(Note: The author humbly appreciates those who may be following the story of Rich Bromely and his struggles in the 1950’s and later. I am taking a brief hiatus of posting a chapter each day while traveling and intend to use the time to edit and proof the next few chapters. Thanks to all for the kudos. Posting the next chapter of Struggles should resume at the very end of May. Criticism and comments are welcomed.)

Struggles

by

Riding in Cars with Men

Rich couldn’t focus. Everything was spinning. The headlights of the oncoming cars were blurry streaks of light to him and he couldn’t tell where he was. He had no memory of what had happened to him. He knew he was riding in a car and that it was cold and dark. He felt nauseous. The intermittent lights from the passing streetlights showed wet spots on the front of his pants. He must have dozed off, or more accurately, passed out. He didn’t look over at the man driving and tried not to let him know he was awake.

The El Camino came to a stop and Rich realized he was a block from his house. The man reached under the seat and pulled out a handgun. He nudged Rich with the gun.

“Richie.” He called. “Wake the fuck up.”

Rich stirred but still did not look over at the man.

“Look at this.” He commanded again pushing the pistol at Rich. “You know what this is for?” He asked not intending to let Rich answer.

“It’s for niggers and boys like you who talk too much.” He said answering his own question. “So keep your fucking mouth shut, if you know what’s good for you. Don’t tell nobody, you hear.” The man then reached beyond Rich and opened the passenger door. It flung open and Rich almost tumbled onto the sidewalk. He struggled to stand and then staggered toward his house. He heard the engine of the El Camino first roar then fade as it sped out of sight. There were no lights on in the house except for in his mother’s bedroom. That didn’t mean she was awake; she often fell asleep reading. His father, Winn, was never awake this late.

Rich made his way in the dark to the back porch and tried the door. Locked. Lia often just locked the door thinking her boys were home. She wasn’t a bad mother; just forgetful sometimes now that they were older and she did not have to worry. She thought it was good for them to have some space, especially Rich. She was glad he was going out instead of staying home.

Rich tried to shinny up the post of the porch, like he had done before, so he could slip in the unlatched window above, but he didn’t have the strength. It also hurt to wrap his legs around the post. Something did happen, he knew but couldn’t remember what. Rich finally tried the basement door and found it unlocked. He slipped in quietly, gently falling over some clothes in front of the washer. He crept upstairs and into his room. He took his shirt off, then his pants. He was starting to feel pain, sharp pain between his legs, in the back, literally in his ass. Rich took off his briefs and flipped on a light. He felt sick, so sick that he raced to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet. Clutching his briefs he looked down and saw blood trickle down the back of his leg. What happened after he got into the car with that man came rushing back to him.

* * * *

It was so cold earlier that Friday night in March 1960 that 15 year old Richie Bromely just considered staying home. His brother was out somewhere and his sister was away at school. He considered just staying in his room, perhaps being Vickie for the evening. He had not done that for a while and maybe this was a good opportunity. Rich and his new friend Bob made plans to shoot some pool but at the last minute Bob was asked to spend the evening with his girlfriend. Her father had relented some and as long as they were not left alone, they were allowed to spend time together.

Rich’s mom suggested he call Buzz and see what he was doing. Buzz always had something going on and maybe Rich could join in, Lia reasoned aloud to her second son. The last thing Rich wanted to do at this point was spend another boring evening with Buzz, Eric and Skeeter, playing cards and talking about their girlfriends and to which proverbial base they had safely reached. Rich Bromely hadn’t even been up to bat when it came to girls, even though he had been with Barb in her bedroom helping her put on her dress and kissing her. That was not the same.

Rich lied to his mother and told her he had called Buzz and was going over to his house to play cards. Lia kissed his forehead as he left, happy that her son, the one she worried she had made a sissy, had become such a normal sweet teen boy.

Rich Bromely at 15 had become a typical small town teen boy. Gone was the shadow of his brother that he lived under, mostly; gone were the sexual surprises instigated by Gary, the ones that terrified him, traumatized him. Rich had put those out of his mind, didn’t think about them. Gone were the feelings he had as a boy that somehow he was, or should have been, a girl. Actually, those weren’t really gone; they were there but Rich just refused to acknowledge them. He thought about them and liked thinking about them. He just couldn’t indulge in them the way he did when he was seven or eight or even eleven and twelve. No, at fifteen Rich couldn’t reconcile those feelings and what he had become; a developed boy, with hair on his chest, wet dreams and boy impulses; impulses he hated but sometimes gave into. At eight the physical differences between a girl and boy were not so stark; now at fifteen they were black and white, or more accurately curve and no curve. So he ignored the female tug as best he could, like an addict on the wagon.

