Chapter Two – A Budding Romance
In his senior year of high school, Corey had sought to show more masculinity, even keeping his hair trimmed back. He felt a desire to be “normal” in his final year, hoping to fit in with his classmates, but in fact he didn’t feel any more accepted. In the summer after graduation, Corey had reverted to his more feminine appearance during the summer as he joined his mother in working fulltime in the beauty salon, taking appointments, doing her bookwork and even taking on more hairdressing appointments, mainly for younger women.

Now with his friendship with Amy growing, Corey began wondering if he should again turn to more masculine outfits and assume the role of being a “real man.” He doubted, however, that he ever could fit such a role and it appeared the girl liked him as he was.

Perhaps it was because of his own ambivalent feelings about himself that Corey was hesitant in pursuing his affection for Amy, even though she seemed to be encouraging him to intensify their relationship. She never missed their Wednesday lunches together, and the two found time during weekends to meet for various outings, usually with Corey taking her by bus to show her various sights in the city that he knew quite well -- the Public Museum, the Central Library, the city’s horticulture center located in three iconic geodesic domes and even the County Zoo.

They enjoyed stopping at coffee shops and fast food places to relax and talk; he learned lots about what it was like to be raised in a small rural logging town and he in turn gave her a glimpse of big city life. They had serious talk about politics, finding they agreed on just about everything.

Corey and Amy sometimes went to movies at the Student Union or to a movie house that showed mainly foreign films near the campus; as much as he wanted to, he never once put his arm around her shoulder. That is, until the Saturday before the four-day Thanksgiving weekend holiday, when Amy was to return home by bus.

During a showing of a particularly drab Italian movie, Amy leaned over and grabbed Corey's hand; the boy was momentarily shocked and his hand felt tiny and delicate in her sweaty grasp. "I'll miss you, Corey," the girl whispered into his ear.

He felt her hand squeeze his gently and her hand moved up with her thumb beginning to rub sensually against his slender inner wrist. Corey began to breathe heavily.

"I wish we could have Thanksgiving dinner together," she said, her voice so soft he could hardly hear it.

"Me too," he whispered back.

On the way back to her dorm on campus, Amy noted a park bench in a fairly secluded spot along the path; there were few students walking just then, even though the night was relatively warm for November. He obediently sat with her.

"Hug me," she ordered.

It was an awkward hug to be sure, but suddenly he found Amy's lips upon his; in shock, he froze up, his mouth becoming rigid.

"Come on, lover. You can do better than that," Amy chided.

Thus, Corey kissed his first girl.

*****
Amy had plenty of time to think about Corey on the eight-hour bus ride back home for the Thanksgiving holiday; she wondered what her family would think of this delicate boy and his smooth, pretty hands. The men in her family were all tall and broad-shouldered; they talked crudely while Corey seemed never to utter an off-color word. They would wonder what kind of a man he was if she told them that her boyfriend (for she considered him to be such, even if he seemed reluctant) worked in his mother's beauty shop and that he liked to design women's clothes.

The boy was not strong, she knew, and likely she was stronger than he was. While she liked being a strong, athletic girl, she also wished she could be made pretty and lovely. In the weeks she had known Corey, she had improved her eating habits, choosing more vegetables and fruits over her usual hamburger-and-fry diet. She had lost nearly ten pounds in the weeks since the two first met.

As the bus proceeded past dairy farms and feed corn fields, she mused about Corey: What a perfectly lovely boy, such a pretty face and slender, almost dainty features. Too bad, she thought, he could be such a pretty girl. Then she had a mischievous thought: Why not see what he looks like in a dress?

*****
It seemed like midnight when the bus finally entered the snow-lined streets of Spooner where her brother, Adam, was expected to meet her. It was only eight o’clock, but at that time of year in northern Wisconsin, the sun had set four hours earlier and the darkness of the long winter night had settled in.

“Could this pretty girl be my sister, Amy?” her brother said as she stepped off the bus. He emerged from among the dozen or so persons at the bus station waiting for the bus in the near-zero degree (F) cold amid snowbanks lining the roadways and parking areas. An early season snowfall had dumped more than a foot on the area and then followed it with a spell of frigid weather. It promised to be a long, cold winter.

