt he was helping the boys out in playing the game. It’s like he was coaching them.”

“It gave him a purpose, I guess,” Karen said, pleased that her brother and several of his teammates had followed up on their promise to visit Mark.

“That really was nice of them to take that 90-mile trip down to see Mark, honey, but within two days he was back into the doldrums again.”

“And he still hasn’t mentioned me?”

“No, honey, he hasn’t. I’m sure he’s read your letters, but he won’t talk about it. Every time I bring your name up he just tells me to ‘shut up’ about you. ‘Leave her out of this, mom, she doesn’t need me as her burden.’ That’s what he always says.”

Karen said nothing for a minute. What was there to say?

“Are you still there, Karen?” Patti Hamilton said to finally break the silence.

“Yes, Patti, and . . . ah . . .”

“What honey?”

“I've got nothing doing on Sunday, Patti. I’m coming to visit him that day, whether he wants me or not,” she said, making the decision in her mind at just that moment.

“Oh, I don’t know if you want to do that, Karen. It might be just a waste of time. He won’t see you.”

“I don’t care, Patti. I’m coming. Unless, of course, you would oppose me showing up. I would not want to go against your wishes.”

“No, not at all. I don’t think it would hurt him at all. At least, it can’t make him feel any worse.”

“That’s it. I’ll get there Sunday by one o’clock.”

The two talked for a while, with Karen explaining she’d arrive about noon on a bus from the University. She planned on going to early mass and catching the bus at 10:30 a.m.

“I’ll pick you up at the 84th Street stop,” Patti said.

By the time Karen and Patti finished their conversation, Karen’s heart was racing; she was excited at the prospect of seeing Mark.

*****
“I know he loves me, Rami,” she told her roommate about her plans later that night when Ramini returned from an evening date with Aaron, who had made a quick weekend trip to visit his sister at the University.

Ramini, who was still giddy over the evening she had enjoyed with her new-found boyfriend, smiled and said, “Of course, he still loves you, Karen. Isn’t it great to be in love? I’ve never felt so happy, and I owe it all to you, dear.”

Having stripped down to her panties and bra, Ramini sat down next to Karen on the bed and wrapped her arms about Karen. They kissed warmly, sisterly kisses. They soon were tumbling together on the bed, giggling and tickling each other.

“Isn’t it great being girls,” Ramini said.

“The best,” Karen replied, kissing her friend firmly on the lips.

*****
Jeremy Foster proved to be a worthy choice as chair of the committee planning the Newman Club’s fashion show. He took command of the meeting from the beginning with a firmness that seemed out of character with his soft, effeminate mannerisms. He had smallish, pudgy hands and spoke in a high voice that showed traces of girlish inflections.

Karen was surprised to see Mary Catherine attending the meeting as well; the girl had not volunteered for the committee at the Wednesday meeting. Mary Catherine beckoned to Karen to sit in the empty seat next to her, and Karen looked to Ramini who had accompanied her to the meeting. Ramini indicated to Karen to sit next to the girl, and she found a close-by empty seat.

“I thought this might sound interesting,” Mary Catherine said to Karen as she sat down.

“It could be,” Karen agreed. “Are you interested in fashions, Mary?”

“Not really, but I think it's time I learned, besides I think I can help publicize this. I’m a media major here.”

“Cool, we’ll need you then, Mary,” Karen said, continuing to use a shorter version of the girl’s name. Mary Catherine had told her most of her friends and family (except her mother, of course) simply called her “Mary.”

“I want to be your friend, Karen,” Mary Catherine said.

It was such a bald, direct statement that Karen was momentarily speechless.

“Yes, Karen, I can see you’re truly a fine Christian girl and that’s so important, although I’m still not sure about this trans stuff. It seems wrong to me.”

The frankness of the girl was both disturbing and welcoming. She could see that Mary Catherine truly was trying to be open-minded, but it was difficult for her.

Their conversation was interrupted by Jeremy, who commanded loudly:

“Let’s get right down to business. We have to get this done in three weeks. That’s not long.”

His firmness startled the girls, all five of them instantly stopping their giggling and talking.

Father Jim announced he had contacted St. Vincent de Paul, and found they were interested in the project. “They have plenty of lovely clothes, I’ve been told,” the priest said.

Mary Catherine agreed to do the publicity; she had done some already for high school events and for another Catholic youth group in which she participated. Jeremy and another girl would set things up with St. Vincent de Paul.

The girls agreed that they’d meet the following Saturday at St. Vincent de Paul’s store to select their outfits for the fashion show.

“We can all model,” Stephanie said.

“All of us, even Jeremy?” another girl asked.