Rich also managed to steer clear of his brother. It wasn’t that hard, especially after Rich turned 15 and had more freedom to go out and hang with friends. Gary now had a girlfriend, but still had all of the crazy friends from before. Rich and Gary’s paths rarely crossed now. Rich also no longer played basketball with Buzz and Skeeter and now hung out with a kid from the other side of town and started smoking. Barb Hundley was still his friend but she and Buzz were going steady and she rarely had time for Rich. That was a relief for Rich. Because of what had happened with Phillip Drexel and Buzz, it was just too complicated to be close to Barb, especially with Buzz deeply in her life.

His new friend, Bob Moore, was the son of a mechanic and his mother tended bar in the evenings. Rich and Bob would play pool at the bar and grab a burger and fries there together late at night. Rich would stay out late with Bob and sneak in without his mother knowing it. Of course, his mother often didn’t know he was out in the first place because Rich was sneaking both ways.

For some reason Rich and Bob connected. Bob was serious and cerebral. He also didn’t talk about girls in that awful and negative way Gary and his friends did. Bob was in love with a sweet girl but her father wouldn’t let them be alone together. Bob would lament about his love and Rich enjoyed having someone who was open and sincere with him. With Bob, Rich didn’t have to worry about sex with boys, and Bob helped Rich feel like a normal boy for once. With Bob as a friend Rich felt safe and separated from Gary and for the first time in Rich’s young life he connected to someone of his own gender, not that he didn’t think about his friend Barb or still indulge himself in thoughts of not being a boy. But Bob didn’t seem to carry all the baggage that bothered Rich about being male, especially the incongruity of boys talking about sex with girls, but having sex with other boys. That was the only perspective Rich had until he met Bob.

But Bob was not out this night and Rich just decided to go uptown. Rich pulled up the collar of his jacket and walked the four blocks to the center of town, to the corner where all the boys, the ones without a license or a car, hung out. Fourteen and fifteen year old boys mostly would stand on the corner and wait for some older boy to drive by showing off their car, or their father’s. Sometimes the older boy behind the wheel would stop and one or two of the younger ones would pile in and they would drive down to the highway and through the Elby’s located at the edge of town.

This night Rich had the corner all to himself when he reached it. That was unusual for a Friday night but it was already rather late and a lot of kids were probably still at the basketball game. Rich decided to wait a while to see who would drive by.

A couple of cars rolled by and honked their horns, and Gus, one of the town’s police officers, or coppers as the boys called them, drove by and gave Rich a quick glance. Rich was about to leave and just go home when he spotted the El Camino from three blocks away. It was distinctive and Rich knew right away who it was.

Wesley Ewing was not a good looking guy. His nose was too big for his face and was made more prominent by the narrow cheekbones and elongated head. His eyes were set too close together and looked menacing even when he smiled. He was tall with a medium build and constantly hunched his shoulders. Wes could always be seen on most nights cruising up and down the main drag, or through Elby’s. Occasionally there would be a boy or two riding with him.

Wes Ewing wasn’t sixteen, or eighteen or even 20, like the other guys that liked to cruise through town. Wes Ewing was 26; a man still acting like a teen, or that’s what everyone said. The story was that Wes lived with a woman but liked to show off his El Camino and be around the guys still in high school. He worked in the local auto parts store and outfitted his El Camino with fancy hubcaps, and blue lights in the grill. Even though he was much older, he was popular with, and looked up to by, most of the boys Rich knew.
Rich watched as the El Camino approached and slowed for the stop light. Rich tried not to look but had to when the driver rolled down the window.

“Where is everybody?” The driver asked Rich.

Rich strolled over to the curb and saw the distinctive outline of the man driving. He knew it was Wes Ewing. Rich had seen him many times and often saw him at the parts store when Gary was looking for parts to fix up the old truck, but he had never talked to him. Rich was never the one who was offered a ride like Buzz or Skeeter.