Amy rushed into Adam’s arms; he was her favorite brother, being just about a year and a few months older than she was.

“It’s so good to see you, Adam,” she said, when he released her.

“Wow, you’re a sight for sore eyes, pretty one,” Adam said, smiling. Amy knew her brother had left the backwoods cabin where he had been encamped with several buddies during the state’s weeklong deer-hunting season. He was still in his rough deer hunting outfit and obviously hadn’t shaved or bathed since the previous Saturday when the season started.

“You’re sweet, Adam, for leaving deer camp just to pick me up,” she said. “Got your buck yet?”

“Jimmy Hall got his on opening day, but with the deep snow on the ground, it’s tough.”

“I thought you deer slayers liked snow.”

“We do, but not this much.”

“It’s still good of you to leave camp just to pick me up.”

“Really, it’s good to get away from it for a while. Four days with those bums can sometimes be too much.”

“Yeah, I bet, too much beer and raunchy stories,” she giggled.

“You really have changed, Amy. It looks like the big city has done you good,” he said.

“You really think so, Adam?”

“You’re wearing lipstick and you look really nice,” he added. “Maybe you’re too pretty to be riding in my dirty old pickup.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m the same old sister you’ve always teased. I’d ride in a horse and buggy to be with you.”

Adam’s logging operations intensified in the autumn and continued in full force through the frigid winter; it was the period when trees could be more easily felled and moved about. His face was weathered and almost leathery, so different from the smooth washed faces of the boys in her college classes. Also, she noted, so different from Corey. She wondered what Adam – or her other brothers and their father – would think of the dainty boy she was so attracted to. Adam might understand, but she feared the others would treat Corey most cruelly, so cruelly that he’d likely burst into tears like a girl. That possibility, for some strange reason, made her feel even more attracted to the boy.

*****
“You’ve got a boyfriend,” Amy’s mother proclaimed that night. Mother and daughter were in the kitchen, finishing up making mincemeat and pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving Day’s dinner.

Amy said nothing, but continued to roll out the dough for the pie crust.

“You have, haven’t you, darling? I can see it in your eyes.”

Anna Hartmann was almost a carbon copy of her daughter: tall, solidly built and slightly overweight. Round-faced and with a pale skin, she always seemed to have a jovial demeanor. In many ways, Anna Hartmann had become her only daughter’s best friend as the girl was growing up; the two spent many hours in the kitchen where Amy soon learned how to feed a large family on a limited income. The logging business in Wisconsin was not what it used to be and Amy’s father Arnold (called Arnie by almost everyone except Anna) had suffered numerous setbacks. Anna had taken to working part-time in the local grocery store (a miniature version of a big-city supermarket) to help the family make ends meet. Amy herself had worked as a cashier in the store in her senior year of high school and in the summer leading up to the University term.

“Yes, mom, I guess you could say I have a boyfriend, though we’ve just really met.”

“Oh, but I can see the sparkle in your eyes, darling,” Anna Hartmann said. “And you’ve really prettied yourself up.”

“Yes, she has,” came the words from the doorway, where Amy’s brother Adam stood, having walked in on the two women.

“I thought you were going back into the woods tonight to do a little early morning hunting tomorrow, Adam,” their mother asked.

Adam nodded. “Nah, I’ll skip it tomorrow. We’d only have a few hours of hunting, since we have to strike camp early to get back in time for Thanksgiving Day dinner. Can’t miss that. Besides I need to pretty myself up to keep up with Amy. Isn’t my little sister so pretty now?”

“Oh Adam, your sister always was pretty. You just never looked at her.”

Amy began to redden; it seemed she had always felt she was the ugly duckling of the family: too plain, too boring, her breasts too small for her heavy body and her hips too wide.

“Tell us about your boyfriend, Amy,” Adam demanded. “When did you first meet?”

“The first week of school,” she admitted.

“That’s nearly three months ago,” Anna said. “Certainly you know something about him.”

“Have you been to bed with him?” Adam asked.

Anna Hartmann looked at her son. “Now what kind of a question is that? No one asked you whether you’ve bedded down Stephanie so don’t ask your sister. That’s her business.”