The girls all giggled, but Jeremy seemed to take the suggestion seriously.

“Oh, I’d love to, maybe the plus sizes,” he said with exaggerated effeminacy.

“No I was kidding about that, Jeremy,” the girl said.

Jeremy smiled at her. “That’s OK, but I have modeled some of my own dresses when I made them. Plus sizes, of course.”

He laughed, and the girls looked at him in amazement.

“Yes, why not? I had to see how they fit. But I’ve got several dresses I made that would probably fit Karen here the best. Maybe she’d like to check them out and maybe she’d like to model them. I’ll donate them to the cause.”

The meeting ended within an hour, attesting to Jeremy’s skill in moving a meeting forward, and Mary Catherine asked Karen if she’d like to go for some coffee.

“No, I can’t just now, Mary,” she said. “Ramini and I need to talk to Father Jim about something. Maybe some other time. OK?”

The girl looked disappointed; yet, she smiled at Karen. “Yes, some other time.”

Karen and Ramini approached Father Jim as the others left the lounge of the rectory.

“We’d like to talk with you a minute, Ramini and I would, Father,” she said.

“What is it?” he said.

“It’s kind of private, father.”

“OK, follow me to the office here. I’ve got maybe 20 minutes before I have to get ready for Saturday afternoon mass.”

His office still retained the comfort of its old furnishings; dark stained wood paneling covered the lover half of the room, while two lead-stained glass windows filtered light into the room, splashing colors about his desk and the patterned carpeting.

His desk, an old-fashioned wood affair, held a scattering of papers, with a computer on one side; it was obvious the priest used this as a workplace. Karen had been impressed with the few of his sermons she’d heard, since he was including literary references to strengthen his points. His interest in good reading was confirmed by the presence of two large shelving units in the room, filled with books that were obviously well-thumbed through.

“Father,” Karen began hesitatingly. “Ramini and I need to inform you about something. It’s quite private and might be disturbing to you and some of the others.”

Father Neuberger moved forward on his executive’s chair, looking closely first at Karen and then at Ramini. He said nothing. He fiddled with a pen, tapping first one end of the pen on the desk and then slowly turning it over and tapping the other end, repeating the pattern in a steady rhythm.

“Maybe you two would like to go to confession to tell me?”

“No, father, it’s nothing like that,” Ramini said.

“We'd better not beat around the bush,” Karen said. “Father, you’ve heard about transgendered people?”

Father Jim’s demeanor became suddenly guarded.

“Hmmmm, . . . ah . . . yes, I have, and?”

“Well, I guess you could say both Ramini and I are what you call transgendered girls,” Karen said.

The priest looked at both of them. It appeared he quickly had surmised the purpose of their visit.

“What do you mean? You both can’t be boys underneath all that prettiness,” he asked.

“Yes, Father,” the two said almost in unison.

“It can’t be, you’re both so . . . ah . . . what can I say . . . you’re both so girly. Migosh, so sweet and feminine, both of you.”

Karen waited moment and then said, “Father we wanted to let you know about us before we got too involved here at church. Both Ramini and I were baptized Catholic and attended mass regularly until a year or so ago, but we’d like to return to the Church and enjoy the sacraments.”

“Oh, you would?” The priest’s tone was sarcastic, and Karen was taken aback.

She nodded hesitantly, indicating she would like to return to the Church. Ramini shook her head in agreement.

“You think you can just turn on and turn off your religiousness and turn on and off your gender just like you turn on and off a water faucet. Dear girls, you can’t just do that.”

“We didn’t just ‘turn on’ being girls, Father,” Ramini protested.

“Well, when did you begin identifying yourselves as girls?” he quizzed them.

Karen was becoming uneasy with the tenor of the conversation; Father Jim, whom she thought would be understanding and open-minded, was instead becoming rigid and doctrinaire. He obviously viewed both of them as pathetic, wrong-headed creatures and sinners.

“Well, it was last November, and the University now registers us as female, father,” Ramini said.

Father Jim laughed out loud, a derisive laugh, and it prompted Karen to rise from her seat. “This is ridiculous, Rami, let’s get out of here,” she exploded.

“Stay where you are, children,” the priest commanded.

Karen remained standing and stared directly at Father Jim. “Look here, Father, I never felt right as a boy — all my life, I didn’t, and now I’m comfortable with myself. I’m really a girl and have been all my life, even though all my parts don’t quite fit the description.”

Never before had Karen felt so angered; the priest had become a pompous, uncaring idiot, she thought. No wonder she had left the Church. This priest was no different than their old pastor back home.