“At the game, I guess.” Rich answered from the few feet that separated the boy from the man in the car. The light turned but Wes kept his foot on the brake. “Saw two or three car loads leave earlier. They’ll be back soon.” Rich continued.

“I’m heading down the river. Need a beer.” Ewing declared. Nothing else was said for the longest time. The light turned red again. Rich didn’t know what this man was trying to say. Was he just making conversation, telling the young boy that he needed a drink, or was it a question, was he asking Rich if he wanted to go get a beer?

“You comin’ or not?” The man finally asked as he revved the engine. Rich ran around the El Camino and jumped in. The man again revved the engine and popped the clutch just as the light turned green again. The tires squealed and the El Camino roared down the street, turned right and made its way over to the road that followed the river south. Soon they were out of town with the headlights piercing the dark cold night. Rich sat quietly watching the speedometer.

“What’s your ugly brother up to?” Wes finally asked.

“Don’t know. Guess he’s out with Marie.” Rich answered referring to Gary’s girlfriend.

“You drink beer?” The twenty six year old asked the fifteen year old.

“Sure, with Gary a couple of times.” Rich bragged.

“There’s a dive about a mile ahead. They don’t give a shit how old you are.” The man bragged as he picked up speed and then downshifted before a turn. Rich heard the sound of the tires as the El Camino turned off the road and into the gravel parking lot of a little bar called “Marty’s”. It was just a rectangular cinder block building with a couple of windows and an “Iron City” neon sign in one.

Wesley Ewing parked the El Camino and got out. Rich opened his door wondering what he had got himself into. Wesley put his arm around Rich, “Don’t say nothin in here. Just let me do the talkin.” He advised. “They won’t say nothin if you keep your mouth shut. They like my money.”

Marty’s was one big room with some tables and a bar at one end with several stools. There was one pinball machine and a juke box. It was dimly lit, of course, and heavy with smoke. Several men were drinking at tables; there were no women. There wasn’t any hard liquor on the shelf behind the man behind the bar; just glasses and various bar related items. The man behind the bar had a cigarette in his mouth and was talking to an old guy in overalls. Wes sat on a stool at the bar and Rich climbed up on one beside him. The man behind the bar looked over and seeing Rich smiled at Wesley. He came over and stood in front of the man and the boy.

“What’ll it be, Wes, the usual?” He asked still grinning. “Been cruising again I see.” He added glancing at Rich.

“Yeh, make it two Iron City.” He ordered throwing a five on the bar. The man behind the bar didn’t hesitate and opened the cooler in front of him and produced two long neck bottles. He popped the caps with an opener. Rich started to feel at ease. He had drank beer before, several times, but never openly in a bar, with men, other men, he thought. Rich felt older as he put the bottle to his lips and felt the cool liquid rush into his mouth. It tasted so good, almost thrilling. Fuck the baseball shit, he thought. Fuck Buzz and his petty crap about how far he had been with Barb, his sweet friend. Rich Bromely was in a bar, drinking beer with men, real men.

“Haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks.” The bar man noted. “Where’s the older boy who was with you the last time?” He continued again looking closely at Rich’s boyish face.

“You ask too many fuckin questions, Marty.” Wes barked. Rich wasn’t really listening and had almost finished his beer.

“Don’t know, you ugly shit. The older you get the younger the boys are you bring in here.” The man behind the bar said in almost a whisper, then laughed so loud the rest of the men in the bar turned to look.

“You don’t seem to mind my money, asshole. So shut the fuck up and get us two more.” Rich downed the rest of his first beer and took hold of the next. He took a sip and felt the first effects of the first. The room wasn’t spinning but he definitely felt light headed and he had to piss. He got off the stool and looked around. It felt like everyone was looking at him.

“It’s in the back, behind the curtain.” The man behind the bar directed. Rich walked to the back of the bar trying to stay straight. He found the curtain and pulled it pack revealing a toilet, with no seat. He unzipped his pants and tried to find his penis which seemed to be hiding somewhere. He managed to free it and pull it out between the zippers. He peed trying to be careful not to pee on the floor but missed. It was clear he wasn’t the first, judging from the heavy smell of urine and the wet floor. He finished, zipped up and made his way back to the bar. ‘Hello Walls’ was playing on the jukebox and he tried to sing along.