“Sorry ma. But maybe I could help her with how to handle this guy.”

“Just shut up, Adam,” their mother said. “And Amy, you can tell us about this boy only if you want to.”

The trouble was that Amy didn’t know what she should tell her mother and Adam about Corey; she couldn’t tell them certainly that she had been wondering about how the boy would look in a dress. That thought had dominated her imagination for most of the bus trip home and seemed to block out any other image of him.

“That’s OK, mom,” she said finally, wiping the flour dust off her hands. She had been rolling the dough before molding it into the pie tin. “His name is Corey and he’s really nice. He’s from the city and he’s also a freshman.”

“And?” Adam prompted, hoping to get more from his sister.

“I had an empty seat at my table in the Student Union and it was really crowded, so I told him he could sit there if he wanted,” she continued. “He was kind of lost and so was I since the school is so big. So we just kind of hit it off.”

“What does he look like? Tall, dark and handsome?” Adam teased.

Amy paused a minute: “Well, he’s really good looking I think, but not too tall.”

“It doesn’t sound like he’d be able to toss around an eight-foot log or handle a chain saw then?” Adam said.

“Probably not, but he’s smart,” Amy said.

Anna Hartmann stared at her son. “Get out of here and take your shower. You’re stinking the place up, Adam,” she said sternly.

Amy breathed a sigh of relief as her brother finally left the room. Her mother merely smiled at her and the two went about to finish their pie-making for the evening. She was grateful that her mother asked nothing further about Corey, obviously sensing that Amy was still embarrassed to talk about the first romance in her young life. In the eyes of her rural family, she knew the boy was obviously not the type to become the husband of a hardy, backwoods girl like herself.

Despite Adam’s teasing on Thanksgiving Eve, Amy still looked upon him as the one member of the family in whom she could confide her thoughts. The two had long before formed an unspoken bond of mutual trust and love; in spite of his rough demeanor, Adam was truly a sensitive, sweet man.

On the drive the following Sunday morning to the bus station in Spooner, she told Adam about Corey, including the fact that he was hoping to become a fashion designer. After further questions, she admitted that Corey’s mother ran a beauty salon and that the boy worked there and even did a bit of hairdressing.

Adam scowled at the revelation.

“He’s not big and strong, Adam, but he’s so sweet and gentle,” she said.

“Do you really like him, sis?”

“Oh yes, we’ve really become close friends, and we love being with each other. And, no, we haven’t been to bed together.”

Amy felt she had to get that off her chest right at the start.

“Maybe he’s gay,” Adam volunteered.

“Why? Because he hasn’t fucked me yet, Adam?”

“Well, what’s taking him so long?”

“Not every guy is an animal like all the brutes up in this town, Adam. Look, we’re just friends for now, if that OK? And, he’s helping me look pretty. I never thought I was pretty, but Corey insists that I am a beautiful young woman.”

Adam pulled into the bus station’s parking lot and the two sat in the car, keeping the motor running and the heater going. The bank’s marquee showed 12 degrees as they drove by; most of the potential bus passengers also were seated inside warm autos and pickups to await the bus.

“Sis, I can see that Corey has certainly had a great effect upon you,” Adam said. “You really are pretty and the guys up here don’t know what they missed.”

“You think so, Adam? You’re not just saying that to make me feel good are you?”

“No, honey, I’m proud of my sister,” he said. “I’m sorry I teased you the other night.”

“I love you brother,” she said.

She gave him a kiss on his unshaven cheek, grabbed her bag and hopped out into the cold Wisconsin morning to board bus back to Milwaukee. Amy was smiling broadly as she stepped onto the bus.

*****
Corey’s cell phone rang as he and his mother watched public television’s “Masterpiece Theater.” Their joint viewing had become a Sunday night habit for the two. “It’s my only chill-out time,” his mother confessed.

The boy knew how hard his mother worked to keep the beauty salon running; he had spent much of the weekend there himself, and was spending more and more time doing hairdressing, particularly for his mother’s younger clients. “I love what cool things you do with my hair,” a particularly pert college-age girl named Tanya announced when he finished with her on Saturday.