“Father, you must understand our situation,” Karen continued to stand. She began, her voice now under control: “First of all, you invited us to join the Club and second, we came to you to tell you our situation as soon as it became apparent we might become more active. We have no reason to deceive anyone. You should understand that both Ramini and I have been under medical and psychological care and have both been diagnosed with gender dysphoria and are being evaluated right now for the possibility of a full gender reassignment.”

“And if we’re not welcome here, we’ll leave, Father,” Ramini added.

Father Neuberger sat back in his chair, saying nothing. He played with his pen again, tapping it once on its tip, then flipping it is his fingers as a baton twirler would and tapping it again on its other end. He kept a rhythmical tapping going for several seconds.

Karen stood above him, glaring down at the priest, and Ramini shifted uneasily in her seat.

“Will you sit down, Karen!” Father Jim said; it was obvious he had grown uneasy with the situation.

Karen did, finally.

“Look, girls, if that’s what you think you are,” the priest began. “I think the Catholic Church views what you are doing as a sin, perhaps even a mortal sin, particularly if you go through with changing your gender physically. Remember, your body is a gift from God; he created both of you as boys and for you to physically change your sex would amount to self-mutilation, and that’s a sin akin to suicide.”

“It looks like we don’t belong here, Ramini,” Karen said again.

“Shut up, Karen, and listen to me, I haven’t finished,” Father Jim said, his voice taking on a frustrated firmness. “Now, since we’re on campus here and the parish faces certain non-discrimination rules as a result of being located here we must make all of our activities open to persons of all races and creeds and genders. I can’t stop you two from participating in the club. However, I could bar both of you from attending mass or taking part in the Sacraments.”

“It just won’t work, Father,” Karen said, feeling that both she and Ramini would be treated like second class citizens or objects of curiosity.

“Karen, you are demanding, aren’t you?” the priest said, and not waiting for her to answer, he continued:

“First of all, both of you are welcome to continue with the full activities of the Newman Club, or any other activity at the chapel you’d like to. That’s a University policy that we will honor. Then, you’re both always welcome at mass; however, I will refuse to give you Communion or to permit you to participate in any Sacramental celebration. Is that clear?”

“I understand, Father,” Ramini said.

Karen said nothing; she finally sat down in her chair, continuing to glower at the priest whose ruddy face had reddened apparently due to the trauma of the meeting.

“So we’re still sinners, Father?” Karen said finally.

“Yes, Karen,” the priest said, his voice growing soft and tentative. “You’re a sinner in the eyes of the Church, dear.”

The realization that she was a sinner in the Church of her birth bothered her; it was surprising since she had quit attending mass more than a year earlier due to her profound opposition to the Church’s stand on such issues as a woman’s right to choose, the role of women in the Church and gay marriage. Now, the emotional response to the fact that she’d be deserting the traditions of her early life invaded her mind, if not her soul. She didn’t know what to believe.

“Doesn’t God care for all her children, father?” Ramini said.

“Yes, each of us has a soul, so we are all God’s children.”

“Remember the prodigal son, Father?” Ramini persisted. “Remember how the father welcomed the wayward son back into his household? Cannot the Church welcome us, too?”

Father Jim laughed at Ramini’s use of the Bible’s prodigal son metaphor, and countered: “Yes, Ramini, the Church can welcome you back, but only after you have quit your sinful behavior. Meanwhile, we will pray for you both to do so.”

Karen rose abruptly.

“Thank you Father for your time,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve just freed up my Sunday mornings for me. Let’s go, Rami.”

She grabbed Ramini’s hand, and guided her out of the office, but even before she could slam the door in the priest’s office, they both heard the priest yell out:

“May God go with you.”

Both girls said nothing as they left the chapel. “Guess that ends that,” Ramini finally said.

“Yes, but I can’t understand Father Neuberger,” Karen said. “He seemed so warm and friendly at first.”

“I know, but I guess he’s in a tough position there, trying to mix Church rules into a community like a college campus,” Ramini said.

“But, he laughed at us, remember, Rami?”

“Yes, that was shocking, and I guess to some people we must be a topic of hilarity.”

“Well, f–k ‘em,” Karen said.

“Oops, Karen. For that you must say ten ‘Our Fathers’ and ten ‘Hail Marys.’”

Both girls began laughing, even though the experience certainly was no laughing matter.

That night, as she lay in bed, having put her hair up after a warm, heavenly soak in the bathtub, she began to cry. She really loved the Church for its ceremonies and its regal beauty, for the sense of community and also for its message of humility and charity. Yet, she realized that she was really categorized in the Church along with murderers and charlatans of the meanest order. Even the lepers were treated with more kindness and understanding than girls like herself and Ramini.