“Hello window’. He sang a little too loudly as the men standing at the bar laughed. Wes was talking to another man sitting on the stool between Wes and Rich. He climbed back on the stool and took another large gulp of beer.

“Damn good beer, right Rich.” Wes declared. “You ready?” He asked pointing to the bottle in Rich’s hand. “Drink up.”

“Almost.” Rich answered now clearly seeing things move in front of him. He tipped the bottle up and drained it.

“One more Marty.” Wes called. Rich reached for the freshly opened bottle the man behind the bar put in front of him and missed. The bottle tumbled forward but the man behind the bar caught it. Rich laughed, almost giggled, at his clumsiness. He then took the bottle again and this time raised it and drank almost half in one gulp. He set the bottle down and got off the stool stumbling. Rich Bromely was clearly drunk and had no idea what he was doing, or going to do. He started for the door.

“Hey, where you going?” Wes called getting off his stool and following the boy. Wes reached in his pocket and threw another two dollars on the bar. He reached Rich at the door.

“I need to go home. Need to lay down.” Rich managed. Wes put his arm under Rich and helped him through the door and out into the cold night air. Rich felt the fresh air fill his lungs and he felt better.

“Let’s get you into the car. You can rest for a while.” Wes opened the car door and helped Rich in. Soon the engine roared and Rich could hear the sound of tires spinning and throwing gravel as the El Camino turned right going further down the river and not back toward town. Rich was dazed and had no idea which direction the El Camino was going. Soon he felt the car come to a stop and the engine shut off.

Rich Bromely did not know where he was and he really didn’t care too much. His head was spinning and he just wanted to lay there. It was quiet, peaceful. He was warm and drunk. He felt Wes reach over and shake him gently.

“Rich, you o.k. buddy?” Wes asked. “Time for a little fun Rich.”

Rich didn’t really hear the words, and certainly didn’t know what they meant. He felt Wes unbuckle his pants and unzip them. Rich didn’t understand what Wes was doing and he didn’t care. Rich couldn’t reason, or resist. Soon Wes had pulled Rich’s pants and briefs completely off. Wes pulled a small blanket from behind the seat and put it over Rich’s legs.

That’s nice, Rich thought as Wes turned the boy away from the driver. Rich felt the man’s hand touch him, feel him but Rich did not respond, could not respond. Then he felt the man next to him, next to his back. The man also had taken his pants off and was naked against Rich.

Now Rich was more aware. Now he could understand what was happening; now he was suddenly almost sober. Rich felt the man’s penis push between his legs from the back, first through the space between his legs and then protruding up from Rich’s crotch almost as if it was Rich’s own penis. It was wet and slippery. In the dim light Rich could see the very large body part exactly where his own little thing would be if it had the courage to emerge. It didn’t and later, much later, Rich laughed at the irony of the image of Rich, the boy who struggled with feelings of being girl-like, looking in that instant like a very well endowed, and very erect boy-man. It took many years for Rich to see any irony, or humor in what was happening.

“Feel that Richie?” The man asked softly. “Touch it. I know you want to. You’re such a sweet boy.” He said and then added, “But you can be my girl tonight.”

Then the penis disappeared. It was gone and Rich tried to focus on his own penis. It was there but still lifeless. Soon Rich knew the large long penis was not gone. He felt it push up and into him. Rich tried to scream but couldn’t. He gasped instead, feeling the sharp pain as the man’s penis went in and back out, again and again. Rich had seen how big it was, and how long. Now he felt all of it, he was sure. Rich tried to hold his legs closed but the man was strong.

“Come on, Richie.” The man demanded as he pushed harder. “When I’m done you can fuck me. Told you it would be fun, girl.” Rich heard the word and briefly thought of Barb.

For Rich this wasn’t fun, it was terrifying. Rich tried to continue to resist but the man slapped him in the back of the head. Rich relaxed instinctively and felt less pain when he did. Soon the man was going faster and harder and Rich felt nauseous. Finally the man fell back and Rich felt the warm liquid on his thigh. That’s when Rich passed out.

Fifteen year old Richie Bromely did not remember how he got his briefs and pants back on, and he didn’t remember most of the ride home. He didn’t remember much of anything about his ride with Wes Ewing that night, not until almost forty years later when he sat in his therapist’s office, wearing a dress, exploring what could possibly cause a man to want to become a woman.