“Thank you, but you have such lovely hair to work on,” he had replied.

“You’re such a dear,” Tanya said, kissing him lightly on the cheek as she left the chair.

His mother had praised his skills while they were cleaning up from their Saturday appointments; his mother’s salon employed four part-time hairdressers, with Corey usually working on Saturdays. As the word-of-mouth spread about Corey’s hairdressing talents, more young ladies began calling, seeking to get “Corey’s chair.” One even asked for “that pretty young man.”

“I love to fix hair, mother,” he had said at dinner on Sunday night – another Sunday evening routine.

“I can see that, honey, but I don’t want you spending your life on your feet dealing with hair,” she said. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders and you can do lots with your life.”

“What’s wrong with making women pretty?”

“Nothing honey, but first you need to explore the world, see what possibilities you have. Mr. Maslowski said you’re a natural for politics or something like that because of your compassion and understanding of history. Don’t become like me: I only fix hair because I found it was the best way for me to feed and clothe us.”

Corey knew his mother was correct, but the fact was he truly loved dealing with women, even to the extent of being one of them. As they watched the “Selfridge” series on “Masterpiece Theater,” Corey and his mother had been discussing the clothing that the women wore in the turn-of-the-century show. In a girlish manner that he had seemed to favor, Corey had tucked his legs under him as he sat on the sofa, and at first glance a casual viewer might have figured he was viewing a pleasant mother-daughter scene.

“I love the clothes the women wore then. They’re so stylish,” he commented.

“Well you wouldn’t have liked them if you were a woman then. It took them ages to get dressed and then the undergarments were so terribly restricting,” his mother said.

“Still, the women looked so totally feminine and fragile. The very essence of womanhood.”

Debbie Sullivan eyed her son closely for a moment, imagining for a moment how the boy would look if dressed in the long, flowing dresses of that era. She had begun to think more often that her child was her daughter, a lovely girl who loved her mother. As a girl, Corey would be the picture of femininity, she knew, and would be the subject of desires among all the young men. She also knew that her son might be having the same fantasies.

The buzzing of Corey’s cell phone broke the spell and Corey wrestled about in the pink robe he was wearing to find it. He rose from the sofa, padding in his fluffy slippers into the kitchen so that he’d be out of earshot when he answered it.

“Oh Corey, you’re such a genius,” he heard Amy’s voice gushing on the phone after he said “Hello.”

“You’re back, Amy?”

“Oh yes, just got back into the dorm, and I had to call you right away to tell you how everyone back home loved my new look.”

“I’m glad they did, but I told you that you were pretty. You didn’t need me to bring that out.”

“Oh yes, I did. I always thought I was ugly, and you know what?”

“What?”

“My family sensed that I must have found a boyfriend and that’s what made me so pretty,” she giggled.

“I suppose so.”

“Really, even my brother’s brutish buddies hit on me up there.”

“Did they bother you?”

“No, they were just dazzled, I guess, ‘cause they always dismissed me as the ugly little sister.”

“You were never ugly,” he said. “We just had to bring out your natural beauty.”

“You’re too sweet, Corey.”

After both agreed they missed each other, Amy and Corey decided to meet in mid-afternoon the next day in the Food Court at the Student Union.

He was smiling as he returned to the living room. His mother turned her attention from “Selfridge” on the television screen and watched her son, seeing the satisfied smile on his face. Debbie Sullivan had noticed in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving that her son appeared to be far happier and even though she had made leading comments, such as, “I see you’re a happy guy these days,” Corey had not told her what it was that had him smiling.

The boy resumed his seat on the sofa, again tucking his legs under him and brushing his hair from his face with a light flick of his slender wrist. Never before had Corey hidden anything from her, always confiding his activities and sometimes his fears and joys to her. She wondered: Did Corey have a girlfriend? Or, perhaps a boyfriend, though she didn’t believe the boy was gay? Was he into drugs, though he showed no signs of it?

“Who was that, honey?” she asked finally.

“Oh, just a friend,” he said, hoping his mother would drop any further questioning.

“A friend, Corey. I’m glad you’ve found a friend,” she said.