*****
Karen skipped mass the next day — a chilly, windy April Sunday — and while it saddened her to give up on returning to the Church, it did give her more time to prepare for her visit to see Mark at the rehabilitation center in Milwaukee. She began to feel anxious about the whole adventure, not knowing how he would receive her, or even if he’d receive her at all and instead order her out of the room.

“Should I wear a nice dress, Rami? How about my teal blue spring dress? What do you think?”

“Oh Karen, you’re driving me nuts this morning with all these questions,” Ramini said. She was at her computer, trying to do research into John Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” a task that was becoming more difficult with Karen’s incessant quest to find the “perfect outfit” to wear for her Mark.

“You know the dress, Rami? Help me out on this, please.”

“Karen, darling, I know this is important for you, but, dear, you’ve probably changed clothes six times this morning.”

“No, it’s only five since I haven’t put on the spring dress yet.”

Ramini burst into laughter.

“You’re a trip, girl,” Ramini said. “OK, let me repeat what I said before.”

Karen nodded and then repeated her friend’s earlier advice: “It’s a cold day, too cold for a skirt. I shouldn’t dress too fancy and should wear something more casual, like any typical college girl would wear.”

“That’s right, and so the spring dress is wrong for you. Why not put on those new designer jeans you bought a week ago? They’re really chic, dear. And then that peach colored cami under the light green jacket? I thought you looked really nice in that, and it’s a bit cheery, too.”

“You really think so?” Karen asked. She still thought she should wear something pretty and sexy for the visit.

“If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t have said it, would I?”

Karen reddened. She knew her friend had become exasperated with her and her indecision about clothes.

Ramini turned completely away from the computer and looked Karen directly in the eye. “You’re naturally a pretty girl and it matters little what you wear. If he wants to see you, he’ll be glad to see you in a burlap bag. If he won’t see you, it won’t matter what you wear.”

“I guess you’re right, Rami,” Karen said, moving over to hug her friend. “You’ve always been so wise about these things, dear.”

When she finally left for the 11 a.m. bus, Karen wore what Ramini had recommended; because the temperature was still in the mid-30s, she decided to wear her puffy beige winter three-quarter-length coat with its hoodie. On her feet she wore a pair of stylish short-heeled brown boots, adorned with sequins.

She was caught at the door by her friend, Angela, who exclaimed: “Wow, where are you going looking so stylish, Karen?”

Karen was taken by surprise. “Oh Angela, hi. Going for a day trip to Milwaukee to visit Mark.”

“You are? I didn’t think he wanted to see you.”

“I’m hoping he will,” Karen said. “His mother said it was OK if I wanted to come. Maybe it’ll do him some good.”

“Oh, if he doesn’t get aroused by seeing you like this, there’s no hope for him, dear,” Angela said.

“He’s still hurting bad, Angela,” Karen said. “I’m not sure I’m all that hot.”

“You are, dear. You are, and I’ve missed you so much. Where have you been?”

“Angela, you know I’ve been busy, with my job and school and everything else.”

Angela suddenly grabbed her friend, and hugged her. “Oh Karen, I need you, please, come visit me one of these nights. Please, dear.”

Karen tried to wrest herself from the arms of her strong friend. “I need to catch my bus, Angela.”

“Oh Karen, don’t forget me, will you? Or are you Rami’s lover now? I should never have encouraged you two to move in together.”

“No Angela, she’s just a close friend, but we’re not making love together,” Karen said. In truth, she didn’t know if their practice of sleeping together, coupled with their kisses and hugs, constituted “making love” or not. The two had never reached the height of erotic explosions that she and Angela had reached.

“Come see me OK, Karen?”

Angela let her friend free, and Karen responded, “OK, Angela.”

Karen sped down the stairs of the old house porch and into the cold, adjusting her hoodie as she left. Just the thought of returning to the muscular arms of Angela, of feeling her hard body and smooth skin against her own softer flesh, of nestling her head into the tiny mounds on Angela’s chest, of feeling Angela’s strong hands kneading the softness of her inner thighs excited her immensely. It also confused her, as she found herself aroused thinking of being in the arms of Mark Hamilton as well.

As she waited to board the bus to Milwaukee, Karen began shivering; she knew it wasn’t only because of the chill of the morning, but rather from growing tenseness as she faced gnawing questions: Would Mark see her? And, if he did, how should she act? She wanted to run to his bed and hug him with all her might; yet, she knew that in her own trepidation she would be unable to move herself to do so. Oh Mark, please, dear Mark, accept me and let us come together for a wonderful life ahead! Or, would she be rejected?