“Yes, mother.”

Neither spoke, both pretending to be concentrating on the Masterpiece Theater drama unfolding on the TV screen.

“Won’t you tell me about your friend, Corey?” his mother finally asked.

“Oh, she’s a girl I met at school. Nothing special.”

“Corey, from the smiles on your face, I think you’re not telling me the truth. She must indeed be special to you.”

“We’re just friends, mom,” he said, ending the questioning by stating. “Let me see what happens to Selfridge now.”

Debbie decided to end the questions; he’d tell her sooner or later. She was pleased her son might have finally found a girlfriend.

*****
It was with both excitement and trepidation that Corey approached his meeting with Amy the next Monday afternoon; he knew the bond between the two had become intense and real and he didn’t know how to respond. He had long listened in awe – and some disgust – as he heard other boys proclaim their sense of manhood through their bragging about “bedding down” or “sleeping with” with this girl or that one on first and second dates. They talked about the incidents as “conquests” and “domination,” concepts that offended Corey. Weren’t girls to be treated with respect and dignity?

Or, he wondered, was it his own weaknesses that held him back from being a “real man?” Here he was nearly 19 and he was still a virgin and he wasn’t quite sure he could ever summon up the courage to take his pathetic male body into bed with a girl and then enter her with his smallish appendage.

Corey couldn’t see Amy when he first entered the busy and cluttered Food Court area of the Student Union; since the University was in the midst of a major city and many of its students lived off campus, the Union was always teeming with students, most of them concentrating on laptops, tablets and other electronic devices while a few still had books and papers in hand.

“Over here,” he heard Amy’s voice over the din.

She was seated on a small sofa – almost like a love seat – in the lounge area, just off the Food Court.

“It’s the only place I could find. I hope you don’t mind,” she said, still standing over the faux leather, overstuffed sofa.

“No,” he said approaching her.

Rising to her feet, Amy did something that totally surprised the boy: she kissed him on the cheek, in front of several hundred students.

“I missed you so,” she said.

Corey could only blush.

*****
Two days later, on a Wednesday when she wouldn't have to work, Amy and Corey took the bus to the Bayshore Town Center, a large busy, shopping mall several miles north of the campus. Amy announced that the University freshmen dorm group was planning a dance on the last weekend before Christmas break and she'd like Corey to be her date at the dance.

"I need to get a proper dress for the dance, and mom sent me some money to buy one."

Knowing of Corey's unusually fine taste in women's fashions, she suggested they spend Wednesday evening shopping for the dress.

They giggled a lot on the bus ride, looking at women's fashions in a catalog Corey had brought from home.

"How about this one?" He said, pointing to a light blue cocktail dress.

"No," she protested. "I'd look too fat in that one. It's too short and shows too much of my legs."

Corey nodded, realizing the girl was correct; he liked her legs, even though they were a bit heavy. Yet, Corey loved the dress, which basically exposed the shoulders and arms and legs from mid-thigh down. It had a gathered empire waist and looked so feminine.

"You'd look nice in that," Amy said, giggling.

It was as if the girl was reading his mind; his mother had several similar dresses in her closet. Corey had even worn a couple of them in his few periods of crossdressing when he was alone at home.

"I would not," he argued, trying to sound offended that she'd think he'd look nice in a dress. After all, wasn't he supposed to be her boyfriend?

"Corey, I was kidding," Amy said, realizing she may have insulted him. "I just meant to say that I don't have the body to wear such pretty dresses."

"And I suppose I do?" He questioned her.

"Well at least you're not as fat as I am," she said.

"You're not fat, Amy," he said.

Fortunately, the bus reached its destination in the shopping center, ending the conversation that had suddenly become uncomfortable for both of them.

*****
At Corey’s suggestion, the two first stopped at Charlotte Russe, a women’s fashion store that specialized in clothes at younger women. “Their outfits aren’t too pricey, Amy, and I think most of their dresses are fine for a casual dance,” he said.

Amy had never heard of the store and she was surprised that her newfound boyfriend had even known about the women’s clothing store. They rummaged through several racks of party dresses with Corey pulling out dress after dress, always asking: “How about this?” Often, he’d hold a dress up in front of her, but just as often he would hold the dress up before himself, almost prancing about as if to model it.

“You’d look darling in that dress, Corey,” she said smiling, as he held a particularly dainty light-colored lavender number up before himself.

“So would you, Amy,” he said. “Try it on.”

“It’s not for me, Corey; I’m too big in the arms and shoulders,” she said.

“Bare shoulders are all the style nowadays,” he protested. “Besides you could wear a wrap over your shoulders; after all this is winter.”

“No let’s go to Boston Store,” she said, referring to the large department store that anchored the Bayshore Town Center.

Amy couldn’t get the thought out of her head that Corey could certainly become a very pretty girl. She watched Corey as he flitted about the garment racks in the junior’s section of Boston Store’s women’s department; he fingered many of the dresses, running the material through his fingers slowly, demonstrating a loving attachment to the cloth. They were slender, pretty fingers and it appeared he had carefully kept them manicured; she was enamored with the beautiful sight of this dainty boy.

Even though Amy’s tastes were modest, the two were unable to find a dress that seemed suitable. They finally got tired of roaming from store-to-store and stopped at the Food Court in the mall.

“There’s probably not a dress anywhere that would work for me,” Amy said in despair, while the two settled down at a small table, both have decided on a sub sandwich and a drink.

“Maybe you should try without me, maybe with someone else,” Corey suggested.

“No Corey. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m just too horsey to look pretty.”

“You are not,” Corey said convincingly.

“Then why can’t we find any dress in all these stores?”

Corey nodded. She had a point. He turned to bite into his sub sandwich; he hardly noticed how it tasted since his mind began turning over.

“You know, I have an idea of what kind of dress would be perfect for you,” he announced.

“What is it? Where could we find it here?”

“Probably nowhere, but I could make it for you.”

“You?” she asked, astonished.

“Yes,” he nodded, his face reddening.

“You make dresses?”

“I’ve designed and made a few.”

“Wow. Really? And you’d want to make mine?”

“I’d love to. Let me show you what I have in mind.”

Corey eagerly took out a pen and grabbed one of the paper napkins. He sketched quickly, coming up with a design.

“You can’t tell much from this, but this is what I have in mind.”

“I like it,” she said, looking at the rough sketch.

*****
When they next met for lunch at school, Corey opened up his laptop and showed Amy several dress designs he found on line. He pointed out several, before both agreed upon a dress that suited Amy's modest tastes; it was a halter style dress in a mauve-jersey material that featured a multi-layered design, ending just about the knee. It was also one of the few available that covered her shoulders, featuring a short sleeve, hiding most of the beefiest portions of her arms. The one compromise to immodesty was a deep neckline that would show a bit of cleavage.

"My breasts are not that big," she protested.

Corey assured her that with a push-up bra that she would show a nice bust-line. "I'll help you with that if you'd like," he said.

"Corey, you don't have to," she said.

"It would be only if you wanted me to help," he said.

"You seem to know more about dressing a girl than I do."

He reddened. "I guess."

Amy smiled. The image haunted her: Corey would look adorable in a dress. The girl was truly happy to have her boyfriend design her dress for the dance.

*****
As they were in the search for a dress for Amy, Corey had trouble focusing on the purpose of the trip. Yet, too often, he looked at a dress and wondered how it would look on himself. He personally favored bare shoulder outfits, those with no more than a slender strap over the shoulders, since they would so favor his slender, smooth shoulders and slim soft arms. Corey remembered the girl's response when he held the lavender dress up against his body: "You'd look darling in that dress, Corey."

She was right; Corey fell in love with the dress, but realized it was not a style that would favor Amy's huskier frame.

He wondered whether Amy might suspect his crossdressing habits; her remark would seem to indicate that. He wondered too whether the girl suspected he might be gay, due to his obvious effeminate mannerisms. Might she even be right? Corey felt he was not homosexual at all; any fantasies he had of being with a man had him totally as a woman loving a man, not as a man loving another man. He also wanted desperately to feel the warmth of a female body next to him, perhaps even to do his manly duty with her. It was so confusing.